#the rest of them can burst aflame for all I care

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒 .

# with black leg sanji.

returning earlier from the crew’s usual strolling through the newest island, you’re startled to witness sanji viciously lapping his tongue at a stolen tangerine. pitying his position, you allow him to have a taste of the real thing.

�� & afab!reader. smut (mdni!). oral. slightly sub!sanji. he eats you out like he’s starving. no y/n used.

W.C: 3K

when you decided to announce an early retreat to the sunny, much too dizzy to withstand the island’s scalding heat and deciding the most suitable course of action would be to seclude yourself within the cooler walls of the ship, the last thing you had expected was to find sanji in such a compromising position.

minutes previous to that encounter, you were quite frustrated. the shore town was a beating heart of commerce and people, filled with opportunities to find useful acquisitions to oneself. you were looking forward to a shopping-filled afternoon; to observe nami’s wits in action — her bargaining that was nothing but diplomatic theft — and listen to chopper’s ramblings about the books he managed to find. of course, the midday sun and its ruthless warmth had ruined it all, meaning that a day of privacy with sanji was the second best thing.

he had been the one assigned to watch the ship while the rest of the crew explored the town. considering the high temperature and his never-ending will to be of use, you had no doubt that the cook could be found in the kitchen, slicing up fruits to prepare delicious cocktails. hence why you followed the scent of tangerines, growing slightly puzzled. he was one brave man — or a suicidal one, you could not quite decide — for picking up nami’s tangerines when she was not around.

you should have knocked, truly. it was a mistake not to have done so. but you hadn’t cared much for courtesies whatsoever, eager for a refreshing beverage and perhaps the chance to share a pleasant conversation with the cook.

upon entering the kitchen, you were expecting to be met with ice and diced fruit, yes, but not under those circumstances.

half a tangerine was placed on the counter, as well as a glass cup with a singular and melting cube of ice. sanji busied himself with the other half of the fruit, swirling his tongue around the middle, his chin dripping with its juice, which caused you to clench around nothing; your legs forcing together as you observed the scene without a word.

after hearing the opened door, sanji froze in place, moving his head to catch a glimpse of the intruder as though he was experiencing the most terrifying seconds of his life. his shoulders slumped with a temporary sense of relief as he noticed your figure, before his entire frame threatened to burst up in flames out of embarrassment.

you cleared your throat, forcing a rough snicker in an attempt to lighten the shared atmosphere. then, finding yourself a seat, you grabbed the tangerine with one hand, placing the other on your chin. “having fun?”

although not aflame, sanji was as red as that one clown-pirate’s nose, averting eye contact as he placed the tangerine on the sink and searched for a cigarette. it became clearer that he had no courage to meet your eyes, stressing over the consequences of that endeavor. your glance, however, was tethered to the positioning of his fingers above his half of the tangerine, noticing polished and short nails, the well maintained hands, for a cook of his caliber could not indulge in carelessness.

the saliva sent to your dried throat was a fuel to a forest fire, rather than a soothing rain to a desert. your treacherous mind flashed sinful scenarios of those fingers. your juices of pleasure tainting them, warmth enveloping its skin as he curled them close to your sweetest spot before shoving his fingers into his mouth, loyal to his personal code of never wasting any food—

“pearl of my life,” he began at last, sounding a bit hesitant, yet calmer. “i can explain.”

sanji’s voice grew rougher due to the cigarette between his lips. inhaled nicotine that traveled past his vocal chords to settle on his lungs before he expelled them through his nostrils. you found yourself at a loss for words, wondering how one could differentiate the intonation of desire from the consequential coarseness of smoking. was there even a difference? oh, how desperately you wished to find out.

the cook seemed to have misinterpreted your silence, all of the sudden growing anxious, searching for a lighter despite not having finished his first cigarette just yet. luckily, for the both of you, the oven filled in the gaps with a repetitive beep, informing that the dish he had prepared was set to be served.

the scent of one of your most favored desserts danced around the talons of smoke from sanji’s unfinished cigarette. he smashed the tip of it against the ashtray, and hid his hands from your luscious eyes with the kitchen gloves. sanji had to bend to remove the sweet treat from the oven, offering you a clear sight of his butt and the powerful muscles of his thighs, strained against the fabric of his pants. as if hypnotized, you observed, with a certain hunger — for both the dish and the cook — as he then moved towards the counter.

sanji, at last, faced you. “a bargain, mon sirène.”

you raised an eyebrow with an expression of pure confusion, having your next words swallowed by hushed explanations as sanji’s composure crumbled, no longer bearing the weight of your silence. he knelt and encapsulated your hand with his, assuming a pleading tone.

“i thought i’d have a tad more time for myself, you see. at first, i was merely preparing you something sweet, planning to welcome you back with the luxury you deserved, but then my thoughts trailed entirely to you—”

sanji cleared his throat, the gears of his mind turning as he searched for a better explanation. “we’re discovering more of the new world, and oh, my golden star of the open seas, not a thing will ever be able to diminish your brightness and influence over my beating heart—”

“sanji,” you voiced softly.

“but, you see, what if a lady ever so happens to reciprocate my passion and desires? how could i live up to what she deserves? by training, of course—”

“sanji.”

“and oh, well, i meant to prepare tangerine cocktails to ignore those thoughts. but the fruit does resemble a woman’s intimacy—”

“sanji.”

“or so i heard. from zeff. i never had the honor of verifying it myself—”

“sanji!” you interrupted his ramblings, caging his face with your hands, not at all surprised by the high temperature of his skin.

the cook was a passionate man, with a heart that had been dipped in molten gold; filled with nothing but love and the urge to please. but you hadn’t fallen prey to fantasies of his embrace due to bashful flirting, well-pondered gifts and delicious dishes. though those were of aid, sanji, while clueless, managed to become the center of your affection because of his endless kindness, the infinite will to help those in need, those alluring and prestative eyes that never failed to brighten up in your presence.

processing his previous words, and the reasoning behind the decision to train his tongue with a fruit, you felt as though a sharp blade toyed with the fragile skin of your heart. the mere thought of witnessing his care delivered to someone else — a stranger at that — was both vexing and painful. for a second, under the burning and expectation-filled glance of his, you struggled to maintain your thoughts linear. what was needed for him to keep his attention focused on you, and you alone? the answer came with such easiness that you felt a bit ashamed.

sanji squeezed your hand, as if to tether your mind to the instance at hand. with a clear of your throat, you offered him a sympathetic glance.

“i’m not zoro,” you told him, aiming for a reassuring tone. “embarrassing you for the sake of having the last word isn’t something i’m interested in. if you want me to keep this interaction a secret, i will. no bargaining needed.”

he observed you as if the moon was kept in a pendant wrapped around your neck. for a second, your very name escaped from your mind.

“i have always known that you were as kind and merciful as a heaven sent angel. i’ll make sure to return the favor.”

oh! you were surprised that he caught on your desires. sanji was observant, but you were obstinate to a fault and thought that your behavior had been one of composure. well! at least you wouldn’t have to take the first step. he’d be the one to slide down the material of your shorts and panties and guide your hand to his blonde hair and—

sanji got up and moved towards the dessert, scanning the kitchen for the scarce fine cutlery in order to serve the sweet with a noble-worthy decoration. you shoved the revolt that surged due to the distance, mouth agape in both embarrassment and bewilderment. without a second thought or an ounce of patience, you gathered up the courage to act.

“you know, sanji,” you hummed. his sudden straightened posture made you feel a bit wicked, for he behaved as though a deer caught in the woods at the intonation shift of your voice. “if you wanted to practice, you could’ve asked me.”

the cherries he was carefully piling up on the plate crumbled like a house of cards. his nervousness was palpable. sanji turned his head towards your figure, face adorned with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“mockery isn’t a kind act, my seastar,” he said, voice strained. “but i would have forgiven you for committing even the most violent crimes.”

you blinked, straightening your posture. a bit disheartened, for he seemed unable to believe that you were capable of nurturing a genuine desire for him.

“sanji, i mean it. it would be my pleasure,” literally.

sanji shifted his entire body, facing you with certain hesitation. his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as his glance trailed to your lips; then to your breasts; then glued to your crossed legs. his pupils dilated.

with careful steps, as if fearing that a sudden move would tear him from what he believed to be a dream, sanji approached you. the cook breathed in, trembling with nitid nervousness and excitement.

“how do we—should i kneel? i don’t—”

somehow, both his innocence and lack of experience managed to soothe your own nerves. although sanji seemed a wreck, your confidence grew as you tapped a finger on the dining table.

“would you mind if i sat on it?”

he flushed immediately. “what?”

sanji then noticed his error, clearing his throat and gripping a fistful of his hair with an apologetic expression, almost as if expecting a reprimand.

you merely smiled instead. “i can sit on your ‘it’ later, but you should learn the basics first.”

he nodded with fervor, observing with certain desperation as you sat on the edge of the dining table, parting your legs with ease; beckoning him closer.

sanji remained glued in place as though a statue, stunned to a fault. “would you get on your knees for me?”

his reaction was immediate, and the sound of his bones meeting the wooden surface of the ground made you wince for his sake. if the impact caused him pain, sanji didn’t express it. instead, he crawled closer, his breath fanning above your thighs.

“don’t feel forced to do it,” he stuttered at last, offering you the chance to halt.

“this is the part where you remove my shorts,” you instructed instead, and his fingers eagerly worked to unbutton the piece of clothing.

with a raise of your hips, you aided him in the task at hand, watching sanji drool at the sight of your drenched panties. it was endearing, but the lack of contact was maddening.

“you’re allowed to touch me.”

“where?”

“everywhere.”

he placed a careful hand on your thigh. with a groan, your fingers encouraged him to squeeze the tender flesh, and so he did. sanji approached your clothed cunt, his hot breath fanning above the sensible spot. you shivered in anticipation, gripping the blonde locks of his hair with non-thought strength.

before you managed to apologize for the harshness, sanji moaned, latching his mouth to your core. his tongue lapped at it as though a beast, carrying nothing but desperation, with no regards for the piece of cloth that separated you both. you let out a yelp of surprise, breathing heavily at the contact.

“sanji,” you whined, pressing his nose to your folds. “the p-panties.”

he understood it well enough, moving his face afar, nimble fingers tugging on the straps. you raised your hips to help him, and watched as sanji sniffed the material before shoving it inside his back pocket.

sanji trailed his eyes to your cunt. a broken whimper tore through his throat. “where is it?”

“what?”

he flushed, pressing one of his fingers at your slick entrance. you shuddered, and his face inched closer, a temptative kiss pressed to your middle. sanji’s visible eye caught on whatever he seemed to be searching, and his tongue followed-in-suit. he circled the muscle around your clit, slowly, as if testing out the waters.

you tugged on his hair. “faster. use your fingers as well.”

he hummed, sending a wave of vibrations through your core. an involuntary noise escaped your lips once sanji inserted two of his fingers inside. removing your hand from the one he had above your thigh, you gripped his wrist, correcting the angle.

“it’ll hurt less for you,” you explained, and sanji hadn’t even answered, too lost on your pussy to pay your words any mind. he was reacting to your instructions due to mere instinct.

sanji’s lips closed around your bud, sucking on it before he used his tongue to lap at your folds, moving it up and down. you arched your back, controlling the speed of his wrist until sanji caught on it himself, dominating the field.

as he moved his jaw, you felt the roughness of his goatee caressing your warm flesh. “scissor it.”

he obliged, alternating his movements. sanji removed his fingers until the nails, only to insert them again with your desired speed. he curled them inside, exploring your intimacy with his touch while he busied his mouth with your clit and folds.

the hand once placed on his wrist returned to the counter’s edge. you gripped it without much thought, eyes trailed to sanji’s face in between your legs. he interlocked his free fingers with yours, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your palm — aching due to your previous grip —, coating your hand with saliva as well. your juices dripped down his chin and glistened on his nose.

“don’t hurt yourself, bien-aimée,” sanji whispered, tears of glee pooling in his pleasure-wide eyes. “hurt me instead.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the protest melted into a broken moan as sanji spat on your cunt, replacing the fingers inside with his tongue. he whimpered at the taste; his thumb drew circles around your clit, while the longer fingers busied themselves with your folds.

your legs trembled, and your fingers tightened on his hair. sanji’s mewl of pleasure lost itself within your cunt, his thumb pressing harder on your clit as he plunged his tongue deeper, angling his head as if he was trying to devour you.

“l-left,” you told him through a broken moan, seeing stars when his tongue managed to reach a particularly sweet spot.

you felt the built pressure that indicated the nearing of release. sanji parted his face from your cunt for the briefest of moments. softly, as if handling a luxurious and delicate piece of golden cluttery, sanji grabbed a fistful of your thighs with both of his hands, dragging your body closer. your back met the wooden surface of the dining table, and before you managed to ground yourself, sanji had guided your fingers back to his scalp, allowing you to force his face into your pussy.

two fingers stretched you as he bit on your clit, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. you arched your back against the table, toes curling with pleasure.

“so good,” sanji moaned with desperation, his voice mingling with the wet sound of his fingers working on your cunt.

you felt him hump against nothing, nose teasing your folds, and kicked his sides meekly, searching for his dick. sanji caressed your ankle before guiding it to rest on his shoulder.

“ma belle,” he mumbled, kissing your leg, dragging your essence through your skin. “don’t worry about me.”

he fastened his pace, sucking on your inner thigh as his fingers led you to the heavens. you saw stars. your eyes rolled and your mouth parted to give way to a scream, yet your voice failed. somewhere amidst that cloud of pleasure, you caught the sight of his figure towering over your own, one hand grabbing your breast as he pressed his lips against yours. sanji’s tongue invaded your mouth and the taste of your essence, combined with the movement of his fingers, led you to the edge.

your climax came accompanied by a broken moan, diligently muffled by sanji. again, he knelt, removing his fingers lick at your leaking hole, swallowing as much of your cum as he could. you squirmed due to the overstimulation, tugging on his hair to force his face away from your cunt.

“too much,” you whispered, observing the ceiling while coming off from your high.

sanji’s clean fingers caressed your cheek, and he supported your weight once you gathered the will to sit. he pressed loving kisses to your neck, mumbling compliments against the skin. your eyes landed on his softening cock, the wet patch indicating that he came undone.

you tugged at the waistband of his pants, beckoning him closer. your fingers toyed with the zipper, and sanji shivered, his hand trembling where it laid above your hip.

“there’s no need to repay me, mrs. princess,” sanji voice out softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “it was enough a pleasure to get to touch you, and your dessert—”

“i want it,” you interrupted, grinning with newfound confidence. “and besides, it’s your turn to teach me, isn’t it?”

sanji had to resort to a tangerine before tasting the real thing. luckily for the bananas, you managed to dodge the same fate.

— 🐈‍⬛ : this was actually supposed to be about teaching him how to kiss. and then i had ten tangerines for dinner and thought “waiiiiit it does look like a pussy” and boom, 3k words. i ended it with humor because i need to be funny at all times, otherwise i die. it’s a medical condition!

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Rogue Rook. I love this Rook, I wonder if they could be the 'default'-kinda Rook..? The detail in this game is incredible, look at the different textures and intricate patterns on clothes (in places you can even see where it's raised/three-dimensional when appropriate), carved designs on the wood of the bow, the textures on hairs, the folds of fabric and the way it hangs, the strung bow, light glinting off Taash's jewel-horn and gold pieces, etc. loads of care put into it and attention to detail. on Rook's chest is the Veilguard symbol. Taash and Neve look amazing too, and the team is ready to go! In the bottom right, is that a chest we can loot? ^^ Maybe this moment is from shortly after entering a new area, and the camera is about to transition from a cutscene kinda scene to a gameplay scene? like they've just gotten here, had a lil conversation about it, and are about to head off exploring. where do you think this shot was taken? it kind of reminds me a bit of this concept art of the Deep Roads.

I really like the decision to prominently feature Bellara and Davrin on this cover. Bellara's magic device is activated - are the triangles being drawn towards her, or are they flying out away from her? ^^ its green glow makes me think of Fadey stuff. Harding looks to have the same bow as here, with the Inquisition hairy eyeball symbol, fitting for a Hero of the Inquisition. in the background is the familiar outwards energy burst motif (example one on the right, example two). the rest of the team are present in the foreground, ready to cast or running towards the battle. the ground, dark rock, is aflame. in the background we can see telltale floating rocks and some structures. maybe this shot is 'set' in the same place as the group fight that takes place at the end of the character trailer, as here?

In this version of the image, we can more clearly see tentacle-like objects in the bottom right, which make me think of Blight corruption and what we can see around the dragon here. the other thing I wanna say about this art is you can tell care has been taken to differentiate the companions and make them unique. like both Emmrich and Neve are mages and casting, but they hold their weapons in different ways and have different stances. Emmrich's staff is green with the light of necromancy, Neve's is blue with ice magic. both Taash and Lucanis are fighters, and running, but even from a static image you can see variation in the way that they move. You can almost hear Taash's powerful 'stomp-stomp-stomp' whereas Lucanis has more of a sense of speed and streamlined motion. it reminds me of what was said in the Discord Q&A about "characterful"-ness:

This game contains “the deepest companion arcs” that they have ever done - not just in a Dragon Age game, but in a BioWare game in general. “Being able to work across all the disciplines, building characters who look and sound and behave in very specific and characterful ways.” Each companion has their own story arc you can go through, decisions you can make. “They really do take center stage. As you play through them, you see the care and love that the team has put into each one.” [link]

You know, like they are looking and moving different in very specific and "characterful" ways. Also look at this -

This looks to be Lucanis in early concept art (art by Matt Rhodes). he moves in such a specific, 'characterful' way, and it's carried through from the concept art.

my last thought here is that this cover reminded me of the group/team fight scene in this Inquisition trailer. you know, like the whole gang is here and ready to go, ground aflame, black rock, Fadey stuff going on.

[magical-soup]

Crushed and Aching, I Keep Going - Chapter 1 : Quiet Afternoon, not so quiet

Summary:

In a world unfair, people get hurt. Unable to wipe all pain, healing is required. As difficult as that is, one must try; with the help of supportive companions, they can heal.

It was just meant to be a quiet afternoon, how did he get here? Panic courses through his stinging skin and everything hurts, too bad his brain will never let him rest…

Or; Grian has a flashback but Impulse and Scar arrive to support him, turning a terrifying afternoon into a calm, cozy one.

This series is posted both on tumblr and AO3; here is the AO3 link for those who want that:

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/152699971?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#main

Notes:

Me? Projecting? NOPE! Idk what ur talking about pffff not me must be someone else hahaha… I gave them all trauma so now they have to deal with it :b L

This fic has age regression, that is when someone mentally regresses to an earlier developmental stage, it is SFW and healthy. If it makes you uncomfortable, leave.

Also, any time bird, fledgling, nestling, avian, or chick is used it is referring to Grian.

TW: Flashbacks, panic attacks, swearing, self harm(hitting, biting), germaphobia/contagous OCD, guilt for being scared, grief, guilt, suicidal ideation.

The scary sections with be marked with ‘#’ and end with ‘#^’

~ ~ ~

#

It was just meant to be a quiet afternoon. The waves crash along the shore and clouds slowly pass by. A bell rang in the distance, disturbed by the sea breeze; the tune was… familiar. Why did it-

Grian was terrified. “Terrified” was the biggest understatement the world could give. Shaking, the small bird shuddered as the panic pierced his skin, lighting him aflame. It hurt… so bad, and yet, he kept quiet.

“It’s irrational, just be rational.” They told him. They didn’t understand… they couldn’t. He wished it could stop, he wished he could make all the pain and suffering and panic disappear in an instant and it would all be over. He wished so much more than they could possibly imagine or even be willing to believe. They wanted his behavior to stop–his visible attempts to seek the smallest form of relief–it annoyed them. He couldn’t stop, it was all he had, all he could do. He was so much more helpless than they could comprehend. They were annoyed, he was so much more than annoyed; he wanted it to end so badly.

The endless fear, all controlling, consumed his every moment. It pulled at him like a puppet, tugging at his very soul to force him to action. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he repeated their words in his head, it was useless. He wanted to cry, he needed to cry, but his eyes never let him. His cruel dry eyes.

The avian shuddered, air struggling to get to his heaving lungs. His throat tightening with each panicked breath. Gasping for air, his chest ached from his overinflated lungs. Attempting to silence the agonizing pictures that intruded his thoughts, Grian slammed his fists against the splintered wood of his fishing dock, wincing yet savoring the pain.

Painfully unnerving touch crawled up his skin, sending waves of panic and flashes of memories. No, no-no-no not again!- “SHUT UP!” a scream burst through the air, but Grian was far too panicked to care. Thrashing about wildly, he found himself tumbling to the ground in his fishing dock, his flailing legs thrusting him as deep into the corner of barrels as physically possible.

Frustration peaks, and in the wave of desperation his teeth find themselves sinking into the flesh of his left forearm. His jaw clenched painfully, letting out heaves of tension in one deep bite. It hurt, hell it hurt, but Grian was desperate for more relief. Even after his lips unsuctioned from his skin and the bruise was sure to sting, the lingering fear urged to be released.

