#tree sap than anything.

[bionicboxes]

wait i think i just accidentally came up with some great worldbuilding for Chainsaw Rock.

Okay so I have previously established that 'Clown' is a species that is completely unrelated to humans. Like, so unrelated that there's debates if the species originated on another planet because Clowns can't be biologically connected to ANYTHING on Earth. They are viewed as both alien and some kind of Fae.

At the same time, some level of magic also does just. Exist. in this world. its a thing. Clowns have it, as do a few other species. Humans do not.

I was doodling some edgy-ness for fun and thinking about what color blood various species have and made Popgoes (a clown) have black glittery blood. The glitter is the magic inside, but then I was thinking about why it would be black. and I concluded that Clowns just don't have iron based blood, being based in something else to better bind with the magic inside the blood.

and then it clicked in my brain. Iron is magic resistant! That's why humans do not have magic, nor can they be affected all that much by it. No magical species has iron-based blood, and those with magic literally IN their blood can get sick from iron- like fae- because it weakens the binding of the magic. Basically poisoning their blood.

IDK I don't think I've seen people mention blood in relation to Fae and their iron weakness so I feel very clever for this line of thinking sdjgksdg

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Mayor's Daughter and the Outlaw

Summary: After ten years, you've finally got your shot at your revenge. You've found the Hero. You have him in your sights.

-----

Pull the trigger.

You’ve worked too hard not to pull the trigger. The sweat, blood and tears you’ve shed have been the least you’ve given to be here. The air is crisp and clean nearly a hundred feet up in a pine tree overlooking a remote forest. You’re probably the only person in the world capable of spotting the brown, camouflaged building spanning the length of the small river running through the valley. There’s a hologram of the river it’s covering playing over the building’s walls. Hell, there are even birds flicking occasionally across the illusion, not often enough to draw attention, but just often enough their movement sends your eyes darting to other trees, trying to find where they went.

You breathe in the scent of sun-heated sap so slowly that it takes a solid minute for your lungs to expand. Your pupils flex and adjust whenever the wind rocks your tree. The window you’ve been staring at for the past hour remains in your focus.

The Sun, hair just as fake-gold as it was ten years ago, sleeps on. He’s definitely older now that you can see him in real life instead of on magazine covers or under studio lights. The skin of his neck is loose and folded under the weight of his chin drooping towards his chest. His eyes flicker under his eyelids. The bastard still has the audacity to dream. His arms are crossed over the sun motif emblazoned across his breastplate, his dust-covered boots kicked up on his desk so you can see how worn the soles are. Judging by the way his lips tremble, he’s snoring.

Pull the trigger.

You exhale. This is when you should do it. When your shoulders drop and the wind dies so that, for a moment, the world stands still. There are no whispers across the canopy. Every bough is frozen. The reflection of the sun in the river is overcome by a well-timed cloud and the Sun’s head tilts back to expose the long line of his throat.

The trigger presses back against your finger like an eager puppy. There’s nothing special about the bullets, nothing special about this gun. It’s not the right weapon for what you’re asking it to do, but you’ve had longer and harder shots. You know that you’ll shoot true and the confidence steadies your hand even more. You smoothly pull--

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back.

Your pupils dilate at the memory. For a moment you don’t see the Sun; you see her with her face burned as red as her prom dress. You try to dispel the image, try to remember that she didn’t die in her prom dress, but it’s too late.

I want you to live, Elian.

You’re suddenly aware of how your lungs ache and your legs burn from the way they’re wrapped around the tree and the bark is digging into your cheek and your fingers are like ice on the trigger. You’re out in the middle of nowhere. This is the Sun’s private residence. The security must be insane even if there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. What’s your exit strategy again? Your thoughts scatter as her voice rings through your head again.

More than anything, I want you to live.

-------Ten years ago----

You’re what the heroes tactfully call a nuisance. A juvenile delinquent with powers, aka a kid that the police aren’t equipped to handle and the local Hero chapter is too overqualified and too understaffed to address often.

 Your moral compass has never had a true north and it only gets worse the more your powers develop. Soon you aren’t just stealing your mom’s car – you’re stealing the neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor’s until you’re breaking into houses at the top of the hill and joyriding in a car worth more than your entire neighborhood together.

You find out pretty quickly that the heroes care a lot more when money is involved.

You spend your first night in jail after getting chased for three hours in a neon green lambo by the four heroes packed like sardines in a standard issue SUV. It’s laughably easy to out-drive them, choking around corners and careening down alleys that you scouted in the afternoon. Honestly, it would have been easy to get away, but your mom called just as the tank hit empty, asking when you were coming home.  You decided to give the heroes a break before they decided to play too rough with a minor.

Mom isn’t thrilled when you tell her you won’t be home in time for school tomorrow.

You kind of expect to be sent to prison the next day when you find out just whose car you stole. The Mayor’s daughter’s car, bought new for her seventeenth birthday a month ago. There are two open secrets about the mayor. One, he’s probably one of the heroes that protect the city judging from how much he praises them every time there’s a mic nearby. Two, he loves his daughter more than anything else.