White-knuckle fists slam themselves into his skull mercilessly, desperate and angry. Each pang only added to the frustration, refusing to satisfy like the bite; yet, the frantic swings kept crashing until his head ached and regret replaced adrenalin.

Ramming himself somehow further into the corner, the avian curled into a ball, a shaking, hyperventilating ball. He looked like a mess, a stupid ugly mess, covered in scratch marks and saliva. His dirt dusted wings sloppily hug his pathetic form, hiding his mess of an image with dull primary colors.

… Stupid bell… why’d it have to be there… just to ruin his day… fuck…

… dumb…dumb dumb dumb… Just!-... ugh…

A sudden touch placed on his left shoulder sent a wicken flinch through Grian. In an instant, a yelping growl escaped his lurching lungs before his blurry eyes could even process the figure crouched before him. His legs, bent to his chest almost like a shield, jutted out in an attempt to jump away, yet the wall of barrels behind him kept him stationary, resulting in his sharp talons merely scraping against the wooden shack floor.

There, crouched in front of him, was a familiar face. Impulse… Wait, FUCK! “No-no-no-no-” Grian mumbled out loud as he desperately tried to hide himself, covering his body with his wings and arms in some strange hope that it would make him disappear from this reality. “I’m sorry- sorry- I’m sorry- I-I- s-sorr-”

#^

“No need to apologize.” a soft whisper tore him from his winding thoughts. Peeking through his tangled limbs and colorful feathers, Grian sent a barely trusting glance towards the imp. “You aren’t doing anything wrong, Grian.”

Grian slowly lowered his puffed-up wings; though, keeping them tightly wrapped around his shaking body like a warm blanket.

Impulse settled calmly in front of him, sitting criss-cross on the worn wood planks. “Let’s just breathe, okay? Can you breathe with me?” Impulse asked gently. Grian cautiously nodded in response, keeping a watchful eye on the imp. Impulse then slowly lifted his hands as if he were lifting a box, deeply breathing in while he did so.

“Hold” Impulse instructed, holding his breath and pausing his hands. Grian attempted to mimic the pattern, but struggled as his lungs involuntarily heaved with fear. Predictably, Impulse’s chest deflated as he exhaled, lowering his hands along with it.

Grian, still choking on air, fluffed up his feathers in frustration, but pushed on, following instructions as the exercise repeated. Impulse didn’t show any judgment or disgust, sweetly praising the bird with each successful heave of breath.

Once steady breath met his thankful lungs, Grian took a careful shuffle closer to his friend. Small but purposeful. Impulse stayed put at his settled placement, not daring to rush the avian. Though adrenaline still rushed through his veins, Grian relaxed, stepping closer to the warm demon and waving his wings stimming.

A warm floatiness buzzed in his body, anxious but drawn to the soft comfort that always accompanied Impulse. Soon, Grian found himself climbing into Impulse’s arms, wrapping two shivering arms around the other’s torso and tucking his chin under the other’s. “Thanks…” Grian whispered, thankful.

Impulse returned the hug, engulfing the little avian in soft, cozy comfort. “No problem, G.” A clawed hand gently traced simple shapes on Grian’s back through his jumper, careful to not disturb any of the preciously aligned feathers that lined his spine.

It was warm here, comforting and safe. A bubbly fuzz began to soak into Grian’s whelmed brain, sleepy and calm. Grian melted into Impulse’s tender touch, sinking into the warm feeling. Impulse started rocking them both back and forth, slow and easy like the clear waves that splashed upon the fishing dock only feet away. Grian hummed to the movement, babbling mindlessly.

After a while of settling into the cozy small fluffiness that filled his body, Impulse spoke up, “Hey, birdy? How old are you?” Grian’s head, filled with cotton fluff, finally lifted itself from the soft pillow that was Impulse’s shoulder.

Grian sleepily blinked at the imp, soon bringing up his left hand and seemingly fidgeting with his fingers. “Hmm…” he mumbled as he thought, eventually bringing up three fingers and showing them to Impulse.

Impulse gazed at Grian with the greatest fondness the world could give, nothing but love in his eyes. “Small huh? That’s okay, lil’ birdy.” The imp tucked Grian closer then calmly brushed a few wild strands of blonde hair out of Grian’s face, combing through his unbrushed locks. The fledgling made a small sound of surprise from the sudden affection, scrunching up his face in response.

Impulse giggled at the adorable sound, cooing at the little. “Aww, so cute.” Brain fogged by fluff and smallness, Grian could only stick his tongue out in defense, lightly flapping his wings to further emphasize his disagreement with the statement.

This only encouraged Impulse further. “Oh, just a little baby, aren’t you?” A small boop to his nose and Grian was defeated. The cozy cotton fluff and increasing smallness made the fledgling clueless on how to counter this. He resorted to hiding his blushing face in Impulse's chest, which unfortunately only resulted in more cooing. “Oh, it’s okay, sweety. No need to hide.” Grian let out a small whine, bapping Impulse on the face to signal him to stop, all while muffling his incoherent babbles and tiny stims.

Impulse finally stopped, returning to simply rocking them gently and taking in the calm tunes of the waves. A salty breeze flew by, ruffling Grian’s soft feathers, forcing a small whine of the discomforted little. “Hmm, how about we go somewhere else, huh?” Impulse suggested, to which Grian subtly nodded in response. “Let’s go to my base, okay? It’s nice and warm there.”

“I’m gonna lift you up, is that okay?” Impulse checked. The little gave a small thumbs up before clinging onto the imp’s shirt. “Alright. Three… two… one-” Grian was swiftly scooped up and lifted while Impulse stood, bottom supported by the imp’s strong arms, his dark bird-like legs wrapped around Impulse’s waist.

After adjusting the positions slightly, Impulse asked gently, “Are you comfy?” A small “m-hm” and then the two were off, moving down the dirt road at a calm walking pace. Grian observed over Impulse’s shoulder, the waves of the bay began to get farther and farther away as the two hybrids walked off of Grian’s dock and onto the dirt path connecting all of the hermits’ bases together.

Grian rested his chin on Impulse's shoulder, relaxing in the fluff that consumed his head as they continued down the dirt road towards Impulse’s glowy livingquarters hidden within the cyberpunk city. Gem’s parrot’s squawked at each other from the wires strewn above them, Grian squawked back. A subtle tune slipped its way out Impulse’s lips as he hummed a sweet melody. Eyelids growing heavier with each step, Grian sunk deeper into the cozy warmth that radiated from his imp friend and finally slipped into the sweet sleep that had clung to him.

~ ~ ~

Cozy, soft warmth enveloped the sleepy hermit, the scent of fresh cooking driving him to wake. Grian’s eyes, barely open and heavy with sleep, gazed over the room. He was on a large full bed, covered in a pile of thick blankets, and settled into a mountain of pillows and plushies. A strange bud sat in his mouth; it didn’t bother Grian though as he mindlessly chewed on the soft silicone. Lifting his head up, Grian sniffed the air like a cartoon character, the savory smell of vegetables and starches filling his nose.

Urged out of this cozy heaven, the little bird wiggled his way out of the maze of blankets and began to wander towards the smell of fresh cooking. Grian slid off the bed and waddled out the open door into the bright hallway. Finding himself on slippery tile, Grian jumped back to the safe, grippy carpet of the bedroom with a whimper.

His dark eyes stared down the cruel flooring. The little found a solution by crawling, lowering himself to the ground and slowly exploring the environment on four limbs. Now in the lit hallway, Grian realized that he was dressed in an unfamiliar onesie. The fabric was a bright blue, patterned with many small parrots. The texture of the loose pajamas was soft, pleasant to rub his fingers with.

The baby bird, head swarmed with fluff and cotton, giggled and bounced with joy from this newfound discovery. ‘They look like me! They look like me! The little birdies!’ he thought in his fuzz filled head. Flapping his wings and hands about, his noisy behavior attracted a lovely friend.

The curious yet kind cat, Jellie, gracefully strutted down the hall, soon followed by Scar rolling after her. The warm kitty rubbed her head against Grian’s knee, producing a subtle purr at the small hermit. “Hello there!” Scar greeted his little. “You are very brave for exploring out here all on your own, silly bird.” Grian gaped up at his best friend with wonder, the words not processing through his fog filled brain.

Sucking on his pacifier, the tiny parrot made grabby hands at Scar, which unfortunately resulted in a sad yet fond expression to possess the vex. “Sorry, darling, but I don’t have the strength to hold you.” Scar began to mess with something in the bag that laid in his lap. “How about this? We can play a fun game instead!” Scar’s face changed to one of joy and surprise as he pulled out a soft toy. A floppy purple plush resembling a monkey dangled with Scar’s hand as he held it out in front of the fledgling.

Grian’s eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned forward, immediately attempting to grab the plush, just out of reach. Scar began to roll backwards, guiding Grian with the fun toy towards the main room and out of the dusty, barren hallway.

Finally managing to latch onto the monkey, Grian pulled it into his chest, hugging the cuddly plush as tightly as he could. Grian giggled at the beloved toy, flapping and stimming his limbs in joy. Then, a rude cooing sounded from his surroundings, “Aww, what a cute baby.” Scar commented. Blushing at this interruption, Grian looked up to face the rude audience.

Scar gazed at him sweetly, babying the little bird greatly. “Are you just so cute, with your little monkey!” The vex proceeded to make high-pitched incoherent sounds of cuteness aggression, lightly waving his leathery wings and stimming with his hands. Grian blew raspberries at Scar in defense before huffing and turning away, keeping his prized possession secured in his arms.

A ray of sunshine caught Grian’s attention, the little suddenly distracted. Finally noticing that he was in a new environment, Grian glanced around with wonder. Gaping at the sunlit furniture, the curious avian crawled around the room, dragging around his purple friend Floppy of course. The baby hermit, filled with child-like curiosity, felt every interesting texture and surface that his little hands could touch: the rough rug, the yellow leather couch, the thin gray curtains, everything! It was all so interesting!

In his fixated exploration, he didn’t notice the fluffy feline that followed him closely. A loud meow called from behind him and a gray tabby soon appeared in his vision. “Kitty!” Grian babbled into his pacifier. The fledgling waved Floppy in greeting, letting the loose plush flail playfully. Jellie made a sound of interest, soon batting at the drooping object. Giggling with delight, Grian swung the cute plush, tempting the gray cat all around the gray rug.

Sweet muddled whispers of a distant conversation came from behind a deepslate island in the kitchen. Now entranced with the interesting noises, Grian found himself wandering towards the source of the sound, which also happened to lead to the source of the lovely smell that filled his senses. Crawling off the soft rug onto cold tile, the avian turned the corner around the island, catching sight of a tall imp adorning a yellow apron and an exhausted looking vex sitting in his wheelchair beside him.

“Well the food is almost done. Uh, how is G doing?” Impulse asked as he stirred the pot on the stove.

Scar fidgeted with a small toy in his hands, a purple and cyan square pop-it. “He’s doing okay. Haven’t noticed anything concerning at all, just very small and curious as always.” He said calmly, not looking up from the fidget toy.

The two much mentally older were busy with their discussion, too busy to see the regressed Grian, who decided to make this into a spy mission. He hid behind the island, obscuring himself from view, and hugging Floppy to his chest, secretly listening in on the garble of words that seemed to pass through his head, holding no true meaning.

Impulse shifted his weight on his feet. “Is Jellie getting along with him?”.

“Yeah!” Scar glanced up at the cooking imp with a bright smile. “She is being very nice to him, sweet as always.”

Scar’s face turned red and he dropped his head. With slight hesitation and a stutter, Scar asked just above a whisper, “Do you think she knows? Like- with what’s happening?” he mumbled something about animals having sixth senses while looking to the side in embarrassment.

Impulse cocked his head in fondness and slight confusion. “Yeah, probably. Animals are usually nicer to regressors when they’re small.”

Scar stiffened, realizing the misunderstanding. “No-no-no! Yeah-yeah- with the regressors and stuff, but I mean with how… my body’s been… y’know.” Scar waved his hands about as if to explain what he meant.

“Oh, OH! Yeah, yes, definitely!” Impulse blurted out. “You know how, like, service dogs work. They have cat ones too!–Service cats. So she can probably tell with her super strong cat senses.”

Scar tilted his head fondly, a sad yet pleased smile marking his expression. “Yeah… I think so too.” The vex then peered over the counter into the living room, spotting said cat busy grooming herself. He also noticed the lack of a certain feathered baby, suddenly tensing up and wheeling around the end of the island opposite from Grian.

A nervous laugh made its way out of Scar’s lips “Uh-huh-uh- Grian!” he called out. A giggle was heard around the counter. Impulse glanced at the bird’s super good hiding spot–a smile pierced his face as he joined in on the game, copying Grian when he looked up at him and put his finger to his lips. Scar, oblivious to the amazing hide-&-seek player, searched the living room with worry building in his gut.

The tiny bird peeked his head out from behind the counter–the hider and the seeker met glances. The feathered fledgling quickly crawled back behind the island, unable to control his fit of giggles from the anticipation. His wings waved sloppily behind him with the excitement of his “mission”, a mess of feathers painted a mix of primary colors flapping uncontrollably. The little fledgling attempted to grab at the wiggly limbs, not wanting to give away his location, but it was an unfortunate struggle. He twisted into contortions that you would assume to be painful if it wasn’t Grian.

As the sound of rubber wheels rolled up next to him, Grian flopped, defeated, on the tile. “Grian? What are you doing hiding here, baby? You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Scar said as he rolled up next to him and set a grounding hand on Grian’s shoulder.

“Was playing super spy.” Grian mumbled into the red pacifier, chewing on the bud to loosen the frustrated tension that had built with his failure. “You found me.” he muttered, disappointed. The little playfully danced his purple plushy in front of himself, letting its limbs flop around lazily.

Scar noticed the sad expression that rested on the avian’s teary face. “Well that’s okay, darling. You sure gave me a fright so I’d call that a success.” he attempted to cheer up the little, slowly rubbing the avian’s back in affection.

Suddenly, The electric stove whined loudly when the water boiled over the edge of the pot. Impulse let out a shocked shriek as he frantically pressed buttons on the stove in a panic, desperate to stop the blaring alarm.

Grian yelped in surprise, quickly covering his ears to muffle the noise. Everything was moving so fast and so loud, Grian wasn’t prepared. His head was running with panic and thoughts and everything was far too overwhelming to do anything about it-...

#

… He was back there again, back in that classroom. Shaking so hard, it’s shockingly sad to hear that it went unnoticed. The teacher spoke to the class, Grian wasn’t part of them. His eyes were glassy and filled with a level of fear his peers couldn’t comprehend. He had held his breath so long that it hurt, but he was too scared to let go, to breathe in the contaminated air. His skin felt wrong, every part of him felt wrong.

‘It’s fine, you’re ok’ he tried to tell himself. It failed against the all encompassing panic. His chest ached and heaved, ribs crying out in pain. He couldn’t give them relief, he would rather sacrifice his lungs than give in and breathe in the worst substance.

He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t, not in front of his worst enemy. He would rather die, but he couldn’t die while contaminated. His mind tempted him anyway, filling his thoughts with various methods. ‘Out the window, the height might be enough to finally escape this hell.’ Muscles tensed so hard that they were constantly sore. ‘The highway is only about two miles from your house, you could walk there easily. The cars going 55 miles per hour won’t stop for you, it would definitely kill you.’ Sweat dripped from his forehead, he couldn’t wipe it. He couldn’t touch anything, he was infected, hands and arms covered in an imaginary disease. ‘That large bottle of pain pills at home is probably enough to kill you.’ He was covered, head to toe in the terrifying substance. He was paralyzed, he couldn’t dare move, couldn’t risk touching anything else, infecting it, getting covered and contaminated further.

#^

Grian was curled into a tight stiff ball, almost motionless except for the shivering and desperate gasps that escaped from his choking throat. Discarded on the ground, the red pacifier was dirtied alongside the purple monkey. The beeping had finally stopped but the boy sitting in the kitchen still resembled a terrified mannequin. Subtly shaking and sweating bullets, his black eyes were covered in a glassy filter and a thousand-yard stare.

“Grian? Grian, can look at me?” Impulse pleaded, crouched before the frozen little. Beside him, Scar was searching through his bag for any little gear or stim toys that could help. “Lil’ birdy? It’s okay, you’re safe here.” Impulse tried to calm the avian, with no success.

Suddenly, Scar pulled out a blue pacifier, decorated with waves and shiny white gems. Along with the paci came a bright green and yellow rattler, already making noise with the movement of being dragged out.

Carefully, Scar slowly brought the rattler in front of the boy’s face, shaking it lightly. The noise seemed to help, Grian blinking rapidly and twitching his head. After a few more shakes of the instrument, the fledgling finally raised his head, facing the brightly colored item with cautious curiosity.

Grian’s dark eyes were still distant, seemingly peering off somewhere else, but the fog was slowly clearing.

“Hey,” Impulse whispered as if talking any higher would break him. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Impulse tried to bring the other to a feeling of safety, but this only seemed to drive him to anger.

Eyebrows scrunched up and knit together, Grian glared at Impulse with an unknown fury. “No… no I’m not.” his voice was scratched and torn, almost like he was sick.

#

He was sick–sick of people telling him to ‘just stop’ and to ‘just get over it, already’. He was sick–terribly sick–and not just tired: crushingly exhausted. He was trying, he was trying so hard…

He wasn’t safe, they couldn’t understand. They couldn’t ever…

He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to let out his years of frustration and fear in one ear bleeding screech. But he couldn’t, not to his friends, not to anyone. It wasn’t their fault that they weren’t educated on it, that they didn’t know. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not even his own, yet he still struggled to believe that. How was it not his fault, he didn’t tell them!... couldn’t…he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t. Not with the alexithymia, lack of understanding, helplessness, and petrifying fear. He couldn’t–even when he wanted to, even when he needed to.

He had worked so hard, so, SO hard to get better, to tell people. But the ache in his chest continued to stab at him after all these years. Made of fear and guilt, it ate at him, chewing at his hope and determination, crushing him down to ash. Down to ash like Evo…

…Evo, destroyed, turned into nothing by those… creatures…

If only he had shut up!–maybe it wouldn’t have happened… fuck… stupid Grian- stupid Xelqu-... How dare they name him that–after those terrible gods. Just for some “motivation”–bullshit! He knew what it really was. Those bastards.

If only they had felt how cold the void was, knew the pain he felt after the massacre they did on his body, maybe they wouldn’t have done it. Maybe they would have stopped. But of course they didn’t–what did he expect? That terrible cold ink, all for nothing… just for pain…

He wished he had died then, or when he had thought about it at the worst of his teenage years. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have had to suffer as much; he wouldn’t have to suffer now. Maybe his family would have been better off without him. If he’d committed to chugging those pills they wouldn’t have had to be so bothered by his disgusting existence. They would have been saved without him.

…and maybe Evo would still be around… without him…

“What do you mean by that, Grian?” Scar had asked, followed by an awkward silence of concerned glances and patience.

The question finally processed through the blurry confusing mess that filled Grian’s head. “I-... I-” he couldn't answer.

His lip quivered, yet he swallowed the sobs that rose in his throat. Grian buried his red face in his knees, hiding from the terrifying world. Stupid fire alarm… dumb cold void… A sudden anger boiled up as an image of those… creatures… flashed through his mind. Grian shook his head as if to push away the intrusive thought.

A wave of grief shoved him under, drowning him in anger and ache. His fist tightened, lightly punching his leg with angst. “Ugh!...” Grian groaned from the bubbling emotions, whimpering with each pang that wracked his soul.

“Hey, it’s okay. No one’s mad at you.” Impulse reassured gently, resting a grounding hand on his shoulder.

Grian took a moment to breath before slowly shuffling closer to the imp and taking in the warm hug that Impulse always promised to provide. Those large, strong arms didn’t lie, creating a secure, comfortable embrace around the avian.

“I’m sorry.” Grian clung closer, hiding his shame by burying his terrified expression in Impulse’s chest. His wings tucked tightly to his back, fingers grasping the fabric of the demon’s shirt.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.” Impulse whispered as if it was as easy as breathing. Calmly petting Grian’s beige locks as if he didn’t just say the most painfully kind words that Grian has heard in a long… long time.

Dry sobs wracked through his aching body. The words were so kind… it opened a deep wound carved into by years of agony. “Why’d it have to happen!” Grian yelled into Impulse’s chest as he lightly punched into the imp’s back. “Why…” he whispered, softer.

Scar rubbed his back, soft and gentle, “There is no good reason, darling. You didn’t deserve it, either way.” Scar answered, as if it was so simple. And it hurt… it hurt so bad.

#^

Angry fists tensed with each rhetorical question and long-aching grief that passed through his body. Waves crashed against his amygdala, foaming and breaking with each splash. It hurt. Impulse just simply shushed him quietly and rubbed his back gently, holding him closely–no judgment. The blurry fog began to creep back into his head, drinking in the taste of emotions and shrinking smaller at the warm, soft touches that promised safety and support.

Soft fur brushed up against Grian’s hip, purring, concerned. Grian peek out from the sanctuary he built in Impulse’s chest to look at the cat who yearned to comfort. A small hand cautiously reached out towards Jellie, gently brushing the gray fur lining her back. The feline rubbed into his hand, basking in the pets. The edge’s of his lips curled upwards slightly, smiling at the gesture.

A soft rattle shook from nearby–a brightly colored rattle was held up in front of Grian’s face. Impulse gently shook the toy, making the beads inside the rattle shuffle about, clinking together and creating an interesting noise.

The small boy carefully reached his shaky hands out towards the rattler, taking hold of the handle and inspecting the colorful instrument. He waved it about wildly to make it rattle but his loose grip on the toy caused it to get launched across the floor.

Impulse was quick to the rescue, fetching the toy for his sweet bird swiftly and returning it without hesitation. The tiny chick let out a high pitched chirp, clenching his fists tightly around the handle of the wooden rattle. He shook it aggressively, inspecting the toy intently, trying to explore the mystery of the toy.

“Do you like the toy?” Impulse asked with a welcoming smile. Grian nodded rapidly, excited to share his joy. “That’s great! Now can you tell Impy how old you are?”

Grian was feeling smaller by the second with how his brain was trying to cope–a bubbly playfulness to replace the consuming panic. He wasn’t very good at pin-pointing his mental age–it just felt like a heavy fog and simple smallness. Unable to give a number, Grian just shrugged in response. “I dunno.” he answered, slurring his words sloppily.

“That’s okay.” Impulse responded calmly, a gentleness easily present in his voice. Grian made a hushed “Sorry…” as he pressed his face into Impulse’s chest, quietly shaking the rattle close to his ears as an auditory stim. “Hey…” Impulse remarked, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong, little one.” He sweetly brushed through Grian’s hair, knowing just how much the avian liked it.

The little stayed hiding in the imp’s arms; though, he soon found interest in placing the wooden rattle into his mouth. “Ah-ah, no, we don’t chew on our toys.” Impulse gently moved the toy out of Grian’s mouth. “Here.” He replaced it with a blue, ocean-themed pacifier, sliding the teet into Grian’s mouth and clipping it to the collar of his blue onesie. Impulse was beaming afterwards at the adorable sight. “Oh, aren't you so adorable, with your little onesie and paci. How cute, so tiny.” he cooed. Grian blabbled nonsensically around the silicone teet, waving the rattle with delight.

“Now, my little birdy, I heard that there’s a delicious bowl of food waiting for you in the living room. It’s much more comfy in there, too.” Impulse explained with a sweet excitement in his voice. Grian glanced over to the living room at the mention of it, leaning out of Impulse’s arms somewhat to get a better look. Sitting on the coffee table, a steaming bowl of veggies cooled with a spoon poked into the food. Scar was relaxing in his wheelchair beside it, yawning widely and sleepily adjusting his vex wings.

Impulse interrupted Grian’s observing, “Do you wanna walk there yourself or do you want me to pick you up?” The words barely made a crumb of sense to his distracted, fluff filled brain, but the words “pick you up” stood out like a shiny gem in the sea of gibberish. The little immediately clung closer to the imp, bouncing with joy and babbling incoherently as he waited impatiently to be lifted up by his beloved caregiver.

“Okay-Okay-!” Impulse understood the excitement, quickly securing the avian in his arms and standing up. Grian giggled wildly as the imp playfully bounced the little in his arms and walked over into the living room, the little waving at Jellie as she followed close behind.

Impulse sat down carefully on the leather couch, settling the fledgling into his lap. The little bird failed to stay still, wiggling about in anticipation. Grian shook his hands with pure joy when Impulse returned Floppy to his arms, fondly nuzzling the plush while shaking his rattle wildly. Giggling with delight, he was completely distracted from his past angst.

Scar had busied himself with choosing a kid appropriate show to watch–scanning through the Disney program–while calmly petting the gray feline that laid comfortably in his lap. A song began to play from the television when Scar finally decided on a show. Brightly colored dogs danced around for the intro of the show; the title of the show in big bold text at the end of the tune, “Bluey”. Grian was apparently hypnotized by these vibrant colors and catchy tunes, staring at the screen fixated.

“Are you ready to eat now?” Impulse asked, peering down at the little in his arms. The small hermit stared back, taking a moment to process the words in his baby brain. Finally understanding the question, the fledgling jumped around in his caregiver’s arms, so excited to finally eat the food that he had been sniffing since he awakened. Impulse watched his precious little with affection, smiling widely at the cuteness.

“This meal is a bit messy, so do you think you’ll need your bib?” Impulse asked, grabbing a red bib from the cushion beside them and holding it up in front of Grian. The little squeezed his eyes shut as he contemplated, using all the big thinking he could find in his foggy head. After a minute of tough thinking, Grian opened his eyes and nodded his head confidently, grabbing at the bib.

“Okay-okay- no need to rush.” Impulse assured, giggling at the excitement as he carefully attached the bib around Grian’s neck, securing it with a small ‘click’ of the plastic mechanism on the back.

Impulse leaned forward and grabbed the bowl sitting atop the coffee table, carefully stabilizing it in his hand before readjusting his position to better accommodate for the new task. He sweetly removed the blue paci from Grian’s mouth and letting it hang from the clip.

Scooping up a bite of hot carrots with the spoon, he started waving the utensil in front of Grian’s face. “Here comes the airplane!” The imp created a “Brr” sound while moving the spoon closer to Grian’s mouth. “Say ah!” Impulse instructed as the “airplane” approached his lips.

Opening his jaw, Grian’s taste buds were soon consumed with a warm delicious flavor. He closed his eyes and hummed as he chewed on the soft food. When he swallowed the bite of carrots, Impulse gently combed through his messy hair. Grian sloppily flapped his wings to let out his happiness.

Another fresh spoonful of sweet potatoes and veggies was soon “flying” towards his lips, quickly being eaten up and enjoyed by the hungry fledgling. He licked up the bits that had missed his mouth before the next “airplane” took off, soaring directly into his munchy maw. This delicious game continued until the bowl was scraped clean of warm veggies and Grian’s stomach was warm and satisfied.

A napkin batted at the fledgling’s face, cleaning off the mess of stray crumbs and veggie juice. The nestling whined at the unwelcome fabric, scrunching up his face in defense; luckily, the napkin was quick to leave, done with its job.

“Good job, G!” Impulse praised. A ‘click’ was heard behind Grian’s head as the bib was removed from his neck. The avian went to bring his pacifier up to his mouth when Impulse nudged him lightly. “Are you thirsty, bud?” he asked. Grian blinked sleepily at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

The imp reached over to Scar, who passed his Grian’s baby bottle from his bag, and quietly handed the bottle to the little. Watching the water swish around inside, the fledgling realized how dehydrated he was. Lifting the teet to his lips, the baby quickly latched onto the nipple, suckling in sips of cold, refreshing water.

The bird relaxed into the imp’s arms–comfy and safe in this delicate care–slowly drinking his water while returning his attention to the cartoon playing on the TV. Body feeling properly hydrated and soothed, the little gently settled the bottle in his lap and placed his pacifier in his mouth, gnawing on the teet calmly.

On the illuminated screen, the cartoon characters went about their episodic shenanigans. Grian didn’t really bother paying any attention to the colorful canines–he could barely even keep his eyes open with how sleepy he was–merely subconsciously chewing on his pacifier and lazily flopping Floppy around in his hand. A large yawn made its way through his throat, making the sleepy boy drop his paci. He sleepily gaped at it before sleepily returning it to his lips.

The mentally older hermits, noticing his exhaustion, shared a glance at each other. Scar started “Hey, baby bird?” He reached his arm out and nudged Grian’s shoulder to get his attention. The baby bird barely had the energy to move his head to face him. “You tired?” Scar asked, already knowing the answer. If Grian wasn’t so deep in babyspace, he would have protested at assumption. Instead, he sleepily blinked at the vex, nodding while lazily rubbing his eyes.

A voice behind him spoke softly, “Well, it looks like it’s bedtime for this little one.” Impulse teased, getting ready to bring the little to bed.

Grian whined loudly, using the last of his energy to clumsily climb Impulse’s body to complain into his chest and cling to him sleepily. “Not bedtime.” he mumbled, sleep dripping from his words and melting his tired body.

“Well, at least take your anxiety meds, first.” Scar urged, passing over a small baggy that he’d packed to the also exhausted imp that held the avian. Impulse carefully took out one of the small white pills from the baggy and grabbed Grian’s water bottle in his other hand before gently nudging the whiny little in his arms. Grian wasn’t too pouty about taking his med, quickly swallowing the pill with a fresh gulp of water provided by the help of Impulse.

The little chick was so terribly sleepy, he was truly helpless when Impulse lifted him up- up- and away. Grian quietly protested as he was carried past the dozens of pictures hung in the hallway and into the dimly lit bedroom. But once he was settled sweetly into the bundle of soft blankets and squishy pillows, Grian grew quiet, growing too sleepy in the warm, low-light environment.

The nestling used all the strength that he could manage to limply grab at Impulse’s hand, begging him to stay. The imp fell for the puppy dog eyes, slipping into the bed with Grian and cuddling up close with the little. Grian, cozy in his cocoon, melted into the warmth that was Impulse, his kind caregiver. He snuggled into his arms and made small chirps as his eyes shut close.

As the tender kiss pressed to his forehead, Grian drifted off to sleepy town, content and cozy in his caregiver’s arms.

~ ~ ~

Notes:

This series has been months in the works. All chapters are around 5k words just like this chapter; I hope to upload them 1 chapter every 2 weeks.

This took so long to write, but I was so fixated on it I couldn’t stop writing. I made this almost entirely at school D: homework is for noobs anyway, fanfiction is for life B).

Hope you enjoyed :D! Feedback is appreciated, please leave any mistakes I may have made in the comments.

[irithyllians]

Some assorted Iri headcanons because Brandson Sanderson needs give me the good content but because he hasn’t yet done so I will make do:

The patterns they paint their skin with actually began as an imitation of natural singer skin patterns, and evolved from there over the years, before the origins were forgotten.

Said patterns are painted in a kind of semi permanent ink. Between Rosharan weather and perspiration from the hot climes, simple paint would not last long on the skin. The patterns are a language of sorts, and can tell a story, distinguish a tradesperson or social class, etc etc.

Their architecture + fashion in particular are reminiscent of Thailand and Ancient Greece.

Because the Iriali have yellow or gold eyes, dark eyes are considered rare and beautiful (though the more imperious, pure-blooded elite will not own to this)

IN GENERAL, compared to the Alethi, Iriali have longer features, and more angular eyes.

Greek accents 👌 (well, the Rosharan equivalent)

Because their metallic gold hair is a mark of pride, like many irl cultures, hair worn long and loose symbolises freedom and strength, while hair worn short or bound denotes subservience and inferiority.

It is fashionable to wear muted or solid colours that emphasise the metallic sheen of the skin. By extension, gold jewelry, favoured by the Rirans, is less popular among the elite of Iri because it competes too much with their hair and skin; silver, oxidised metals, corals, and semi-precious stones are preferred adornment for this reason. (Yes, I fully believe this race of gold people are utter snobs; big shock)

Much like Vorinism, how a person interprets and follows the One differs among the Iriali, and the One is not a unified religion. We have the example of the Iriali queen, who justifies the suffering of the people in war as being necessary for the One to experience. We have Ym who believes that because all beings are connected, all action should be taken to benefit individuals, and therefore the whole. There would probably be sects that believe each person must experience as many different ways of life as possible, to honour and add to the One. Some that justify cruelty and have brought the infliction or receiving of pain to a fine art, because they believe it to be a worthwhile addition to the One, etc.

One sect in particular believes all death to be wasteful and shameful to the One, and in order to avoid it, will find alternatives to execution when punishing a criminal. Removal of eyes, the tongue, limbs... anything that will allow them to live on and continue to experience for the One.

It is not uncommon for people that grieve their dead loved ones or heroes to sometimes do their utmost to imitate the deceased person, in values/mannerisms/day to day life, which is their way of honouring that person, and experiencing something they assume the One misses, now that the person is dead.

Royal advisors to all of the three monarchs of Iri are raised up and groomed to follow archaic Iriali traditions; lorekeepers to preserve tradition, and ensure the Iriali will continue as they always have, in order to eventually complete the Long Trail their ancestors began.

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

An Aside -- Beyond the World's End

"If, by some one-in-a-million chance, she is able to deepen her bond with her Master, that Master will gain immense power.

But it should be kept in mind that she is utterly different from humans, and is something abnormal.

Her compassion, her love -- is not meant to co-exist with humanity."

--

I find myself in a cave.

It's horribly dark, in here. Glancing down to my hands, they're already shaking. I can hear the faint movements of water about me -- the sounds of crashing waves, softly, from beyond the stone walls.

I find even breathing to be a struggle. As though there's something in the air that weaves its way into my lungs -- suffocating me.

...I take a breath in -- met with the horrid iron-like stench of blood.

Not met with anything else -- merely that, and that exclusively.

Blinking, I find my eyes burning, ever-so-slightly.

But even as my vision grew blurrier with time, even then, I could spot something moving --

--slithering--

--from the shadows.

"...Master."

...A familiar, deep, steely voice.

'Gorgon.' At a glance, and that alone, I knew full well where I stood.

Not as an ally, anymore. In this world -- a dream, I so believed -- I were now a victim.

More aptly --

"...Even you end up here. As had the others before you -- heroes seeking salvation from me, for the sake of the world. The world, and its people."

...The slithering grows closer. A face bows to meet me -- piercing purple eyes meeting my own in a piercing stare.

Even now, I already feel my limbs grow stiff.

"You are no fool, Master. And in this land here, you have your chance to play the hero. To bring me down -- realize what a mistake you've made. What a Pandora's Box you have opened by letting me free on this world." A blade drops at my feet. It's rusted, yet sharp -- a dual-ended longsword. My limbs free -- I pick it up, in a moment, as though I had no other option.

"...I propose upon you my mercy, Master. I have tolerated you enough to grant you this much. So make your decision." The woman slithers backwards, only a couple of paces.

"Face me, and defeat me -- and when your world is at peace, you will find no threat from me to destroy it all over again."

A smirk danced across her face, as the snakes gathered.

"Fail, and I will destroy it all. You included. My feast will be everlasting, dear Master -- you have never been an exception to this."

And not waiting for an answer --

--A laser fired down, scorching the Earth beneath me. Jumping leftwards, holding the blade's flat end in front of me, another blast razed the place my feet once stood on -- barely scrambling to land, I found myself met with another blast, jumping backwards to narrowly avoid its impact.

"You keep running, Master. Do you view yourself as incapable of defeating me?"

Her grin fades, only for a moment -- another blast, just as I took a hasty footstep right, setting aflame where I then stood.

"You know that answer as well as I do, Gorgon..!"

Another step left -- and with it, another place on the cave floor that now left itself a charred mess. The lady approaches, snapping her fingers -- another blast, forcing me to dodge forwards.

"You will have to make a strike eventually, Master. Do you desire to die without even inflicting a scratch on your killer?"

The stench in the air stifles my breath -- I cough, and she meets that with a beam I only barely step out of the way to avoid.

In front of me, only a step away, lay the Servant herself -- up close, her arms crossed, furrowing her brow. Her grin faltered, for a moment.

"...Master."

"--Damnit, this isn't..."

"If you do not kill me, I will kill you. If you cannot kill me, someone else will. Do you see what this means for you, Master?" Her hand reaches out -- towards me. My heartrate spikes -- despite the stuffiness of the air, I take a sharp breath in.

"You must kill me to stand a chance. You must defeat me to even have a hope of succeeding."

...And was she wrong?

As I stand there, this beast ready to annihilate me where I stand -- I realize.

I stand no chance.

If I cannot defeat Gorgon -- neither could I defeat anything else.

Even in our first meeting -- in Babylonia, that time ago -- I found her only the preparation for something far stronger than she could ever hope to be.

And in comparison -- the threats were sure to grow stronger than even the Beast herself.

...The woman's eyes slid down -- her mouth opening.

"...I shall curse you -- as you have cursed me. So melt away, in P--"

...In a moment, I found my wits.

That Mystic Code -- it shone, in a moment, and at that -- I found a rush.

Of yet-unseen strength -- a glimpse of the willpower I perhaps should've always had.

My vision went blank -- those seconds passed in hours, in years.

Each movement, each twitch --

--as I stabbed the blade directly, in one fell swoop--

--into the ground.

"--Master..?!"

It was a dream.

This, all within it -- was a dream.

Her desires to end the world remained. That, I was sure of.

And yet, her words spoke of something beneath what she'd said.

To defeat an opponent --

--...I didn't have to kill them.

She was far larger. But with that momentary burst, I threw myself headlong into her stomach -- winding her, preventing her from uttering the True Name of Pandemonium Cetus.

I tossed my arms around her -- using what little strength I had, tumbling to the ground, taking her by surprise -- taking her with me.

The Servant coughed, wincing slightly -- a moment taken glancing about, attempting to gather her bearings.

To decipher what happened.

"...Master. You are aware that you have lost."

"...I'm not a hero, Gorgon."

...The woman's eyes widened, the slightest bit.

"...I am weak. Worthless, even. I know I can't beat you in straight combat. Not alone. And... Despite it all..." ...I breathed out a soft sigh. Squeezed my eyes shut.

"...I know full well what you may do, when the end is in sight. That you might end everything, and me alongside it. It's probably the same for a lot of people here."

"...Master..?" "...Perhaps I'm selfish. --No... I am. I know that much. What I know of the world outside Chaldea isn't much... Only how cruel it is."

...I can hear her breathing. Slowly, shaking breaths.

"...This world can be made better. No matter what... Until the day that I end up here, at your hands, I..."

...

"...I want to be safe. Me, and those people that remain with kindness. Our close ones... Those few people who remain innocent."

"...And the rest, Master?" "...They can burn, for all I care."

...

"...You fool... I try to teach you a lesson, and yet you remain, saying things like that."

...I can hear a chuckle, from her. A hand rests itself on the back of my head.

"...I will kill you last, Master."

...Opening my eyes, just for a moment, I find myself met with a soft smile. The eyes of a predator -- staring me down, finding within me... something. A glint of recognition in her eyes -- the hand on my head, pushing me slightly forwards.

"...Yes. I will kill you last... And gently, indeed."

[maraudersftw]

Blueberry + Black + Bliss

Many thanks for this lovely prompt, anon! I'm sorry I suck at stopping under 1000 words.

Sweet Blue

Lily barreled down the stairs, massive package in hand, grin rampant over lips as excitement buzzed like a second skin around her.

The Gryffindor Common Room, bereft of occupants save for a few stragglers who’d decided to forgo some precious Sunday lie-in, flew by her periphery without garnering so much as an acknowledging scan as she skipped towards the Boys’ staircase. A foot had barely fallen onto the first step when she was halted unceremoniously by an amused call of her name.

“Oi, Evans!” his voice rang out, and she whipped her head around to spot a shock of black hair, smiling hazel eyes, lazy smirk. The sight of him, burrowed inside an armchair, instantly sent the thrum beneath her ribcage stuttering. “Off to accost some poor bloke this early in the morning? At least wait for the sun to rise fully, would you? Some of us need more time to collect our wit.”

She narrowed her eyes, thoughts clattering as she debated her next course of action. Futile as the pretence that she’d been on a path to accost someone who was not the boy in front of her was, it only took Lily another half-second to make the decision, step away from the staircase, and towards him. James’s gaze brightened infinitesimally, evidently pleased by the deviation.

“Don’t club in everyone else with yourself, Potter,” she remarked happily, rounding the couch to plop down on its unbelievable cushiness. “Not everyone’s as slow as you.”

He reached out one of those unfairly long arms to bridge the space between them and flick her nose. Lily held back the widening grin. “And there’s that cheek. Even at six in the morning.”

Rather than blush tellingly at the fondness he directed at her, she nodded at the pile of Transfiguration notes and books around him. “What’s this? James Potter studying on a Sunday? Am I dreaming?”

“Afraid of a little competition?” he threw back, fire glinting off glasses. “Don’t worry, Evans, you’ll still beat me in Charms and Potions.”

For a second, the golden glaze of the sun hitting his hair from the window behind stole the words from her tongue, the breath from her lungs. Prompted by James’s prolonged stare, a warmth blossomed on her cheeks, bringing back some sense. “I’d beat you in DADA too.”

“Ha! You can dream.”

“I don’t make it a habit to dream about you, Potter.”

“That makes one of us,” he said, completely unabashed.

Lily fairly choked on that honesty, muscles tightening near her clavicle with strange breathlessness. “You dream about yourself? Takes the narcissism to new heights.”

James cocked a brow, but let her deliberate misunderstanding of the phrase slide. “Technically, everyone dreams about themselves.”

“Ugh, it’s too early for this,” she groaned, sliding her legs into a fold on the couch, fluffy warm pyjamas keeping the December chill at bay. “I was going to your dormitory for a purpose, you know?”

James instantly leaned forward, pleased and making no effort to hide it. “You were coming to see me?”

“To see all of you,” she mumbled like a coward. Perhaps there was also some lie interlaced in there, because he’d certainly been the reason she’d felt an extra jauntiness during her excursion. Not willing to impart that particular knowledge, Lily held out the package to him. “Open it.”

Curiosity creased his brows, smile never waning. “What’s this?”

“Open it, you impatient tosser.”

James grumbled something about ‘mean harpies posing as Head Girls’ and ‘no appreciation for those of curious minds’ while carefully unwrapping the package, all of which Lily soundly ignored in favour of vibrating with anticipation. When the last of the brown wrapping paper fell away, she squealed at the pink box that was revealed, full with a glossy sheen and pretty prints and designs; exactly the way she remembered it.

James looked at her, back at the box, then at her again. Eventually, amusement had his lips pinching together. “If I don’t find at least two dragon eggs inside this, I’ll be disappointed.”

“It’s something even better, I promise!” She wiggled her palms, urging him to open the box.

When he finally popped open the lid, Lily found herself under the very real threat of toppling to the floor, so far had she leaned forward. Eager green eyes spotted the dozen or so confectionaries that sat cheerily inside, miraculously undisturbed during their journey across England. “They’re blueberry muffins!” she informed giddily. “I requested mum to send across some from this bakery in my hometown.”

James’s smile softened as he looked inside the box, so much so that when he turned his eyes to her again, the gold in them had melted into a warm honey. “You do get blueberry muffins here too, you know,” he said kindly, voice fond.

“I know, but those are just imposters. These are the real deal. Take a bite, go on. I can bet you’ll be kissing my feet in thanks.”

“Do I have to kiss your feet? Can't it be something else?”

Her heart bloated dangerously. “James.”

“Only kidding,” he chuckled, reaching inside dutifully and picking out a muffin. At her incessantly exaggerated prompting, he made a show of rolling his eyes before finally biting into the spongey cake. It was bizarre, but Lily could swear she felt flavours blue and sweet burst on her own tongue when James moaned aloud, eyes scrunched in bliss as he chewed.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck,” he whispered in disbelief after swallowing, staring down at the remaining muffin as if it had personally offended him by not being available before. “What the actual fuck?”

“I told you!” she crowed, smirking openly without a hint of modesty. “Isn’t it just the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”

“Merlin, I might cry.” He blinked, grinning at her. “Give me those feet, Evans.”

Lily’s smirk dimmed, veins strangely suffused with molten courage instead of blood as she reached forward and plucked the box from James’s lap, setting it aside on the table. The distressed cry he let out died abruptly when she looked at him again, face serious.

“Will my lips do?”

James froze, eyes wide, muffin forgotten in hand. “Lily,” he warned, voice low. “Don’t. Not if you’re still thinking—not if you’re not sure.”

Her fingers found his free hand, ran over the warm palm breezily. “I’m sure,” she confessed, lashes fluttering as she stared at his Quidditch-given calluses. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but—I’m sure now.”

“Look at me.”

She did.

James’s eyes were aflame, even as his breath remained tempered. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” She bit her lip. “I want you to kiss me. I want to eat that muffin, and then I want you to take me to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

A beat passed. And then she found his hand snaking around her wrist, tugging her forward until she sloppily stumbled over to his armchair and right into his recently vacated lap. Distantly, she registered that they had an audience���however meagre—but she’d truly never cared less.

“Good plan,” James whispered, tossing the rest of the muffin into the box. Lily didn’t even feel inclined to chastise him for messing up the presentation, because he was gripping her waist the next second, pulling her closer until his nose brushed hers tenderly. “Always the perfect answer, Miss Evans.”

“Shut up,” Lily laughed, cradling his head, pulling him forward.

Their lips met, mouths opened, and blue and sweet burst on her tongue.

[billythecryptid]

Braiding Kieran’s Hair (Smut) Female

Literally just gonna start posting these half written shit shows because they are just crowding up my documents. Some of these I might go back to but like this one I am so sick of Re-reading and editing and fixing, like I just don’t care, have it! 

Kieran requests something from you, but don’t worry he has a little something to give back. 

OR

I saw a porno where a girl braided her boyfriends hair while he ate her out and this was all I could think about the entire time....

--------

Kieran watched as your fingers moved deftly through your horse's mane making thin neat braids, hands moving impossibly fast, but most delicately. As you finished up the last one your horse turned nuzzling you fondly then snorting in your face causing you to laugh as you leaned in to kiss her nose.  Kieran loved that laugh, loved the way you treated your horse so kindly, loved you. When you looked over, catching him staring he blushed but held your gaze strolling over. You smiled as you wiped at your face with your sleeve. 

“Why Mr. Duffy I didn’t see you over there, how are you this fine morning?” you reach your hand out towards him and he takes it in his bringing it to his lips kissing your knuckles.

“Much better now that I’ve found you,” he smiles, enjoying the blush that comes over your cheeks. “Not that it’s hard,” he teases, reaching over to pat your horse in greeting before going over to say good morning to his own. “This is your first stop every morn-” he stops mid-sentence as he takes in the intricate pattern you’ve braided into Branwen’s mane. He gently runs his shaky fingers over it. “I swear you spoil my horse just as much as you spoil me, if not more.” You laugh then smile bashfully as a thought comes to you, you look down at your feet as you take a step closer. 

“Well I certainly do not give him quite the same kind of attention,” you place your hand on his chest  and peer up into his eyes. His face goes crimson as you lick your lips before leaning up to kiss him. You let your hands trail down his sides, gripping at his hips as he cups your face and deepens the kiss. “And besides…” you moan as he moves to kiss the side of your neck. “They don’t thank me the way you do.” Kieran laughs a hot breath into your neck and goosebumps spread down your arms.

“Ay! Ay! Ay!” Javier shouts as he strolls into the corral area. “Not by the horses! Sal de aquí!” 

“What?” Kieran jumps pulling back as you let out a laugh. 

“He said get out of here, and you know I think he has the right idea.” You smirk giving Javier a wink before taking Kieran’s hand and leading him towards your tent. 

“You want me to braid your hair?” you ask confused. He nods but bites his lip nervously shifting from foot to foot. “Well of course I will I just thought you wanted to-”

“There’s more,” he mumbled to his feet. 

“More?”

“To it, more to it… I want…” his face gets hot and his ears grow bright red. You furrow your eyebrows but give him a gentle smile. 

“You don’t have to be shy with me,” you reach for his hand but he shakes his head.

“I’ll just show you.” He slowly drops to his knees before you and you furrow your eyebrows breath hitching when he shuffles forward placing his hands on your thighs, firmly guiding them apart. You try to help him pull your skirts up, but grow frustrated standing to pull the fabric out from underneath you and wrestle it off over your head. Kieran’s hands slide up your legs until they reach the waistband of your bloomers. He pulls them down, waiting for you to sit so he can get them off from around your ankles.  Next he reaches over to the upturned crate by your bed to retrieve your comb and a leather hair tie, handing them to you, eyes lustily looking up into yours. He shuffles closer pushing your legs just far enough for him to be able to bury his face between them. You let out a startled gasp jerking back a little at the feel of his tongue brushing your clit so firm and direct. You realize he wants you to braid his hair and immediately feel your wetness and arousal grow. You let him continue for a moment, stroking your fingers through his hair, enjoying the tease of pleasure he was giving you.  Then you squeezed your legs and urged him to sit back up. He looked up confused, his large eyes peering up into yours like a hungry little puppy dog. You can't help but laugh fondly, leaning down to kiss the look off his face. 

“Don’t worry, I just need to get in a better position,” you coo, urging him back a little so you can lean back against the crate. He begins again, slow and teasing, and you hum in pleasure. It’s just enough to satisfy you but not too much that you are unable to focus. “Just like that,” you groan before you reach for the comb and tie. His hands tighten where they grip at your ass and hip his voice causing pleasant sensations as he lets out a pleased hum when the comb slips through his hair. 

“O-one braid or t-two, oh God baby,” you pause hand burying deeply in his hair as he does something particularly wicked with his tongue. He does it two more times before he goes back to his lazy lapping. “I can’t focus when you do that.”

“Two,” he hums against you, eyes peering up at you. You bite your lip, thighs clenching around his shoulders, his sideburns brushing and tickling, teasing your most intimate places. You smooth his hair back down, combing and parting it, your hands trembling slightly. You begin to braid the first side. He makes an obscene slurping sound that sets your face aflame, the low smoldering pleasure in your gut grows, your legs trembling as you try to keep them open. His tongue swipes down at your entrance, teasing as he moans once more into your sex. You can only let out small gasping moans hands stilling for a moment as you near the end of his braid and you have to tilt his head down, burying his face into you more. 

As you start the second one you falter, the hair slipping from your shaking hands, fingers numb from the pleasure. He peers up at you and you groan tightening your hold in his hair before you are cursing him as he pulls off, just enough to gasp out with a small cocky smirk,

“Is this too much?” he licks another teasing stripe. “You don’t have to finish-'' you push his face back down and feel him smile against you. As you near the end of his last braid you feel his fingers slide in and almost drop it. He buries two of his long digits right up to his palm. You squirm slicking his hand with your juices. 

“Almost there, almost there,” you gasp. “All done.” 

At your words he pulls up so he can kiss you, fingers working you towards a quick approaching climax.You fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him in place as you cry into your heated kiss, walls clenching around his fingers, he whines back like he’s the one receiving all the pleasure and you bite his lip in appreciation. 

The two of you were eating together at the edge of camp at a small table when Arthur strolled over slapping Kieran on the back, “Those are some mighty fine braids you have got going on over there Mr. Duffy.”

“Uh Th-Thanks Mister,” Kieran squeaked turning beet red, darker than you had ever seen him blush before, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat and ducking his head lower. “It was the Missus.”

“Oh I know,” Arthur winked with a smirk looking between the two of you, his voice dropping low and sultry. “Next time my hair is long enough, I’ll be sure to seek out your services.” 

“Sure but I will have you know I don’t do nothing without a little compensation Mister Morgan,” you tease, locking eyes with the outlaw standing above you, however some of your false bravado wavers as he leans down resting his elbows on the table  so his face is level with both you and Kieran’s. His voice comes out in a rumbling murmur, gritty with intent,

“Why I am sure you will find I have it in my abilities to compensate the both of you very well for your time and efforts.” Then in a blink he gives your chin a gentle cuff and one of Kieran’s braids an equally as gentle tug before turning and striding off. You both watch him go before turning back to each other red faced, simultaneously bursting into a kind of uncertain but tension relieving laughter.

[shinagawa-division]

Sumire’s Thoughts on Edogawa Division

Yuriko Kuromiya

She whistled. “The Black Dahlia herself, coming to grace us with her deadly presence!” She then burst out laughing, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So you were a big scary assassin, so what. We have, like, four of those already so excuse me for not being as impressed as other people. Though, unlike the rest of them, she seems to actually have the skills to back it up so hey, maybe she’ll actually be entertaining to watch.”

Kaoru Shinozaki

The anarchist had a blank look on her face, her usually aflame gray eyes now empty as she stared at the hacker’s photo. “Delphi.” She bluntly said. “A born genius with a tragic past and now uses her given talents to tear down society and burn the world into a crisp….sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” She smirked but then frowned.

“You have no idea how much it pisses me off to hear people say that we’re soooo much alike when it is so obvious that we are not the same. Because for one, I’m actually doing something to change and help the world while she just sits on her ass and fucks up everything, she might have the brains and skills but that is about as far as she has got going for her, we’ve never interacted aside from a few run ins with each other but we have this unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s way.” She shakes her head as she chuckles, a strained grin on her face. “Though, she’s coming real close to breaking that agreement, too many times I have found her sticking her nose where it shouldn’t be and I am this close to fucking losing it. So I’m going to say this right now; Kaoru “Delphi” Shinozaki, stop pussyfooting around and actually confront me you coward. We’re gonna settle who’s the deadlier spider at the DRB.”

Kanra Akemi

She blinks once, twice. “Kanra? Wow, did not think I would see her again. Aranai did tell me about her though it doesn’t really compare to actually meeting the girl, I kinda owe her one after she dealt with a group of assholes that were trying to get with me even though I’m happily taken.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyways, Kanra came in and beat the guys to a fucking pulp, I actually had to stop her before she did something irreversible but I was more impressed with her strength, I automatically knew that she was one of us…what do I mean by that? Well, that’s a secret.” She made a “shush” motion with her pointer finger. “After that, we hanged out, made our own fun, though I was actually studying her the whole time. Unfortunately, we got arrested then Miho bailed me out and that was the last time I saw of her. Nice to know she’s still alive.”

Wicked Requiem

“I don’t really care about the other two but I meant what I said about Kaoru, I told both Ritsuko and Miho that should we go against this team, they can take on Yuriko and Kanra but I want Kaoru all to myself. People are just dying to know who’s the best hacker and I’m finally gonna shut them up and both send them and Kaoru a message: Try to step on my turf and you’d best be ready to go to fucking war.”

[diary-of-an-onliner]

lifelines [g.w.]

hi! first fic, pls be nice!

word count: 2300

warnings: none

After Gryffindor turned the tides at the last second, winning the second most important game of the season after a massive setback in the first hour, the celebrations raged harder than ever. Since Hufflepuff had beaten Slytherin to the ground two days ago, the path towards the Cup was clear. Angelina was sitting on the couch, having passed the point of looking pleased long ago, and now seemed almost frazzled by the result. People came up to her periodically, clapping her shoulder or topping off her drink, directing the buzzing energy of the common room straight into her.

Truly, the atmosphere was phenomenal, the stolen food and drinks from the kitchens juicer and a little more spiked than usual. Or maybe it was the sunlight still streaming through the windows as strongly as ever despite the past gloomy week. Whatever it was that made the day so electrically happy for everyone, it showed no signs of stopping.

This type of unrestrained feeling you always imagined started from the back of your head as s little star-like scribble that cast a net over you and spread the intensity throughout. This week it was stronger than it has been in a while.

You felt electric in the stands as you yelled for your team, an invisible line ripping the words from your throat before you even knew you were saying them. You felt elated as your housemates put their hands around you in delight, screaming themselves sore when they announced the winner. And you were feeling the happiness in your hair now, in every single strand from root to end as it swayed along with the bottle in your hand.

This was happy. This was joyful. This was utterly buttery in your chest and electric in the air.

You idly looked around the red and orange common room, which burned with excitement, deciding how to best spend this time before it runs out on Umbridge's watch and she ruins it.

No. No wasting thoughts on her today. She sucked enough life out of you and your housemates this year, she won't be doing it off the clock too.

Your eyes settled on possibly one of the strongest sources of this warmth - George Weasley, sitting on the arm of the couch next to his brother. The window behind him silhouetted him in gold perfectly, like the sun offered him to you. It accented how attractive he was, even if he burned a little at the top.

You've connected eyes before, talked before, even bantered. One wittier than the other every odd day, you toed the line between acquaintances and friends perfectly. Seeing as he's very popular, catching him in-between conversations was a matter of luck.

You imagined a line going from the center of your chest to his as you approached him. He pensively looked to the side, observing some goings-on on the far end of the room as you interrupted him.

"That was a good game. You got some very nice shots in," you said.

He turned to you with a mild close-mouthed 'hm', a look, and then a grin.

"You sure it was me?" he cocked his eyebrow and look at Fred on the couch next to Angelina, bumping knees with her and accepting congratulations in both of their names.

"You wear different numbers, genius. I know how to count this time."

"And you have my number memorized," he said, his voice glad.

"That would've been a great line if you were a Muggle."

"Pity, I already chose a magical career." he took a sip of his butterbeer and eyed you up, "Maybe I should start using my magical lines on you. Would those work better?" his eyes widened and his tone turned innocent at the end.

"I think I know too much anti-jinxes for that."

He pursed his lips in amusement. "Alright. What would work on you then?"

"Oh, I find responsibility and appropriacy really hot." you shot back, twirling a piece of your happy, charged up hair.

"Contradiction too," he said, "since you're still here."

"I find contradiction a natural state of the human soul, thus if I wasn't contradicting myself, I wouldn't fully be here."

"Hm. Brainy." he chuckled.

"Judgy. If you need me to simplify you can just say so."

"I think I can handle your smart mouth just fine."

"Then why am I winning?"

"I didn't realize this was a competition."

"Rookie mistake." you shook your head dramatically.

"I'm pretty sure it's a rookier mistake to assume you're winning. Who's the judge?"

"My innate inner sense of whether I'm winning or not."

"If it's inside you, then how would one file a complaint concerning an unfair ruling?"

"They wouldn't. It's a noble and just system that decided I'm in the lead. You just need to accept the truth."

"Don't make me come in there," he said, smirking good-naturedly.

"In where?" you shot back.

"In you." his smirk held on for a second before he seemed to realize what he said and his face scrunched up in apologetic laughter.

Your mind slipped into the gutter the way new yorkers fall into sinkholes filled with rats - hilariously fast.

Albeit greatly amused, he started to correct himself, "I didn't mean-"

"No, of course not." you licked your lips, "I understood you the first time " Was karma going to bite you in the ass for that lie? Who knows, but you might even be into that. Everything seems possible when the sun is shining. So he shone.

He grinned with his happy mouth and you once again noted how the light from the window behind him silhouetted him in the golden lining that made him look like a cutout glued onto the scene of this funny collage. His hair was aflame and his face was darker from the shadows but just as loudly burning with laughter.

This was happy.

You drew the word in your mind, line by line. H, a smooth move from the bottom, a decorative loop, then a parallel stroke, and a transversal. A, a circle with a tail, sharp move upward, and an even sharper drop for the backbone of p. P's tummy? Bulge? Nope, your mind shouldn't slip there in the middle of Binns’ class, no matter how boring he was. Another p, as George's knee bumped into yours. He was moved from "Mr. Wester, Phillip." for being disruptive, so he engaged in an under-the-table kind of disruption with his new tablemate.

You smiled. A long diagonal line, and another shorter one that cut into it. Y.

Happy.

You were, truly, right now. It sounded upside down to be happy though, both overall and when stuck in a soul-suckingly draining class, but you were.

George read over your shoulder, then audaciously engaged in over-the-table elbow-bumping-disruption and a cocked eyebrow. You straightened up, feeling a warm line unfold from the back of your head to the core of your brain, through the center of your chest, and straight to your stomach. Your happy line.

I'm happy, you mouthed.

Really? He mouthed back sarcastically yet good-naturedly. I can definitely see why. His eyes darted toward the professor. I say go for it, he's a catch. You might even be his type.

You burst out laughing, then immediately bit your lip. A few students, including Philip, looked at you as you shook with laughter, but professor Binns carried on.

George, on the other hand, shrugged with his shit-eating grin, pretending he has no idea why you were laughing, thus letting everyone know why you were laughing.

You scribbled, I don't know. What if it goes badly. I'd hate to be ghosted.

George raised his eyebrows at the Muggle slang you explained before. His hand slipped next to yours on the table and you felt your happy line thrum in approval. His hand was warm as he gently pressed it to yours, slowly took your quill, and scribbled back: Need someone more physical, huh? And I thought you were the romantic type.

Strong words for someone who never bought me dinner, you replied.

Mhm, as soon as I find a good line get you to agree to it.

Keep writing like that and I'll start thinking you fancy me.

Keep your mind in the gutter and I'll start thinking you don't fancy me back. He accented that line with a wink and an overdramatic lip bite.

You pouted sarcastically at him. Of course not, I only want you for your knobby knees.

He chuckled, reminded of the short line of warmth that connected your knees under the table. He pressed his into yours a little stronger, then pulled away.

That's a funny way of flirting. I'd know, I'm an expert at funny.

Self-proclaimed.

Untrue.

And I'm not flirting. If I was, you'd know it.

Would you? your breath hitched. For reasons you very well knew but refused to sound out to yourself, this short sentence drove the air around you two from joking to serious at breakneck speed.

Know if you were flirting with me? your happy line felt jumbled up in your stomach. He smiled at you.

Would you know if you were flirting with me?

The following week was arduous.

Gryffindors had a record amount of detentions, and Snape tore into them any and every chance he could. Even McGonagall was one edge, meaning lousy or missed homework was a death sentence. You forgot how to read from tiredness, submitting essays patchworked of other people's thoughts without ever having any information pass through your head. Everything was dull, gray, and dragged out.

Despite that, outside the castle the sky was blue and sunlight streamed through the soft clouds and a sweet breeze would blow around aimlessly. It was both comforting and a little mocking. The sky should be as exhausted and as beaten down as you. Good to know stress made you compare yourself to a literal sky. But maybe that's a little cruel. Nevertheless, it sounded like nature itself was turning its nose up at you, saying you're selfish for wanting grey skies, she doesn't care, she's above puny human affairs. The world turns and you have to turn with it or stop, then spend the rest of the time catching up.

You haven't stopped yet, but by all that is holy, you wanted to sleep. As the sun finally descended on a Friday after dinner, you finished your essays in hope that the next week might be kinder if you do everything quickly. The common room was dark, most of the light coming from the fire in the fireplace. It was also oddly empty for nine-thirty in the evening. Apparently, everyone had the same week as you.

Your almost finished essay laid on the table as you dozed, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of your armchair.

The creak of the portrait opening caught your attention, and George Weasley walked in a second later, rubbing his sore hand and cussing.

Truly everyone had a shitty week.

"Love?" you said teasingly.

He looked up at you with a tired grin.

"It's late."

"Not really. You okay?"

"Nothing I can't handle, love." he sighed, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"Can I see?" you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Again, the firelight licked at the lines of his face, clear and sharp. He had circles under his eyes and a heavily nibbled lip.

"It's nothing." still, George raised his hand. "Love." he added, distantly. He seemed to be staring right above your head. You looked at the middle line of his lips again. You imagined him biting it.

Was it him that bit it? That one hurt. You hoped it was him.

You took his hand in your and rubbed circles into his knuckles. His eye winced.

"I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault."

"What happened?" he closed his eyes.

"Two ickle firsties almost brought the wrath of Umbridge into themselves with some dungbombs. You know how it goes," he said, a corner of his lip tugging upwards. Your chest expanded looking at him being satisfied with himself. As he should be.

"How... responsible of you," you said.

His eyes snapped downwards to yours.

"Keep looking at me like that and I might also start being appropriate too, darling."

You stepped closer, your happy line thrumming against your chest like a quivering violin string.

"What if being responsible is enough?"

"Enough for what?" he breathed out before you pressed yourself against him.

At first, that's was it was - a press of two warm lips. Then he started to move slowly, almost gentlemanly. How appropriate.

As he touched you, you felt the daze of last week lift. The little star scribble on the back of your head lit up, pulsing with brightness rather than fogging your thought. This was clear, you felt his every stroke that made up his face and chest and hands. The scribble of happiness extended itself into a web, overtaking your brain - you could feel it and you wondered if he saw it too when he looked at you. You pulled away and lifted your head to check. Probably not, but his eyes were glassy and he gave you a dopey smile. He was glad you were there. You pressed your lips against his again. You were glad he was there too.

The web continued down your neck, arms and chest, into your legs until your toes buzzed with light coursing through you. You were more awake than you have been in a long time.

Your hands were the brightest of all, and as you touched his hands, connecting them fingertip to fingertip, things made sense. The web buzzed and his breath was warm against yours, hands pulsing with energy as your every lifeline connected into his.

[chxrrysangel]

Stark Tea Time

Summary || Morgan Stark drags Bucky to one of her legendary tea parties, Sam leaving him to drown in pink fluff and glitter.

Warnings || Bucky actually smiles

You do not have permission to post my work anywhere else

“Lay up Cyborg, live a little. It’s not like I’m gonna di—”

“Look! Sam, I drew something for you!”

The two men’s attention is diverted from their conversation as little Morgan Stark comes barreling down the hallway, paper flapping in one hand and an assortment of crayons in the other. Her hair is covered in little butterfly clips, strands adorned with a wide array of colors from the chalk dye strewn across her cherry wood floors. She’s wearing a massive tutu, dressing to the 9s in a blue ballerina costume.

Sam smiles at the little girl, always excited to see what she has to offer. Ever since Tony passed, all of the Avengers men have taken on a father-like role towards the child, always making sure she feels loved and cared for. It’s the least they can do.

He bends down to her eye level, giving her his full attention. The smile on Sam’s face is in complete contrast to the grimace adorning Bucky’s features.

“What’s up sweetheart? Whatcha got?”

The little Stark giggles in excitement, overjoyed to see her two favorite Avengers come to see her again. They’re always quite busy, saving the world and everything. So each visit is quite meaningful to her. They’ll never replace Tony, but they ensure that his memory and love for Morgan is something she’ll never lack. They’d all die before that happens, and she knows that.

She takes the drawing from behind her back and lays it out for both of them to see. It resembles some sort of bird-like figure, Sam thinks to himself. Next to it is a robot-type figure, not failing to notice the frown etched into his features with a Crayola marker. Shaking with excitement, the little Stark looks at the two men expectantly.

“What is it?”

Morgan sighs loudly, annoyed by their stupidity and lack of “artistic vision”. The two men have yet to figure out where she learned such a concept.

“It’s you guys! Duh!” Their mouthes form into an ‘o’ shape in understanding.

“Well it’s stunning. It’s absolutely beautiful Morg. You know, I might have frame this one actually. When you become a famous painter, this is gonna be worth so much money!” Morgan squeals, jumping around excitedly as Sam praises her.

“I think it’s kind of ugl—” Sam cuts him off by sending a small electrical current to Bucky’s arm, causing him to hunch over in pain as he’s being electrocuted.

“What he was trying to say is that it’s very avant-garde, meaning unique in the art world. Don’t worry little Stark, it’s a good thing.” Sam smiles at her encouragingly, hoping Terminator’s harsh words back there wash over her. She nods in understanding, James’s words already long forgotten.

The two men attempt to continue their conversation from before, discussing details about their next mission. There’s a hostage situation in the Palace of Westminster, the perpetrators threatening to blow the whole thing up with everyone in it. But before they can really strategize how to scope out the place, Sam feels a tap on his leg.

“Yes princess?”

“Can you guys come to my tea party?”

“Actually Morgan, we have to go so—” Bucky starts to say before being rudely cut off my bird-man to his left. Sam shoot daggers in his partner’s direction and the words die in his throat.

“Actually, I have to go take care of something really quickly. But Bucky can join you.” At those words, Bucky’s head jolts in his direction, giving Sam one of the meanest looks he’s probably ever seen. But the big man is all bark and no bite, so Sam just laughs in his face. Bucky’s fists tighten at his sides, thinking of all the ways he plans to torture and murder Sam when they leave the Stark house.

Morgan, on the other hand, is practically bursting at the seams. Bucky doesn’t know this, but he’s her favorite of all the Avengers, especially because his titanium arm reminds her of her dad’s suit. She feels closer to him when she’s with Bucky. Plus, they’re both kinda stoic, but it’s only an act in her eyes. She knows that deep down, he has a heart of gold.

Morgan takes Bucky by the hand, dragging him down the hallway back to her room. Meanwhile, Bucky looks back at Sam, pleading for some kind of mercy or aid. Sam, of course, provides no such thing and only cackles at his best friend’s misfortune. He says goodbye to Pepper, promising to be back once he finishes talking to Torres.

Meanwhile in a certain Stark’s bedroom…

Morgan bounced from corner to corner of her large bedroom, capturing all of the items she needs for this special occasion. It’s not often she has a guest for her weekly tea parties, let along James Buchanan Barnes of all people. She has to make a good impression if he’s ever going to come back.

Standing like a dark looming giant,surrounded by tiny chairs and more pink and purple than he’s ever seen, Bucky is clearly out of his element. At 6’0 tall, he stands taller than anything in this room, standing neck and neck with the canopy bed in the middle. Morgan doesn’t take notice of his discomfort however, she’s just happy to have him. She whips around him, gathering her stuffed animals at the table and setting up the placemats for each guest.

Almost as if having an epiphany, the mini Stark girl gasps and runs out the bedroom, yelling that she’ll be right back. Bucky wanders around the room, taking notice of all the little trinkets and toys that he, along with the rest of the team, gifted to her over time. His lips contort into a ghost of a smile, reminiscing all the times Morgan screamed for joy every time they came bearing gifts. The gifts didn’t really matter to her, though. It was just their presence that set her heart into cardiac arrest and her cheeks aflame. They were her family.

Not soon after, Morgan returns dragging a more normal sized chair into her room. Bucky is surprised at this action, as the small girl is barely breaking a sweat. That is, until he noticed the two small gadgets attached the back of the chair, marked with Tony’s insignia. So little Stark is smart, just like her dad.

Morgan sets the chair down next to her own pink, fluffy and bedazzled throne at the head of the table. She sits down, motioning Bucky to take a seat and calls the tea party into session. Bucky’s eyes wander over the pristinely white tabletop, taking in the wide assortment of snacks. From shortbread, frosted oatmeal cookies, to cheeseburgers and mini sandwiches, you name it and she’s got it. The baked goods are Pepper’s doing of course, courtesy of her daily afternoon attempts to become the next Martha Stewart. Morgan doesn’t mind at all, eager to indulge in a daily sugar high as the designated guinea pig.

“Tea?,” the child offers, “it’s raspberry, your favorite.” James can’t help but blush as her consideration of his tastes. For a kid, she’s a pretty decent host. He quickly covers up his blush by coughing and nods firmly.

After filling up the China tea cups lined up around the table, Morgan moves towards introductions. “Bucky, these are my friends. There’s Mr.Whiskers, Genevieve, Fae, Natasha, Tony, and James. They’re very happy to have you here with us. They think you look quite nice today.”

James? As in… Bucky can’t help but blush again, honored that Morgan named one of her beloved stuffed animals after him. He smiles shyly, staring at the lavender Elephant across the table. The girl doesn’t fail to notice his smile, happy that he’s happy.

“So James, how do you feel about glitter?”

~~~

The doorbell rings sometime around 7:00, just after sunset. Pepper opens the door to a smiling Sam, carrying a mysterious box by his side. He just left Torres house, the two men agreeing to scope out the place just before dawn when everyone is still sleeping. That way, they can get a good picture of what it looks like on the inside without having to use night vision technology.

“What’s in the box?”

“Lemon Merengue. For Morgan.” Lemon Merengue is Morgan’s favorite dessert. So by bringing her some, Sam hopes that she’ll forgive him for taking a rain check on one of her illustrious tea parties.

“They’re still down the hall.” Pepper points in the direction of mini Stark’s room, before returning to her baking. Tonight, she’s trying devil’s food cake.

Even from down the hall, Sam can hear the chatting of two distinct voices, a deep scratchy one and a much higher, daintier tone. He shakes his head at Morgan’s complete lack of an inside voice when she’s excited. They must be having a blast in there.

To Sam’s surprise, Bucky actually seems to be enjoying himself. He stands in the doorframe, watching the two chat back and forth while a Disney movie soundtrack plays in the background. From the distinct piano, Sam recognizes Beauty & the Beast (also one of Morgan’s favorites).

Sitting down obediently, Bucky gives Morgan his full attention as she places puffy stickers on his titanium arm and adds little doodles to his real one. He smiles as he watches her drawing a picture of the two of them with princess tiaras and feather boas, just like they are now. She babbles away, telling him the details of the movie she wants them to watch together. It’s called Tangled, he learns.

Sam decides to leave the two alone, going back to help Pepper bake in the kitchen. Although, not before snapping a picture of the two together, reminding himself to print it and put it on the fridge. He knows that Pepper isn’t exactly the kindest person to be in the kitchen with, as she is very bossy and demanding. But he’d take that over ruining this special moment in the princess-themed room down the hall.

He can still hear the faint giggles and screams of Morgan, this time begging Bucky to stop tickling her. She pleads for mercy but he refuses to budge, only making her laugh harder and her giggles to bounce off the walls like they’re in an echo chamber. And to think, he was gonna say no earlier.

[realcube]

nurse’s office || tobio kageyama x reader

summary: you visit your boyfriend - tobio kageyama - in the nurse’s office after hinata spiked a ball directly at his face

tw// blood, swearing, mentions of violence 

You rushed down the hallway, jacket half on and half waving around as a cape behind you while still stuffing your supplies from the previous class into your handbag as you ran. 

Yes, ran. One of the hall monitors tried to get you to slow down by shoving their arm out in front of your path but you simply swerved them; nothing was going to stop you from getting to your stupid blueberry boyfriend. 

Also, the fact that you were mad too made your expression ten times more threatening and dark so if the hall monitor did somehow get you stop, he would’ve immediately regretted it.  

Your all-around aggressive demeanour was probably the reason that girls like Yachi were simping for you and boys like Hinata shat their pants whenever you were in a 10 foot radius of them. And due to your need to constantly make snarky remarks - yet the paired with the inability to receive them without getting your feelings hurt - it was almost inevitable that you’d end up with someone like Kageyama.

Eventually, you reached the door of the nurse office; a place that was all too familiar as you’d sit in there for hours holding and icepack to your bloody nose or your black eye after getting in another fight with some braindead scum who tried to two-time one of your friends - which was a shamefully often occurrence. 

You chapped on the door; not something you’d usually do but you’d rather knock than walk in during his check-up. “Bakeyama..” You grumbled, pulling out a pocket mirror from your purse to check if you had ruined your lipgloss - which you hadn’t. “Can I come in?”

It took a moment but then you were finally greeted by the angelic noise of Kageyama groaning from the other side of the door, “Eh, no. Go away.” 

You giggled, a sweet smile graced your perfectly glossed lips as you shoved your pocket mirror away, pushing the door open as you sung in your best ‘lovely girlfriend’ voice, “I’m coming in, baby.” Which resulted in you immediately being met by Kageyama roaring, “Boke! I said go away!”

You rolled your eyes, slipping through the doorway and promptly closing it behind you, your expression immediately dropping into a frown as you realised Kageyama was in a situation you were quite familiar with. He was sitting on the ‘bed’ - which was in fact a regular duo school desk with a duvet and pillow on it - with tissues sticking out from his bleeding nostrils. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, king - it’s not like you haven’t seen mine like..a hundred times.” 

Kageyama didn’t understand most things but your statement especially perplexed him, “Seen what a hundred times? Your panties?” That was the most obvious conclusion he could come to but if that was what you meant - as much as he wished it was - it wouldn’t be true. 

His question precipitated a burst of heat to erupt on the tips of your ears, slowly flowing from there to cover your cheeks, leading to you hiding your face with your hands in embarrassment, “Stupid! No! I meant my bloody nose!” 

Kageyama nodded, unable to stifle a laugh at how cute you looked while flustered, “Ah, okay.” He hummed, trying to admire your blushing face but your hands shielding his view made it a challenge. “I like your nails.”

You paused, removing your hands from your face and turned them around to look at your plain, unmanicured nails. You shot your boyfriend a puzzled look, “Huh? But they’re not even done.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Kageyama sighed, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. “I just wanted you to move your hands so I could see your face.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows, about to give him a scolding for not applying those sort of problem solving skills to his schoolwork but he began speaking again before you even got the chance to open your mouth, “How did you even know I was here?”

You hummed in thought before pulling out your phone, inputting your PIN then opening IMessage to show Kageyama the texts that Hinata sent you.

You impatiently rolled your eyes as Illiteracyama took what felt like a millennium to read those two messages, “I figured you were in the nurse’s office because the tangerine wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.” 

Kageyama nodded, finally averting his gaze from the phone as an indication that he had finally finished reading the messages, “Yeah, okay. You should respond though, he’s probably shitting himself right now thinking that you’re going to beat him up or something.”

“Why would he think I’d do that?” You innocently inquired, checking you lip-gloss in your front camera again - it was basically second nature at this point. 

“I don’t know. He’s just a pussy, I guess. The rest of the team aren’t intimidated by you at all.” Kageyama mused, recalling how fond most of the team were of you when you first met them at a match.

You simply shrugged, closing your camera and opening IMessage back up, typing the most reassuring response you could think of. It was a struggle because everything you said could’ve came off as threatening depending on how he interpreted it but you ultimately settled with:

After you placed your phone back into your into your purse, you turned your attention back to Mr bloody nose sat in front of you. After a moment of exchanging an intense gaze with him, you burst out laughing, causing Kageyama to quirk up an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

You tossed your head back in bliss, wiping tears of joy away from your eyes, “You look so cute with the tissues- and the nose-” You were hardly able to  form a whole, cohesive sentence through your wheezes.

Your choice of words being ‘cute’ to describe him set his cheeks aflame, “I-jus-you-” he stammered, not sure how exactly to respond, thus he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Fuck off.”

You paid no attention to his comment and eventually you cackles died down to nothing but light pants accompanied by a gleeful smile. “Yeah,” You breathed, glancing at the time displayed on the clock by the door, “I should probably get going - unless you’d miss me to much.” You cooed, pulling out your pocket mirror again to make sure your tears didn’t ruin your lashes. 

“You wish.” Kageyama smirked, always having felt respect for how much effort and dedication you put into your makeup and image - it kinda made him want to care about his appearance more but then again, why would he want to put in the extra time in the morning to spike his hair rather than doing something more productive like.. practising sets?

“How long until you’re allowed to leave? Did the nurse tell you?” You inquired out of curiosity, slipping on the other sleeve of your jacket which had apparently been hanging off this whole time.

Kageyama subconsciously extended his arm out intertwine his fingers with yours as he wracked his brain for the answer, “I think she said I can go home when a family member comes to pick me up - which is stupid because I am literally fine to walk home myself but she said it had to do with protocol and stuff.” He trailed off closer to the end of his sentence, his hoarse voice lowering drastically. 

“Yeah.” You mused, rubbing your thumb across the back of his hand as you glanced around the room in search of anything you might’ve accidentally dropped but the coast seemed clear. “Anyway, um, bye!” You chirped, leaning in to peck him on the lips as you’d usually do but they were currently covered the long pieces of tissue hanging out his nose. So, instead you craned your neck upwards to plant a kiss on his forehead before letting go of his hand, turning on your heels and heading out.

“Bye.” Kageyama grumbled in response. 

You gently closed the door behind you and strolled over to the gates of the school at your own pace, you took a longer route though so you didn’t have to pass the hall monitor you veered around on your way to the nurse’s office.

Upon arriving at the gates of the school to start your journey home, you felt your purse vibrate so you pulled out your phone, examining the lockscreen for the notification. It was a text from Kageyama. Of course that piqued your interest so you opened it immediately, the text in question causing a light blush to cross your features.

You smiled; everything about this was just hilarious to you.

Firstly, of course Kageyama’s first time saying ‘I love you’ was going to be over text. And you couldn’t blame him either, it’s an intimidating thing to say aloud so you were just glad he had the balls to say it over IMessage.

Secondly, you were very proud of Illiteracyama for being able to spell such a hard set of words in so little time as it had only been around 4 minutes since you left the nurse’s office - this must be a new personal record for him. 

And last but not least, the cherry on top, it was followed by this extremely charming and persuasive message. 

You burst out laughing on the spot and luckily there was nobody around to judge you. Oh, the joy Kageyama would make you feel after saying the most simple things - it was almost like his superpower; besides his killer sets.

Wiping another tear from your eye, you typed your response with weak fingers. 

[indianamoonshine]

c h a p t e r | i

summary: every summer you work on your father's strawberry farm with your three sisters. it's a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father's old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become...well, let's fact it...smitten.

rating: m (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author's note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won't ever go into physical detail about the reader's appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone. so, without further ado, here's an aesthetically pleasing fanfic.

the moment din djarin laid eyes on you he knew he was a dead man.

at first, his view of you had been obstructed because you'd opened every door and window in the house. june in the midwest sometimes required such nuisances, so all of the curtains billowing in the breeze prevented him from looking upon you.

you were also on the couch, but he hadn't known that until you lifted a hand - soft as a dove's - from the back of the sofa. you played with the light between your fingers, shielding its dazzling rays from your eyes, just before setting it down again. your hands were so small (smaller than his anyway) and gentle. he imagined how foreign your skin would feel in warm contrast to his; how your fingers would feel intertwined with his calloused ones, which had done enough work throughout the years to be mistaken for a beggar’s. within the first moment, he saw you as flawless.

your father had not stopped for breath since din arrived, lamenting about the farm or discussing the layout of the home with an eagerness din had yet to match. he would've initially been interested in the history of the farm or how many sprawling acres rolled endlessly before them, but his eyes couldn't leave your hand.

you must've been asleep - napping in the embrace of the sun - because as soon as your father drew breath upon entering the living room, your voice tickled din's ears for the first time. sweet as music.

"dad? is that you?"

din couldn't help but blink at the sound of your voice. it seemed unnatural, like one hears in dreams or spiritual awakenings. he manages to compose himself at your father's side, straightening his posture to err on the side of caution.

your father exclaims with a joyful "ah!" and then introduces you by name.

"my daughter. one of them, anyway. she and the three eldest help during the summer," he had said, and then turned to the bay windows to go on about the view.

but you meet din's eyes, rested and glimmering with curiosity, while your father droned on in the background. you reach out a hand - the one he'd thought of holding - to shake.

he does. and it's every bit as beautiful as he knew it'd be.

"how do you do?" you give him a polite and pretty smile. if he hadn't known any better, you bat your eyelashes for good measure.

your father's tour continues but din can't stop thinking about the way your skirt rose to your thighs as you stretched awake.

|||

you were lying if you said you didn't think about him for the rest of the day.

you weren't the only one. your sisters - all three of them - had also met the mysterious din djarin.

"who is he?" charlotte asked while you congregated at the nearby pond. it was a lovely place, nestled within the thick of the woods and bursting with greenery. flowers of every kind blossomed around you and scents the air with a sweetness.

rhea lays in the shade of a peach tree. "one of dad's old friends," she says. she waves herself with a floral paper fan she'd gotten from chinatown while visiting you in new york.

"but why is he here?"

madeline, who paints with her watercolors, pipes in. "i heard he got into some trouble with the law and now he's in hiding."

you roll your eyes with a scoff, lounging in the grass and watching the clouds in the bright, blue sky. "madeline, that's absurd."

rhea (who is the oldest and most pragmatic) surprises you when she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't know. he looks likes a bad boy..."

you recall the way his jaw clenched as you introduced yourself - his neck was tempting. his skin glowed with a radiant hue in the sunlight and his eyes shone with an aura of broodiness. he was very austenian.

"boy is hardly the word," you correct.

charlotte, being the flirt, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. she swims in the pond, hair wet and fanning against the water. she sinks lowly for dramatic effect. "how right you are."

"trouble or not, he was a perfect gentleman." rhea sighs and skims the water with her forefinger. "either way, he's easy on the eyes so i don't mind having him around."

easy on the eyes was putting it mildly. you wouldn't say that to the girls though; they had a habit of teasing when you showed interest in anyone attainable let alone a man decades older than you.

"don't do anything stupid, charlotte." madeline dips her paintbrush into her mason jar full of pond water.

charlotte huffs and flips her hair from her shoulder. it makes a splash, rippling the water as a result. "why not? we're all of legal age."

"he's dad's friend and a guest," you remind her, tearing your gaze away from the clouds.

the middle child lets out a pathetic whimper. "you guys are no fun," she groans.

|||

it was a busy season on the farm.

strawberries were ready to be picked by mid june and there was a three week window to do it. harvesting wasn't easy and it took a lot of man work. hands went numb, skin grew calloused. the sun that beat down on the fields was only manageable by the sprinklers that went off every blessed-ed fifteen minutes. during a drought, it was even worse.

the employees picked from seven in the morning until five in the evening. your father was adamant that breaks be plenty and pay be as prosperous as he could afford, but a strawberry farm wasn't a fortune five hundred company. he did what he could to provide the families with some semblance worthy enough to continue, and so every year he threw a dinner party.

it was always a lovely occasion, brimming with delectable treats and savory entrees. candles were aflame, lanterns lit up the pathway that lead to the entrance of the home and then the land leading into the woods. as a child, the dinner party was as exciting as a birthday. it was a night to look forward to all year long, sharing time with family and friends and gorging yourself on food you wouldn't eat any other friday of the week.

your sisters loved it too, mostly because they enjoyed the promise of gossip that poured from the mouths of guests like the wine served. and now that din djarin - a stranger, in all respects of the word - was attending an annual dinner that's managed to keep as tradition for years, gossip would surely be abundant as the wine itself.

guests arrived by the hour until the clock struck seven. the evening was crisp but warm enough to be comfortable without a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the rock doves sung loudly to declare that sunset had begun, a few rogue and early lightning bugs blinking rhythmically. children of the employees ran throughout the fields bare footed and chanting taunts to their friends as their parents chattered among themselves.

home. here is home.

while the party had already begun (officially, at least), dinner hadn't yet been served. admittingly, you were a bit behind schedule, but you worked quickly to finish setting the tables. the theme was simple; linen napkins and wildflowers in random antique vases you found in your basement. the lilacs you'd picked from their bushes were already beginning to limp but you hoped no one would notice.

you hum when you work. whether it be intentional or not you find your lips buzzing with a tune plucked subconsciously from your brain as your hands busy themselves. you straighten the tablecloths, fill the vases with water, and set the silverware in their particular order. needless to say, you had a tendency to get lost in your own little world. so when a hand gently tapped you on the shoulder, you spun around with a shriek.

din djarin - man of the hour - is smirking handsomely at you, hands fiddling with a depressed looking lilac. you place a palm against your heart and count its beats. too many.

"mister djarin," you sigh out. "you scared me."

he lets out a breathy chuckle, hands running through his wavy locks. "i see that. i'm sorry, but i was just wondering if you'd like some help."

his voice...oh, stars and garters. it was so rough but tender - like a steak. you cock an eyebrow at how strange the comparison is but convince yourself it didn't matter. still, you're blushing from the jump so you duck your head from his gaze.

"there's not much left to do," you admit, turning back to the table. you spread your hands against the tablecloth to ward off any wrinkles. "you can double check if i missed any forks, i suppose. i have a tendency to do that."

din hums in his throat and nods a little. "sure," he says, moving to the first setting. his eyes scan along the silverware carefully. "where are your sisters? they don't help, huh?"

"they're better at entertaining," you say truthfully. "i volunteer to take care of the dinner part...as long as i don't have to socialize as much i'm content."

it was true. it's not that you had an aversion to people in general, but you tried to avoid conversation whenever possible - it wasn't your strong suit. you could get away with it when need be but you found it took too much energy to pretend to enjoy conversation about the weather or politics.

"i understand," din nods. he straightens a spoon with the nudge of his finger. "i find myself to be the same way."

there's an awkward silence between the two of you. you didn't know how to respond. while you weren't good at social situations in general, you found it natural to feign interest in subjects bland enough to circumvent discomfort...but you felt the need to impress him.

"so you'll be staying with us this summer then?" you decide, falling short. how stupid.

din nods swiftly. "yeah. in one of the cabins."

the cabins were located at various points of the land your father owned. in order to get there, one usually took an ATV or walked if the going gets tough. you preferred to stroll along the river, but your sisters liked riding the four wheelers or their bikes.

"which one?" you ask, tone mindless.

din's finished with double checking your work. he pulls out a chair - an old, wooden antique - and sits down upon it with caution. you stifle a laugh and, if he notices, he doesn't say anything. he'd soon learn that everything here was old but sturdier than they looked. you wish you could say it was for aesthetic purposes but it was more convenient than anything.

"the one closest to the pond," din replies lowly.

you notice how his eyes survey your form and how intimate it was. he was studying you but for whatever reason you couldn't be sure. you try to shake away the idea that he could be (dare you say?) pining over you. how silly. like you told charlotte: din djarin was off limis.

that was the end of it.

you find yourself blushing again so you hide your face. "that's my favorite one," you tell him honestly. "i like the view."

din smiles in agreement. "so do i."

if you weren't so heated with frustration, you would've called him out on the implication (as out of character for you it may be). then again, you found yourself weakened by the mere presence of this man. it wasn't unlike you, per say; you were naturally timid but there was an eagerness to his charm that you weren't familiar with. guys your age were so sure of themselves but it was almost always under false pretenses. this man however...well, he was a man and that was intimidating.

fine. it was hot.

you clear your throat in an effort to regain a semblance of poise. this summer had already proven to be laborious in a way you hadn't expected.

[thewitcherstan]

The thing is, Geralt had never been much of a tactile person. Neediness had no room in his line of work, and the thought of being dependent on anyone, even in the smallest of ways, made Geralt sneer.

But then Jaskier came along.

Jaskier was never able to keep his hands to himself, a fact he was rather notorious for. And even Geralt’s “don’t fuck with me” demeanor wasn’t enough to deter him.

The first time Jaskier took notice of Geralt’s affinity for touch was one of the colder winter nights, when they couldn’t find an inn to stay at. Geralt had started a fire and they’d huddled close, trying to steal as much warmth as it had to offer. Jaskier, as charmingly greedy as ever, couldn’t stop himself from pressing his side against Geralt’s, relishing the extra warmth that came with it.

He expected to be pushed away, punched in the gut for his efforts. Instead, Geralt merely looked at him with an arched brow, and Jaskier shrugged as if to say, “What? I’m cold.” Geralt simply hummed in response, a low sound in the back of his throat, before poking the fire with a stick.

He didn’t once make any move to escape his proximity to Jaskier.

After that, Jaskier started testing his boundaries.

Most nights when they were in town, Jaskier would find himself singing in the nearest tavern, trying to rack up coin while Geralt sat brooding in the corner with a stein of ale, unable to keep himself from listening to the bard’s admittedly captivating voice.

He never joined in on the clapping when it was over, but Jaskier never minded. Instead, he marches up to Geralt, as confident as he was that first day, and slings an arm around the witcher’s shoulders.

“Geralt! No applause to spare for your favorite bard?” Jaskier asks jovially.

“You’re my only bard,” Geralt says exasperatedly, trying to ignore the fact that he just referred to Jaskier as his. “Thankfully. And your retelling of the kikimora slaying was ridiculously embellished.”

“Ah, but boring stories don’t sell,” Jaskier tells him happily, reaching for Geralt’s ale and taking a swig, dodging Geralt’s hand as he swats at him. Jaskier hastily sets it back in front of him, ignoring Geralt’s glower as he continues. “And you killed that last kikimora way too quickly. There wasn’t much to tell.”

“Sounds like you managed just fine,” Geralt says wryly, and Jaskier jingles the coins in his pocket.

“That I did,” Jaskier agrees. For a moment, they’re silent, and Jaskier registers with surprise that Geralt hasn’t pulled away from him yet.

Before Geralt’s quota on touch for the day can be spent, Jaskier makes a show of wrinkling his nose and pulling away, saying, “You, my pretty-faced friend, could use a bath.”

Geralt cocks his head at him. “‘Pretty-faced friend’?”

Completely shameless, Jaskier simply rolls his eyes. “There’s no point in modesty, Geralt,” Jaskier chides. “Surely you’ve caught a glimpse of that gorgeous mug of yours in the mirror, yeah? Rather easy on the eyes, I must confess.” He pats Geralt’s cheek twice before standing up. “Come on, then, I’m sure you’re going to have us up at the crack of dawn, and I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”

Jaskier makes his way towards their room, leaving a baffled Geralt in his wake.

-

The next occasion happens a couple towns later, when Geralt bursts into their room completely covered in guts. Jaskier looks up from where he’s sitting on his bed, idly strumming a few chords on his lute, and grimaces at the sight.

“I take it you killed it, then?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt just grunts. “Right, bath. Shall I run it for you?”

Jaskier doesn’t even wait for Geralt’s response—not that he’s really expecting one; they’ve been through this routine far too many times before, and he knows exactly what to do. He simply sets his lute aside and goes to fill the bath with hot water as Geralt strips the mucky clothes from his body. They fall to the floor with a wet smack, and Jaskier wrinkles his nose.

“You couldn’t have chosen a cleaner profession?” Jaskier grumbles, pinching the clothes between two fingers and holding them away from him. He quickly walks them out of the room and sends them to be cleaned before returning to Geralt, who’s lowered himself into the steaming water with a groan.

Jaskier picks up a bucket and fills it with water before dumping it over Geralt. The witcher wipes water from his eyes, clearing some of the gunk on his face in the process.

“Geralt, your hair is an absolute mess,” Jaskier tuts, running a hand through the strands that are clumped together. “A shame, really,” he sighs. “This is going to take forever to get out.”

“I’m not holding you hostage to wash my hair,” Geralt points out, reaching up to scrub at his hair, but Jaskier swats his hand away.

“No, no. You’ve done enough damage as it is. Allow me,” Jaskier insists, gently washing the mud and guts away, no longer fazed by the general grossness of it.

Geralt doesn’t protest. Instead, he simply sits back, scrubbing the rest of his body while Jaskier works through the strands, massaging his scalp. Geralt can’t help the groan that escapes him at the feeling, and Jaskier falters for a second.

Interesting, he thinks, continuing his ministrations.

Once Geralt is done cleaning the rest of his body, he completely relaxes, leaning into Jaskier’s touch, and the bard can’t help but marvel at how the powerful witcher turns into the equivalent of a contented cat at his touch.

For once, Jaskier doesn’t comment, not wanting to startle Geralt into brushing him off. This is the first time Jaskier’s been allowed this level of closeness, and he doesn’t want to ruin the fragile moment.

He swiftly finishes up with a final rinse before carefully squeezing the excess water from Geralt’s hair. “All done,” he announces quietly, and Geralt sighs, not wanting to leave the warmth of the water. Jaskier chuckles, running his hand through the witcher’s hair one last time before moving away. “Come on, old man, I’m tired.”

Geralt blinks up at him. “I’m not old,” he tells him, and Jaskier laughs.

“How many decades have you been alive?” he challenges, and when Geralt doesn’t answer, he gives him a pointed look. “Exactly. Old.”

Geralt steps out of the tub with a glare, but there’s no real heat to it. He quickly dries himself down and shrugs into the clean clothes Jaskier presents him with.

“We have a long day of traveling tomorrow,” Geralt warns him, filling the silence as they make their way to the beds. They’re not the most comfortable-looking beds Jaskier’s ever seen, but it’ll do.

“All the more time for me to compose sweet melodies about our adventures together,” Jaskier says cheerfully, peeling back the covers and climbing into his bed. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

All he gets in response is a quiet, “Hmmm,” and Jaskier smiles as he closes his eyes.

-

After that, something in their relationship seems to shift, but it’s far from a bad thing. Geralt continues to be his usual grumpy, often abrasive, self but Jaskier can’t help but notice how much more tolerant he is.

Ever since that night, Jaskier has experiemented, needlessly brushing Geralt’s arm as he walks by, offering to do his hair up for banquets, and clapping him on the back in greeting. He waits for the moment where it gets to be too much and Geralt backs away from him altogether, but the moment never comes.

Eventually, as was bound to happen, they run into trouble on the road. This time, it comes in the form of a harpy, which swiftly swoops down and grabs for Jaskier before he even knows what’s happening.

“Geralt!” he yells, wincing at the pain of talons digging into his shoulder, and Geralt doesn’t even hesitate before whipping out his sword and throwing it at the monstrous creature.

Jaskier closes his eyes at the sight of the sword flying towards him and curses when it lands near his head, straight through the harpy’s wing. The creature screeches loudly, a sound that Jaskier’s sure will still be ringing in his ears days from now, before reflexively letting the bard fall to the ground.

Jaskier yells loudly, curling in the air and squeezing his eyes shut as he braces for impact. He hits the ground, air rushing out of his lungs, and he wheezes desperately at the loss. It could have been much worse, though, and he spares a moment of thought to be thankful the harpy hadn’t had a chance to fly him any higher.

He lays there for a moment, stunned and probably bruised, and listens to the thwack of a sword and the resulting screech of the creature as Geralt fights to incapacitate it.

Jaskier closes his eyes for a second, trusting Geralt to take care of the creature, but quickly opens them again when he feels a rush of heat. He turns his head to see Geralt standing before the creature, which is writhing as it’s set aflame.

Jaskier’s eyes widen. Geralt set it on fucking fire.

Geralt nimbly sheaths his sword again and turns away from the flames, eyes landing on Jaskier, who’s still a little dazed. Jaskier blinks, and by the time he opens his eyes again, Geralt is kneeling in front of him.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt asks him urgently, and Jaskier shakes his head. He lifts himself up onto his elbows, and Geralt places a steadying hand on his back.

“I’m quite alright,” Jaskier reassures him. “Just got the breath knocked out of me, is all.”

Geralt ignores him, placing a hand on Jaskier’s chin and lifting it up, scanning his face for any sign of pain. “Your shoulders?” Geralt presses, and Jaskier stretches them, hissing when he realizes that yeah, the harpies talons were sharp.

“Oh.” Jaskier lets out a breath at the sharp sting.

Geralt’s brow crinkles in concern, and he gingerly moves Jaskier’s shirt aside to reveal long scratches on each of his shoulders.

“Stay,” Geralt commands before hopping up and taking some supplies out of Roaches saddlebag. “We need to clean these up. If we’re quick, we can make it into town by dark.”

Jaskier nods and sucks in a breath when Geralt takes out a cloth and dabs at the blood. “For a minute there, I thought I was a goner,” Jaskier admits, and Geralt pauses as he cleans the wounds, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle.

He pulls back and gives Jaskier an intense look as he says, “That wouldn’t have happened. I would not let it.” He says it with so much conviction that Jaskier has no choice but to believe him.

Geralt quickly dresses the wounds, thankful that even though the scratches are long, they’re not particularly deep. Once he’s done, he sets the supplies aside and slips Jaskier’s shirt back over his shoulders. His hands rest there, cupping Jaskier’s neck.

“You okay?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier smiles warmly.

“I really am fine. You worry too much,” Jaskier tells him lightly, but Geralt merely hums in the back of his throat.

To Jaskier’s surprise, the witcher searches his eyes intently, as if needing to be absolutely sure of Jaskier’s continued good health, before allowing his head to drop to Jaskier’s shoulder, burying his face in the bard’s neck and inhaling deeply.

“Oh,” Jaskier says again, but this time it’s from surprise. He reflexively brings his hand up to cup that back of Geralt’s head, shocked yet pleased at his open display of affection. “Geralt, I promise I am well. You ensured it.”

After a moment, Geralt pulls back, but he doesn’t go far, face inches from Jaskier. The bard gives him a soft smile and cups his cheek, something pleased curling up in his chest when Geralt leans into the touch.

“Hey,” Jaskier murmurs, “come here.” He slowly tugs Geralt into him, giving the witcher plenty of time to back away, but Geralt simply searches his eyes before finding the confirmation he needs and pressing his lips to Jaskier’s.

Jaskier sighs, mouth opening slightly, and Geralt quickly takes advantage, deepening the kiss. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat as Jaskier tangles his hands into his hair. Geralt’s hands ghost along Jaskier’s side, as if not quite sure where to settle.

Eventually, Jaskier gently breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against Geralt’s to catch his breath, feeling dizzy with the thrill of being this close to the witcher. He lets his hands wrap around the witcher’s waist, holding him tight, and Jaskier smiles when Geralt molds himself to him, completely pliant in his arms. Geralt hums happily, a sound not unlike a contented purr.

“See?” Jaskier murmurs. “I’m just fine.”

It’s with much reluctance that Geralt finally pulls away from his bard, and he gently lifts Jaskier up with him as he stands. Jaskier gingerly brushes the dirt from his clothes as Geralt packs the supplies back into Roach’s saddlebag.

“Jaskier,” he rasps, and the bard looks up from where he’s inspecting his lute, searching it for any injuries.

“Yes, Geralt?”

“Get on Roach,” Geralt tells him, holding her reins. Jaskier can’t hold back his look of surprise. Geralt never lets him ride Roach unless he physically can’t walk for himself.

“That’s not necessary,” he tells him, exasperated, because for whatever reason, Geralt can’t seem to get it through his thick skull that Jaskier is alright.

“I’d like you to,” Geralt says firmly, and Jaskier gives him an uncertain look.

“If you’re sure,” he says, walking closer, and Geralt nods.

“I’m sure,” he reiterates.

Geralt takes his bag and secures it to Roach, who stomps impatiently, and Geralt shushes her gently. Then, he turns to Jaskier and links his hands together.

“Step on, I’ll give you a leg up.”

“Why thank you, Geralt, that is very kind of you,” Jaskier says graciously, stepping into Geralt’s hands and letting the witcher boost him up. Roach, thankfully, stays obediently still as Jaskier settles onto her back, and Geralt effortlessly swings onto her, sitting behind Jaskier.

“Is this alright?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier nods. This is more than alright, he thinks to himself, enjoying the feel of Geralt pressed up behind him, and Geralt reaches around him to take the reins.

The witcher gives Roach two gentle kicks to spur her forward, and Jaskier relaxes back into Geralt’s hold, feeling utterly content.

He starts to hum a tune, already composing a melody of the day’s wild adventures. And wrapped up in Geralt’s arms as they travel, Jaskier feels blissfully still.

[aworldoffandoms]

Love is a Beautiful Thing - Ethan x F!MC

Authors Note:  HI! I’m back (finally) with another prompt ask fic! I know it’s taken too long for this to happen but my laptop battery decided to shit itself and I needed to send it away to get it fixed and now it’s back and here it is! lol. I’m sorry for my mediocre writing with this one but I hope you enjoy, anyway! I apologise for any spelling, grammar and punctuation mistakes. Prompt is in bold.

AO3 WORK

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC [Nicolette Valentine]

Word Count: 2, 075 (who allows me to write? Oh, me... damnit.)

Prompt: “Not only am I deeply in love with you, you’re my best friend.”

Rating: G

Warnings: Fluff and Ethan and Nic being cute. 

Tag list at the bottom of this post.

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them.

*** 

LOVE IS A BEAUTIFUL THING

Ethan knew the exact moment that he fell in love with Nicolette. It was on a Sunday, their first weekend off in two months and Nicolette was staying over, her hair up in a messy bun, red hair slipping out of its hold and framing her face in the most delicate way that made her more ethereal when the sun shone on her hair, making it glow like a warm fire. 

He knew he was in love when she smiles, her cheeks and all of her smattered with freckles that Ethan found himself tracing with his fingers at night, following them like a map as they trailed from her nose, down her cheeks to the lower parts of her chest and shoulders and Ethan marvels each time he gets to see them, touch them...kiss them. 

His chest warms with love when she comes home from grocery shopping in an oversized Columbia University jumper that she got at a conference in her second year of medical school, her Adidas stretch leggings that hugged her legs in the most enticing and her long hair a mess around her shoulders, not caring about her appearance in the slightest. It reiterates how comfortable she was with him. This is Nicolette in her purest form and a smile lifts his lips at the thought that Nicolette, the most gentle, kind-hearted and compassionate woman was able to be herself with him in whatever capacity.

Ethan knew he was in love when he finds Nicolette on his couch, tears tracking down her face and a pile of tissues surrounding her, her eyes glued to the television. One glance at the TV and Ethan realises it’s a Disney movie. He should be amazed and somewhat turned off by the fact that a twenty-eight-year-old cries at a Disney movie but in this particular case, a fond smile raises his lips at the sight even when his heart drops at seeing her crying. He never likes to see her cry. He always admires Nicolette when she doesn’t hide behind a facade of what she should be. If she wants to watch a movie from her childhood then she is going to watch it, if she cries then she’ll do it. She is real. She is her authentic self and Ethan has never been more in love. 

Ethan’s in love when he finds Nicolette, sitting in front of his laptop, researching a case they’ve been trying to diagnose one night, her glasses perched on her face, her nose scrunched up in concentration, the light of the screen emphasising the bags under those beautiful blue eyes. She doesn’t know he’s there, himself tucked behind an alcove out of sight. So now, he just watches her do her thing, sift through notes, type on the keyboard. A silent chuckle escapes him when he sees her tongue poking out of her lips, a sure sign that she was in the deepest trance of her concentration. Nicolette pushes back some of the hair that had fallen in her face and Ethan’s fingers twitch to do the same but he forces himself to resist and stay put. He’s more than content just to watch her. 

It’s then that he really knows it. He could watch her do that for the rest of his life if he wanted to and he’d never get sick of it. Pure happiness and joy settle around him like a warm blanket on a cold night and he sighs at the euphoric feeling. He loves Nicolette and he’ll love her for the rest of his days on this earth. 

“I know you’re there, Ethan so you can come out of your creepy hideaway and come sit with me. I need your brain for a minute.” 

Ethan jolts out of his own trance (or perhaps he should say his Nicolette trance) and pads over to the couch, laughing as he does so. 

“‘You need my brain’? That’s a creative and articulate way of saying you need me.” 

Nicolette glances over to him, giving him a flat look before she smiles and shrugs at his words. “It’s true though, I need you for your brain and nothing else right now.” 

Ethan chuckles, his hand coming up to wrap around the back of her neck as he begins gently kneading it, finding a cord of tension there. Nicolette melts into his touch but her eyes are still focused on the notes in front of her. 

“What a shame. I would have been happy to oblige in whatever else you needed from me.” 

Nicolette scoffs. “Please, Ethan. Maybe go grab some water for yourself because I am sure as hell ain’t thirsty right now. I’m researching this case and I need to study for my boards.” 

Ethan ignores the implication of those words (he did know what it meant, he wasn’t a complete tragic) and focuses on what Nicolette was viewing.

“Practice exam questions for IMCs?” 

Nicolette signs, removing her glasses to rub at her eyes. She had been staring at the laptop screen for too long and they were starting to hurt. She sighs as she puts her glasses back on and turns to her boyfriend. “Yes, they are. It’s the third time I’m going to study it today. Can you please help me through them? I need a sounding board right now. I’m sick and tired of hearing the voice inside my head read questions back at me.” 

Ethan’s eyebrows furrow in concern at the lethargy he can hear in her voice and the small droop of her shoulders. He doesn’t want her to burn out but he figures that she’ll continue anyway. She’s as stubborn as him. 

“Okay, I’ll help. What do you need?” 

Nicolette claps and sits back from him, pulling her knees up underneath her and turns so that she’s face to face with him. “Run through some practice questions with me and then we can get some takeaway and watch a trashy movie or something.” 

Ethan chuckles, a fond smile lighting up his face. He finds where Nicolette was up to and begins reciting the question. “Okay. Here we go… A 23-year-old woman with bone marrow failure is treated with a large dose of rabbit anti-thymocyte globulin. Ten days later, she develops fever, lymphadenopathy, arthralgias, and erythema on her hands and feet. Which of the following is the most likely cause of these symptoms?” 

Ethan already knew the answer but he allows Nicolette the time to answer herself. He sees the clocks working in her mind and her eyes light up as she finds the answer. “Is it immune complex deposition in tissues?” 

Ethan flips back to the practice test answers and he gives a nod and an answering smile at her when he finds that she was correct. He would have told her yes straight away but he knew Nicolette enough that she would have appreciated that he goes to the answered section to make sure that she’s correct. 

“Yes, you’re right! Good work!” 

Nicolette cheers with a resounding ‘yay’ as she claps her hands, her face alight with relief. Ethan grins at her enthusiasm because he knows how much succeeding at this means to her. So, it’s there, in the middle of Ethan’s living room, the sun already on its decline where Ethan and Nicolette sit and work through each question of her board exam practice test. 

It's a few hours after that, the inky black night piercing the living room, both of them leaning up against the couch with Ethan chuckling at a particular answer that Nicolette got wrong (and a particularly hard one at that, he wasn’t going to lie) that he realises he’s having the time of his life. It’s these little moments that set his heart aflame, that bring him a sense of contentment. Rightness.  

Ethan can’t fathom a time where he wasn’t having fun with Nicolette and he is so glad that he is in a position to be here with her. She is his closest confidant, a person with whom he can be himself, his best self, opinions, objections and all. A warm smile lifts the corners of his mouth and he says the next words with an air of reverence, of truth and certainty for they were the truest words to ever leave his lips. 

Ethan grabs her hand, his face serious for a moment and Nicolette stops and stares at the utter warmth of his eyes, the blue of them liquid cyan and the admiration on his face makes her breath hitch in her throat.

“You are amazing, Nicolette. You make every day brighter and I can’t honestly imagine walking through life without you. I can honestly, without any reservation, say that not only am I deeply in love with you, you’re my best friend.” 

Nicolette is frozen, her mouth popped open in evident shock but Ethan sees the effect his words have had on her. Her crystal blue eyes shine like diamonds as tears well up in them and he resists the urge to pull her to him. He needs to say this otherwise he was going to burst. 

“I realise it’s not the best time but I just had to say it. I needed to otherwise—” 

Nicolette cuts him off with a kiss, the kiss so strong that he loses his balance against the suddenness of it and falls backwards, both of them sprawled on the plush area rug. 

Nicolette breaks the kiss after a while and just looks at him, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Her eyes are shiny and tears are slowly making their way down her cheeks as she whispers, her forehead coming to rest upon his gently, her lips mere inches away from his.

“I can’t study for my boards now since you’ve said that so we’re going to get takeaway. Call for Chinese and I’ll put on a movie.” 

There is a pang in his chest as he hears her words and he can’t help but be disappointed. A part of him was hoping for reciprocation or at least something remotely related to his words. And yet, Nicolette’s mind is different from his, no less fantastically intelligent but different and he realises that she processes things differently from him. Whether it takes her a few seconds, minutes or days, it won’t matter to him. He would wait for her forever. 

He nods, trying to not let the disappointment show on his face and plucks his phone out of his pocket and press speed dial to call his favourite Chinese restaurant just down the main street, a few metres from his condo. 

He’s just staring out at the horizon, his eyes scanning the twinkling skyline of Boston when he freezes as he feels Nicolette behind him hugging him, her head on his back and her arms tight around his torso. He shivers when he feels Nicolette kiss his shoulder, her face buried into him, almost like she wanted to melt into him completely. 

“I love you too, Ethan. I know I don’t say it enough but you’re my best friend and I thank the stars every day that we met.” She squeezes him once more before letting go. “Oh, and don’t forget the Kung pao chicken.” 

Ethan grins and his heart flies out of his chest. God, he loves this woman so much. 

“I would never forget the Kung pao chicken, Nicolette.” 

Nicolette turns to him and gives him a soft smile, her eyes shining with deep affection. “Good. I knew I loved you for a reason.”  

“Oh? Is that the only reason?” 

Nicolette smirks as she makes her way to the cabinet next to the stove where they kept the wine, her eyes alight with mischief as she gives Ethan a wink. 

“A woman never reveals her secrets, Ethan.” 

Ethan laughs, the sound light and happy, a smile on his lips as he orders them dinner. Love is a beautiful thing, Ethan thinks, and he again berates himself for resisting this wonderful feeling for so long. He marvels silently as he stares out at the Boston skyline again, the sounds of domesticity surround him as Nicolette gets ready for dinner and he’s never felt so safe, so calm...so at ease.

Ethan lets out a sigh of contentment. Love is beautiful and if he could have a beautiful life with Nicolette? Well, then... he can call himself the luckiest man on earth.

***

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[h0esvck]

I want to request a scenario were a bts members talks to the other boys about his and his so’s sex life ~thx btw, love your account!

Thank you 💜 (please remember my reactions are geared towards female readers! So please don't be offended when I use she/her pronouns with (Y/N). Also it's been so long 😭)

Namjoon

Namjoon was in the studio with Yoongi and Hoseok going over the last listen to a song before deciding that it would be the finished product. But it was such a rough, sensual song, he couldn't help but think of (Y/N). And it was obvious because of the stupid smile on his face. "What are you thinking about?" Yoongi asked and Namjoon looked up from the floor to Yoongi. "Ah, just (Y/N)... This song reminds me of when we're intimate...." He admitted without much persuasion. "Oh?" Hoseok asked, sitting down to listen seeing as Namjoon was in a sharing mood. "It's such an intense song though.." He said and Namjoon chuckled with a smile, "yeah, sex with her is so.. It's so amazing, we don't do it every day, but every time we do it's just... God, it's the most perfect thing. " he said and Yoongi smiled seeing how fond Namjoon was of his girlfriend. "And good god she knows her way around my cock," he chuckled and the other boys blushed deeply. "She's really wild," Namjoon said not even realizing what he was starting to say. "The other night she rode me for so long even after I had cum, she couldn't get enough, she was soaking wet" Hoseok choked on his own spit and Yoongi was blushing deeply. Namjoon wasn't one to share such private stuff like this so randomly...

Seokjin

"Come on hyunggg, I have a date tonight and if it goes well I need pointers!!!" Jungkook begged desperately. He had had sex before but not enough to have a 100% foolproof system to get the girl off. He knew how to get boys off plenty fine but women were different. "Fine, fine!!" He groaned in annoyance. "Sit down," he said and Jungkook sat down. Taehyung and Jimin were also in the room on their phones while they waited for a stylist to come in and fix up their hair and makeup. "Okay, penetration feels good to the girl, but it's not what makes them cum, so if you want a certainty you can get your girl partner off you need to pay attention to their clit." He blinked once, thinking about how sex with (Y/N) was, and some of the things he found that she liked and most women liked that he had slept with. "Slow circles around their clit, but if she says she doesn't like it don't do that. Just, don't be too rough, if you can, use your tongue they like that a lot... Makes them squirm... Buck their hips... Makes her very wet..." Without realizing it he started talking about his girlfriend. "She likes when you suck her clit and finger her, she gets so loud and she'll cum really fast if you stay like that. But she gets even louder when I start to fuck her... I've gotta roll your hips in slow at first because it's so sensitive but after she gets used to it I can really fuck her however I want..." He swallowed hard, the three boys eagerly listening as Seokjin went off, his mind so so focused on his sex was with his pretty lady. "Gotta rub her clit while I fuck her and she cums so pretty, gets me so wet she's so turned on," he said and Jimin blinked several times before chuckling. "Alright hyung, I think Jungkookie's heard enough of your sex life," he pat Seokjin's shoulder and Jin's eyes widened realizing what he said "shit!" He covered his mouth with a deep blush Jungkook was blushing terribly as well. Jimin and Taehyung just laughed at how shy the two of them could get.

Yoongi

Yoongi was tired of everyone asking about his secret girlfriend. They wanted to know who she was but they'd settle for their sex life. He knew they would... And she wouldn't care... She was a bit of a slut for Yoongi, so she certainly wouldn't care, especially since she had suggested public sex at one point... Yeah this was fine..

But also... She had told him to tell them so they'd be jealous... Yoongi was actually the once hesitating in saying.

So everyone was enjoying drinks "okay, I can't tell you her name or show you anything important like what she looks like but...." He chuckled. "She wanted me to tell you how good I'm getting it with her and how fucking much she loves my tongue," he grinned as the other members were astonished at what he was saying so bluntly. "She wanted me to tell you how much great sex we have you and don't, I don't know, something about bragging  because I'm getting good wet pussy and none of the rest of you are," he grinned and Seokjin rolled his eyes. hoseok laughing nervously. Only the maknae line really expressed their frustration. Namjoon just seemed to quietly be jealous. "Oh and she wanted me to say hello, now I gotta go, she's probably waiting for her seat," he pat his lap before getting up and leaving to go see his girlfriend.

Hoseok

Hoseok was with Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook when they were all a little drunk talking about random shit, some inappropriate as well. "Ah well, me and (Y/N) get it on, sex every other day when I have time, we really love to fuck like animals," he laughed and took another swig of his soju as the others listened. "Oh yeah? Fuck like animals?" Jimin raised his brow and Yoongi was silently thankful Hoseok had moved out of the dorm when he started getting serious with (Y/N).  "Yeah, she's so loud right in my ear, I've had noise complaints because of our fucking," he blushed. "It's embarrassing but it... It makes me proud to know I'm making her feel so good," he chuckled with a fond look on his face before looking up and seeing Jungkook was suddenly falling asleep from drinking too much, but his cheeks were rosy red. "Did I overshare?" Hoseok asked and Jimin and Yoongi both nodded.

Jimin

Jimin didn't even ask, he sat down and started explaining the situation. "Taehyung said I couldn't properly fuck my girl but I'm here to tell all of you before the rest of you come at me, that we fuck every single night, and yeah we have great rhythm, we cum at nearly the same exact time." Jimin said and Jin blushed deeply as Hoseok and Taehyung giggled and snickered together. Yoongi and Namjoon were just disappointed that they had to listen to this. Jungkook was red, so fucking red. "I bet you're wondering why you dont hear us every night? Well that's because we use a gag so we don't wake all you motherfuckers in the middle of the night," he inhaled a deep breath as if he had just done a very hard thing "there, now I can go to bed, goodnight," he winked before walking out of the living room and going to hsi room to no doubt fuck his girlfriend (Y/N).

Taehyung

It was a bet by Jimin, tell the hyungs all the dirty things he had been doing in secret with (Y/N) and Jimin would, as her best friend, convince her to let Taehyung fuck her on the balcony. So here Taehyung was, Jimin behind him to make sure he did it. All hyungs were present when Taehyung spoke up. "hyung's I need to confess to you..." He swallowed hard, hesitating a moment. "Go on then," Seokjin encouraged and Jimin grinned before biting his bottom lip. "I-I've been sneaking a girl into the dorm every night to fuck..." He said and they all looked at him with wide eyes. "A-and every night it's kinky and she wears pretty red lipstick and I chain her wrists to the headboard that's why there's marks on the wood and we fuck until 2 am every night before going to sleep then I sneak her out in the morning before everyone wakes up," he managed to get out in one breath. And by the end of it Jimin was holding in his laughter as much as he could.

Namjoon was the first to speak up. "Taehyung..." He started and Tae looked at him. "You know we know your girlfriend is Jimin's best friend right?" And Taehyung's eyes widened that he had let everyone know how kinky you both were. "Uh- oh, ahah I didn't realize uhm." He blushed terribly and Jimin laughed so fucking hard until Taehyung smacked his arm as Yoongi and Hoseok watched, chuckling at them.

Jungkook

All of Jungkook's hyungs were teasing him, making fun of Jungkook but not in a hurtful way. But they did it every day, teasing Jungkook about being a baby and being a virgin and what not. And Jungkook was at his limit, tonight at dinner introducing his girlfriend to his band family and they say all this. Jungkook is upset and you noticed right away, but it was too late to do anything because he was already speaking.

"Hyungs can you stop that?" He asked before looking up at all of them "i invite you all to dinner, which I'm paying for,  to meet my girlfriend, and you all start to make fun of me like I'm a child." He looked determined and confident as hell. "I'll have you know, I'm not a child and I'm not a virgin. I'm anything but a virgin, in fact, we've had so much sex in the past week it could be spanned out to three weeks once every day," your eyes widened and you blushed deeply, everyone at the table suddenly quiet and looking at the two of you. " I've become so good, she begs me at least once a day to fuck her until she's cum so much she can't wak properly anymore." Your cheeks burst aflame. "Jungkook!" You said signalling that that was enough. That was way too much informatioknto share in the first place but.... The reactions off his hyung's faces definitely made it worth it to Jungkook. "I'm sorry, I didnt know the joking offended you Jungkook," Namjoon was the first to apologize, glancing at you, no doubt visualizing you in such a way for Jungkook... You were sure all the members did because... That's just what boys do when they're presented with a sexual thought. The rest of the members apologized to Jungkook as well, and that made Jungkook smile and contonue eating happily again. Now he was a big boy... A man in his hyung's eyes. He made himself proud. He made his hyungs proud.

Masterlist ⛥彡

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when he becomes tiny

This work, 当他变小了, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ] 

“It’s time to get up.”

In response to the voice, you open your eyes blearily to the familiar morning sunlight, the familiar temperature of the room, the familiar decor of the bedroom, and the familiar...

“Who the hell are you? Victor’s illegitimate son?”

You’re alarmed at the sight of a child at Victor’s designated spot next to you.

The innocent-looking, tiny version of Victor wears a blank expression on his face.

Your brain gradually starts functioning again. “You’re... Victor?”

“Idiot.”

It’s him, it’s definitely him! Apart from him, who else would call you an idiot? Evol fluctuations probably caused his body to shrink.

Curious, you give him a pat on the head, then pinch his chubby cheeks, finding this experience incredibly novel. “Victor, you actually look... strangely cute like this.”

He swats your hand away, shifting his tiny body off the bed.

“Where are you going?” No longer feeling the soft touch, you feel slightly disappointed. You stare at his fuzzy hair, and your fingers itch to ruffle it.

“Making breakfast for a certain dummy.” 

Without turning his head, Victor leaves the bedroom, his short legs striding forward clumsily, like a kitten learning how to walk. 

Your maternal instincts are set aflame.

Something occurs to you, and you quickly hop out of bed and run into the kitchen. How’s he going to cook with his current height?

As expected, Little Victor, with his short limbs, is standing in front of the counter wondering how he can reach the knife and chopping board.

“Little Vic, since it’s inconvenient for you, why not go outside and play. Let this big sister take care of the meals today~ I promise to bring you up well!” You hoist him up by the armpits and bring him out of the kitchen, using this opportunity to squish his tiny face.

Considering how long you’ve known him, you can instantly tell from his expression what he’s about to say next. Before he has time to conjure a venomous remark, you hide in the kitchen and shut the door.

The door slams in front of him, and he shakes his head laughably. “Pretty bold.”

After some twists and turns, you finally churn out an edible “breakfast”. When you lay it on the table, Victor is looking through company documents while wearing glasses that are evidently too large for him.

He shifts the laptop to the side. Furrowing his brows, he uses a knife to slice open a slightly blackened poached egg. “Your skills could see an improvement.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yes yes yes, I can’t possibly compare myself to the skills of the great chef Victor. So I’ll have to trouble Little Vic to bear with it.”

“I’ve taken leave today. After breakfast, there’s an e-meeting I have to attend. When the time comes, attend to it for me.” Finding the food a little salty, Victor holds up the coffee in his hand. Before he even takes a sip, you exchange it with a cup of milk.

“Little children can’t drink adult coffee. You can only grow tall if you drink milk~” You grin while explaining.

His sharp eyebrows furrow slightly. “I’m 28 this year.”

Sizing him up, you click your tongue and sigh. “No matter how fast you grow, this body looks like a six-year-old's.”

“...” Not knowing how to rebut, Victor’s face blackens. When his immature-looking face accompanies this serious expression, he resembles a child who’s throwing a fuss - it’s cute.

After breakfast, you enter the e-meeting. The other high-ranking members of the company notice that CEO Victor isn’t around, and is instead substituted by you. Someone curiously asks, “Did CEO Victor go somewhere?”

Donning an official business-like expression on your face, you respond. “CEO Victor is feeling unwell today. I will be representing him in the meeting, and will convey the contents of the meeting with him in its entirety.”

Following a few concerned pleasantries, the meeting delves into the main topic. You take down notes seriously, posing questions according to the slips of paper Victor hands you. The meeting goes by smoothly.

“Your performance during the meeting wasn’t bad.” Victor flips through your meeting notes, satisfied.

Even though you didn’t understand the purpose of you recording notes when he was right there listening alongside you, you’re thoroughly welcoming of his compliment. Puffing up your chest with pride, you lift your head and say, “Of course. I’m the boss of a production company. Meetings are naturally not a cinch.”

“You’re off in the clouds just after a compliment?” The disjunct between his adorable features and the expression that doesn’t suit his age causes you to burst into laughter. “Victor, stop speaking like that, it’s too unsuitable.”

Victor immediately reverts back to his blank expression, which tickles you even more.

Both of you have taken leave and are staying at home doing nothing, apart from the moments you can’t control your fingers and they knead his cheeks or tousle his hair. Each and every time, he would either swat away or evade your claws. Apart from that, everything has been very peaceful, until...

“Since you’re so small that you’d probably drown if you fall into the bathtub, should I help you bathe?” You suggest earnestly.

Knowing that he can’t convince you otherwise, Victor reluctantly agrees to your request to wash him up.

Standing stark naked in the bathtub, the clear water covers nothing.

You glance at it casually. “When Little Vic becomes smaller, everything else becomes smaller too...”

“...dummy, don’t look.” 

The child’s cheeks are pinkish and tender, and it seems to redden even more after hearing your words.

“Stand here and don’t move. I’ll get the shampoo.” You pat his wet hair and turn around, heading to the shelf to retrieve the bottle of shampoo he uses frequently. 

However, the bathroom floor is too slippery. Accidentally stepping on a puddle of water, your body lunges forwards.

“Be careful!” 

The pain you anticipated doesn’t arrive. Instead, you’re greeted by a warm touch. You flick open an eye.

Victor frowns in pain, his hair dripping with water, sticking to his forehead. There is obvious worry in his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Your brain is stunned by the depth in his eyes, and you can only nod in a daze. 

Sensing this, Victor’s large hand, which was originally on your waist, travels up your spine slowly. His searing eyes causes your breathing to hitch and your mouth to feel dry.

Satisfied by the effect he has on you, the corners of Victor’s lips twitch slightly.

“A dummy said something she shouldn’t have. Now, are you ready to accept your punishment?”

[ GAVIN ]

“Yes, so sorry to trouble you, Captain Eli. And no, it’s not that serious, you don’t have to specially visit. Thank you for the hard work.” You sit on the sofa while making a call to Eli, asking him to help Gavin apply for leave.

Gavin sits beside you quietly, looking at his tiny hands in a trace-like state. He clenches them, but doesn’t feel the strength he’s familiar with.

“All right, let’s just treat today as a rest day. How long will this last?” Your maternal instincts are set alight when facing this tiny Gavin. Carrying him onto your lap, you can’t help but knead his cheeks.

Gavin doesn’t struggle, letting you do whatever you want. “It won’t be long, but it does feel a little strange...”

“I think it’s very cute. Like this, I really can’t bear to let you go~” You place your right hand on the top of his head, patting his soft hair. He probably said it wouldn’t last long so you wouldn’t worry.

“Ahem... it’s fine as long as you like it.” That’s right - Gavin has always been pampering you, and this remains the same even if he turns tiny.

“Gavin, shall we have KFC for lunch? It’s been such a long time since we’ve eaten it.” You rub your hands together, yearning for the KFC New Orleans chicken wings, chicken popcorn and...

Gavin smiles when he sees how eager you are. “I heard the kid’s meal comes with a Conan toy.”

You’re brought out of your thoughts, and there are almost stars in your eyes. “You really know me too well! Thank you, Little Gavin~” 

Gavin subconsciously reaches out to tousle your hair, but since his short arm can’t reach the top of your head, he lowers his arm and holds your hand instead.

Leading him out of the house, you suddenly feel as though you’re holding onto your son. Your eyes crinkle as you tug on his hand. “Today, Little Gav has to follow his mother closely.”

“Cough cough cough cough...” As though you gave him a shock, Gavin chokes violently. With a slight redness in his cheeks, he says your name softly. You laugh, carrying him to the backseat of the car and fastening his seat belt before settling yourself into the driver’s seat.

“Drive more-”

“Drive more slowly - I’ve heard these three words so many times already.” You cut him off before he can finish. Somehow, causing Little Gavin to blush is even more interesting than usual. 

Gavin furrows his brows and changes his words.

“Then, be careful.”

Considering how there’s a ‘child’ in the car, you drive as smoothly as possible, reaching the nearest KFC in the shopping mall only after half an hour. 

“A kid’s meal, a Beijing chicken roll, and a 10-piece chicken bucket. Little Gav, do you want popcorn chicken?” You turn your head to Little Gavin, who is behind you.

He retrieves a mobile phone from the Mickey Mouse backpack you forced him to carry, and hands it to you. “If you want it, just order it.”

"I’ll have the big portion then.” You unlock the phone with your fingerprint, showing the payment code to the clerk. After scanning the code, the clerk takes out a Conan toy and gives it to Gavin.

“Little boy, this is a toy which comes with the kid’s meal.”

Gavin takes the toy from her hand and stores it into the bag. 

There aren’t many people, and most of the patrons are parents with their children. Originally, the two of you planned to pretend to be a mother-son duo and leave quietly after eating. However, a girl around the same height as Little Gavin walks over.

“Little brother, would you like to play in the children’s playground?” The girl’s face is red, her cheeks plump, and the pigtails on her head sway with her movements adorably.

“No he can’t.” You refuse the little girl’s request even before Gavin speaks. 

The girl turns her pleading gaze towards Gavin, who’s helping you get ketchup. He frowns. “I’m not going.”

Perhaps never experiencing such treatment before, the little girl’s eyes immediately turn misty, and it looks as though tears are about to spill from them. Feeling as though you’ve bullied her, you soften your voice and comfort her.

“Little girl, this brother isn’t feeling well today, so he can’t play with you, sorry about that.” 

The child’s mother quickly comes over to apologise, takes the girl away, and compliments your “son” for being both cute and handsome.

After seeing that they’ve walked a distance away, you rub your chin thoughtfully and lower your voice, teasingly saying, “Even as a kid, Senior attracts the eyes of the opposite sex.”

Gavin takes out the Conan toy and hands it to you. “I didn’t expect my girl to feel jealous over a child.”

You dip a fry into ketchup and feed it to him. “I’m not the sour one - it’s the ketchup!”

[Note] In Chinese, jealousy is 吃醋 (”chi cu” - loosely translated to “eating vinegar”. So when MC says she’s “not the sour one”, it’s a pun!

After lunch, the both of you decide to head home to rest since the weather is too hot to remain outside. 

Travelling at noon on a hot summer day causes a sheen of sweat to appear on both of your bodies. 

After returning home, you head to separate bathrooms to have a shower. When Little Gavin steps out, wrapped in a bath towel that is usually only enough to cover his lower body, you can’t help but laugh.

“Gavin, are you wearing a tube top?”

He frowns, lifting the bath towel which is threatening to fall. “The only thing I have is that set of clothes which turned small along with me. I can’t wear anything else.”

You poke his tummy and hug him close to your chest. “Good boy, it’s time to go to sleep~”

The air-conditioning makes the room temperature just right, and you fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing. 

When you awake, the little person in your arms is gone. Instead, you’re resting on a firm arm. A naked man props his head on his palm next to you, smiling and gazing at you tenderly as if he wants to engrave your appearance, the intoxicating sunset, and the beautiful scene of summer on his heart forever. 

You can’t help but stare at his tender and clear face. In the cramped space, the sound of your breathing is amplified.

“Slept too much?” he breaks the silence.

Something occurs to you and you ask in surprise, “Did you know when you’d change back?”

“Mm.” Gavin lowers the arm supporting his upper body and lays down again, reaching out to hug you into his arms. His chin rests on top of your head, and the familiar touch sends tingles down your spine. 

The arms around your waist tighten, and his voice is low and hoarse. 

“Don’t move. I've been holding back for a long time.”

[ LUCIEN ]

You’re pretty sure you’re either still asleep, or having a hallucination. After shaking your head a few more times, the scene in front of you remains unchanged. 

You hold one side of the table to prevent yourself from falling to the ground from dizziness. In front of you is Lucien, his eyes crinkled with a smile... to be more precise, he’s a smaller version of Lucien.

"Lucien, what happened to you?!” You have no idea how to react to the sight before you. “Were you attacked by Voldemort's black magic?" 

Lucien waves your hands away in resignation, and says comfortingly. “It’s likely Evol fluctuations. It shouldn’t last long.”

Curious, you tug at his hair. “Is this for real? Mm, much cuter than usual.”

He takes your hand from the top of his head and holds it tightly. “Didn’t we agree to visit the bookstore to pick out books together today? Aren’t you going to prepare?”

"Are you sure you can still go to the bookstore like this?" You ask in uncertainty, looking at his small frame.

“If it’s something I agreed with you, I’ll definitely fulfil it.” He looks at you with a smile, his eyes gentle and firm, channelling ripples in your heart. Seeing you staring at him in a daze, he chuckles. "Go change your clothes, little fool.

You nod blankly, turning around to head into the room.

-

There are twice as many patrons in the bookstore over the weekend as compared to normal. Book lovers are either shuttling through the bookshelves or reading quietly with a cup of coffee in front of them. 

In contrast to the quietness in this area, the children's book section is much livelier. The walls are decorated with childlike decorative paintings, and the bookshelves are also constructed into various shapes - small houses, elephants, tall trees...

You hold Lucien’s hand as you walk past the children's book section. Feeling mischievous, you look at Lucien, whose height reaches your waist. "Little Lucien, do you want to pick a picture book?"

Lucien lowers his head and doesn’t speak, simply quickening his pace as he holds you. After walking to the western literature section, Lucien stops. “These are the books people my age read.”

The shop helper was just about to ask if he needed directions to the children's book section pauses. 

You laugh softly, taking a collection of poems from the shelf, and read it softly. 

“I love you, for putting your hand into my heaped-up heart, and passing over all the foolish, weak things that you can’t help dimly seeing there, and for drawing out, into the light...”

“All the beautiful belongings that no one else had looked quite far enough to find.”

Someone continues the second half of the sentence. The moment you lift your head, Lucien’s eyes turn icy. 

"It’s ‘Love’ from Roy Croft, right?” The uninvited man leans against the bookshelf in front of you and makes an inviting gesture. "Beautiful lady, may I invite you to have a cup of coffee with me?"”

Before you have time to speak, you hear a childish babble from Lucien. "Mom, dad would be anxious if we don’t get home soon.” 

Lucien smiles, his eyes crinkling as he tugs at the hem of your clothes. Nothing seems out of the ordinary - that is, if you ignore how he almost broke the hardcover copy of the “Theory of Psychoanalysis” in his hand.

Knowing that it’s no good to stay any longer, you take the few books Lucien picked, and prepare to leave. “Sorry, I should be going off with my... son.”

With a look of regret, the man shifts so you can access the aisle. “Next time, then.”

Carrying Lucien, you want to sprint away from this strange man. At the same time, you find the special smile on Lucien’s face very familiar. Every time he catches you doing something ‘bad’, he wears such an expression when he’s about to punish you.

After making your purchase at the checkout counter, you decide to use this rare opportunity to take Lucien to the trampoline. You’ve always wanted to experience it, but have always been too embarrassed to go. This way, you can play on the trampoline under the guise of bringing a child along with you.

Just as you’re able to compliment yourself for your wit, Lucien suddenly grips his chest and gasps, as though he can’t bear the pain.

"Lucien? What's wrong?" You grip his small body anxiously. 

Lucien raises his head with difficulty, his forehead covered with beads of sweat. “Let’s return quickly. I think I’m changing back.”

When you hear that, you dare not delay further. You step on the accelerator, and drive home before Lucien changes back.

As soon as he sits on the sofa, the little Lucien in front of you morphs back to his usual self, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. 

You thought this incident would pass, but you had forgotten that Lucien, a sly fox, doesn’t forget debts owed to him...

“My wife didn’t refuse that man in the bookstore today.”

"You didn’t even give me the chance to refuse,” you gripe, wrapping your legs around his waist.

...

Your whole body is sore, and you don't want to get up at all. Fortunately, it’s the weekend and you can spend the whole day in bed.

There is still lingering warmth in the vacant space beside you. In your line of sight, you see a thick book on the bedside table, and you can barely support yourself as you pick it up. 

Andersen's Fairy Tales.

"I got it from the children's section yesterday. Since I was a child for a while, I bought a book meant for a child." Lucien tousles your hair affectionately, and reaches out to place the storybook to the side. 

"After all, there’s a child at home who needs to listen to stories before bed."

[ KIRO ]

“Where’s Kiro? Where’s my fat... I mean, big Kiro?” You look around exaggeratedly, gesturing with your hands around the height of 176cm, as if you were really looking for him.

“...Miss Chips, stop pretending that you don’t see me.” Kiro looks at your antics in resignation. 

That’s right - the waist-high blond kid in front of you is your Mr Chips.

“I’m sorry, it's just really hard to believe that you’ve suddenly turned small.” Though you’re apologising, your hands cling to his cheeks. Sure enough, they feel like how you imagined. Soft and smooth, which make people reluctant to let go.

"Miss Chips, let go!" Kiro, who initially let you do whatever you want to him,, begins struggling when he realises you have no intention of sparing him.

You let go reluctantly, peeling your hands off his face. 

"Miss Chips, I asked for time off from Savin after telling him I wasn’t feeling well. Shall we go out to play?” 

As expected of Kiro. Even if his body size has turned abnormally small, he can still be optimistic about it, and still be in the mood to play.

“’Not feeling well’? It’s no good to lie to Savin, right?” You look at him, slightly troubled. 

“Savin doesn’t know that I have Evol. Ah, just tell me if you’re going or not.” Kiro opens his eyes wide, as though afraid he would receive words of rejection from you.

You prop your chin and think. "The amusement park then?"  

"Of course! We’ve planned to go for a long time!” Kiro jumps in place with excitement in his tiny body, looking adorable. "I haven't played the running escape game in the amusement park for a long while~”

You size him up, shaking your head regretfully. "Kiro, with your height... are you still able to run fast?" 

"...” Little Kiro feels slightly offended.

Although there may be many restrictions, you still drive to the amusement park with enthusiasm.

-

“All the best Kiro! Just a little bit more.” You watch him stand on his tiptoes laboriously, trying to reach the height permitting him to ride the rollercoaster.

"I made it!" Pleasantly surprised, he sees that his... hair reaches the red line. The staff ruthlessly presses his hair down. "Sorry kid, your height doesn’t pass, so you can't ride this.”

“..." Little Kiro wants to shut himself down. 

"It's okay Kiro, let's go play something else.” You pat him on the head comfortingly, ready to take him to other attractions. Kiro hangs his hand low, utterly aggrieved. "Miss Chips, I suddenly like amusement park rides won’t make me happy.”

You can’t bear to see your Little Sun being unhappy, so you lift him up off the ground. "If you aren’t happy, let's find a restaurant for dessert first, then play later?" 

When he hears that his favourite Miss Chips is bringing him to eat his favourite desserts, the Little Sun’s eyes light up. “Okay, okay~”

Smiling, it occurs to you that this personality and body are actually not that incompatible.

You order a teddy-bear shaped European bun and two dragon fruit juices stored in magic wands, taking a brief rest.

"This seems to be the first time I’m eating with Miss Chips in public.” Kiro dangles his feet off the bench triumphantly, taking out his mobile phone. "I want to take pictures of all our ‘firsts’”.

"Kiro, if Savin sees that, he’d chop your body into pieces.” You remind him softly. 

Sure enough, the fearless and brave Little Kiro stiffens, then quickly puts the phone back into the Donald Duck bag behind him, pretending he never made such a suggestion. "Forget it..." 

“Excuse me, do you have plans to let your brother become a child star?” Your conversation is interrupted by a man in sunglasses. He stands stands beside your table and looks at you expectantly. 

Before you can speak, Kiro answers. "I don’t want to. I hate all that stuff about having to maintain my figure.”

In response to his vehement refusal, the man in sunglasses continues. "No, no, being a child star is very relaxing, and you can even become very famous. Kid, do you want to give it a try?”

"No.” He says this clearly, giving you the impression that he’s been traumatised by Savin’s ‘torture’ over the years.

Not wanting to further entangle yourself with this man, you step in. “Sorry, we don’t have such a plan. We’re heading to another attraction, so please let us pass.” 

While you say this, you pick up the magic wand drinks on the table and lead Kiro out of the dessert shop.

“I didn’t think you’d still attract people’s attention even as a child.” You look at him with mirth.

Kiro scratches his head in irritation. "Absolute Charm is so annoying during these situations!"

You burst out laughing, helping him tidy his messy hair. Holding his hand, you complete all the other rides in the park. 

"Kiro, this is the last thing you can play.” You gulp, gazing at the dark, silent building in front of you. Unlike haunted houses in other places where there are monsters with scary teeth and claws decorating the walls outside this haunted house takes place in a small forest, keeping it out of the noise. The door opens quietly, as though making a silent invitation. 

Kiro squeezes your hand. "Let's go, Miss Chips. A superhero cannot back down!”

Upon entering the house, you discover that there is a line of people, and there are many, like you, have brought children with them to experience the attraction. The staff checks and accepts the express tickets in your hand, and allows around ten of you walk in together.  

The lifelike props and the crying of children fill your ears, and the shrill screams of women make the atmosphere even more terrifying. Trembling slightly, you grab Kiro’s hand, and he grips you. "Don't be afraid, I’ll protect you!”

Although he’s obviously afraid himself, he comforts and protects you from start to finish. 

He’s definitely your superhero.  

After finally getting out of the haunted house, all the children who went in with you, apart from Kiro, are bawling. Little Kiro, with his face pale, is still holding onto your hand.

"Congratulations to the bravest child. As a reward, here are coupons to the night floating parade!" The staff smiles and hands him two paper coupons. 

He receives them in a daze, and doesn’t respond until he walks out of the building and asks, “Miss Chips, does this count as cheating?”

You wink slyly. “If it’s such an adorable kid, cheating is forgivable~”

Kiro agrees with a nod. “Yes, cuteness is a ticket to doing whatever one wants~" He looks at the cartoon electronic watch on his wrist, and suddenly pulls you into a run. "Hurry up Miss Chips, we won't make it to the floating parade in time!”

[ SHAW ] 

You’ve always been calling Shaw “little brat”, but you didn’t expect your words to turn into reality. 

“I’m Shaw, the only graduate student from the Department of Archaeology at Loveland University. When I was playing games instead of sleeping last night, I didn't know that my hair had started falling out. At the time, I picked up the fallen hair but ignored the other harms of staying up late. After that, I was forced to go to bed. When I woke up, my body had shrunk! Although my body has become smaller, I’m as mischievous as always...”

You stand on the bed, raising your right hand exaggeratedly and forming the classic pose of the famous detective Conan.

"...” Shaw, who’s smaller than usual, stands at the side of the bed, looking as though he’s watching a fool.

"You should visit a brain doctor.” He picks up the pillow that fell to the floor accidentally because of your big movements. 

You laugh and get off the bed. "This is the first time I’m seeing a Little Shaw - when you look this small, you’re much cuter than usual.” You grab his cheeks with both hands and knead them to your heart’s delight.

"Don't do that!" He waves your hand away, stepping backwards and walking out the door. Seeming to remember something, he turns around. "I took leave today. You better be at home today too so you can take care of me. It’d save me from inconveniences.”

You purse your lips, mumbling softly, "What do you mean ‘took leave’? All you did was tell the teacher you wouldn’t be in class. You definitely didn't go through the formal leave procedures.” 

Although you’re complaining, you still call Anna to ask for a day off. 

By the time you’ve changed your clothes and freshened up, you find Shaw having breakfast in the living room and watching television. 

You walk over, picking up a dumpling and stuffing it into your mouth. "You’re unexpectedly thoughtful, knowing how to order takeaway for us.”

Shaw scoots over, making space for you. He lifts his head and says disdainfully, "If I didn't order takeaway, I’d become the first kid in Loveland City to starve to death because he didn't eat breakfast." He quickly grabs the last fried dough stick on the table. "Hey, don't touch my fried dough stick!" 

Knowing there’s no chance of grabbing it, you retract your hand and pick up a tea egg instead. “Stingy.”

"I'm a growing boy. Don’t you feel ashamed snatching precious nutrition from me?" He takes a bite of the fritter in his hand and looks at you in disdain.  

"You’re twenty, Uncle Shaw." You retort.

"I look six, okay!”

You click your tongue, pick up the remote control, and switch to a channel playing "Peppa Pig" before placing it back on the table.

"Children should look like children, and watch cartoons that are good for the brain." You turn his head so he faces the television screen.

On it, a pink piglet hops around in the mud pit, splashing muddy water on her brother George.

Shaw looks at you, his face dark. “Do you think I’m you? Isn't this something which suits your intellect?" 

You don the standard smile of a flight attendant, answering him in the sweetest voice you can muster. "Didn't you say you’re six years old? Little brat?"

Shaw looks at you sympathetically. "Unexpectedly, Auntie MC is old enough to have a bad memory, and forgot that my body possesses a twenty-year-old soul." 

Is it illegal to whack a child? If it weren’t against the law, I’d whack him to death!

Stuffed with food and drink, you’re half-lying on the sofa, leaving only a small space for Shaw. You poke his back. “Little Shaw, clean the table.”

He turns around blankly. "I’m a kid. You do the cleaning." 

Fine, even though he’s a child now, he knows how to switch between being an adult and a child when it suits his interests. You decide to teach him a lesson.

You smile and suggest, "I'll take you out to play later.”

Listening to his, Shaw lifts his eyes lazily. “Oh? Is your conscience pricking at you?”

“Children have to write reflections after going out to play. No less than 800 words.” You hold your palm out to him. "Also, you have to give me your money, and let the adult decide your share of the pocket money.

“I knew you weren’t so kind.” Shaw turns away from you. "I want fried chicken cola for lunch. Remember to order properly.”

You roll your eyes, whipping out your phone to order takeaway. You swear that you’re buying it for yourself, not following what he says just because he looks cute.

There’s plenty of fried chicken to go around in the afternoon, so there’s no repeat of the food-snatching that happened in the morning. 

After you’re full from cola and fried chicken, you clear the table and urge him to take a nap. "Children need their afternoon naps, or they won’t grow tall." 

Shaw refuses. "I'm 1.82 meters tall!”

You stare at Shaw, who isn’t even as tall as the television. Even if you don’t speak, what you want to express is self-evident.

He comprehends the meaning in your stare and scratches his head in irritation. You seize this opportunity, whisking him up into your arms and walking towards the bedroom. 

"I don't want to sleep!" He struggles violently, causing you to lose balance and fall forwards.

"Ah!”

“Damn!”

...

You find yourself straddling the enlarged version of Shaw, staring at him with wide eyes.

With a mischievous smile, he strokes your waist. “Since you can’t wait, I have no choice but to comply with your wishes.” 

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More translated and original works: here

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