So when you’re released the next day with a slap on the wrist? Yeah, you’re surprised.

When you’re released the next day to find the golden-haired, blue-eyed Mayor’s daughter waiting outside? Having just bailed you out?

You feel fear for the first time.

“You could have at least crashed it,” she says when she notices you gaping at her from the end of the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV that looks a lot like the one the heroes chased you in last night. She waves a hand in the air. “Dad says the dents you put in the side will be out by tomorrow.”

Fear, apparently, makes you snarky. “What, you wanted to spend another week getting chauffeured by a hero?”

Her brows jerk up towards her hairline. She throws a glance over her shoulder. “You seeing ghosts? Nobody’s in there. I drove myself.”

“Good for you,” you say. You think you smell. They didn’t give you access to a shower last night. You’re upwind from her and damnit why are you embarrassed if you smell or not? Your chin jerks forward in a challenge. “You gonna give me a ride back home?”

You’re joking, but she nods like it was the plan all along. “Let’s go.”

Is that an answering challenge in her words? Your teeth grind as you force yourself forward. “Very kind of you,” you chirp, swinging up into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and justice. “Just drop me off on the other side of the train tracks. I can find my way home from there.”

She snorts. “Is that a Footloose reference? Very dated.”

You stare at her profile. “…No. I literally live on the other side of the tracks.”

She flushes. “Right. Well…I’m not dropping you off yet. I want to talk first.”

The doors are locked. You swallow as she carefully pulls out of the parking lot and then guns it into the road without looking. Luckily, no one’s there. “Talk? About what?”

“About how you’re going to steal my car again,” she says. “And this time you’re going to crash it right.”

“You hate the color that much?” you joke.

Her tone is not joking. “You have no idea.”

You don’t find out her name until dinner when your mom’s managed to entice her into a third slice of homemade pizza. She stares down at the slice while your mom waves for you not to stay up too late before going to bed early. Gamely, you’re already on your fifth helping. Criminal activity takes a lot of energy.

“Does your mom know who I am?” she asks.

“Like, in theory,” you say. You’re full and warm as you lean into the hard wooden back of your chair. Mom added olives to your side of the pizza. “She probably doesn’t know you’re the Mayor’s daughter though. Just that he has one.”

“The Mayor…right,” she says. Her jaw firms. She flicks some olives off her pizza and then eats half the slice in one bite. “I’m Gina.”

“Elian,” you say instead of No, you’re the Mayor’s Daughter. You refill her soda cup before your own, just to show her you can be fancy and have manners too. She’s so out of place in your family’s one bedroom apartment. Her shirt is crisp and white, her gold necklace so shiny, that it’s like there’s a sepia filter over the eggshell walls and oak cabinets. “Sprite. Only the finest for the lady who bailed me out.”

“I’m thinking you can take my car next weekend,” Gina says so abruptly you nearly spit out your soda. There’s a hard light in her eyes. “Dad’s out of town for…business. He won’t notice for a few days. You take it, you get out of the city, you drive it off a cliff once you’ve wrecked it doing donuts or whatever.”

“A cliff?” You know exactly where she’s talking about. There’s an abandoned quarry about an hour outside of town. You shake your head. “That’s where people dump bodies. No way am I going out there.”

“They find bodies there because it’s outside of Hero Force’s patrol,” Gina says. She waves her hands in the air so the yellow light from the inset ceiling lights catches on her golden manicure. “If you think about it, it’s the best place to dump a car. Especially when the heroes are going to be out of town.”

You stare at her. “Did you just admit your dad is part of Hero Force?”

Her eyes skitter away from yours. “No.”

“Your dad is out of town next weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And the heroes?”

“Maybe they’re traveling together.”

“I don’t think anyone is supposed to know when the heroes are going to be out of town. Isn’t that like a national secret, or something?”

“We’re not a big enough chapter for it to be a national secret,” she denies. She bites her lip. “Probably a state secret though.”

You stand and your chair chatters against the linoleum. “No. Absolutely not.” It’s time for Ms. Mayor’s Daughter to leave.

She scrambles up after you, following you into the living room. “Why not?! You already mess with the heroes. Weren’t you the one who kept breaking into the mall on a motorcycle? You hijacked one of their delivery trucks a month ago—”

“A food delivery truck,” you say. “Which was more of a commentary about the city’s investment in Hero Force luxury rather than after school programs—” You bite your tongue. You spin so that the couch stays between you. You glance at your mom’s closed door and consciously lower your voice. “How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. She laughs without humor, dragging one hand through her golden hair. “Sometimes living in this town is like being in a simulation. We have four A-class heroes for a population of 30,000 and everybody loves them. Nobody thinks it’s strange to have walking nukes in a small town. They love my dad. Did you know no one’s even run against him for the past two elections? It doesn’t matter what he does. He owns this place and these people. He has – could commit murder and it would be justified. People would think it would be justice.”

“He loves you,” you say weakly. Isn’t four heroes a pretty normal number? Sure, the ones in your town are big names, but that’s not weird.

Is it?

“He loves me so he gets to be a tyrant?” Gina scoffs. “If he’s even capable of love.”

“I’m not going to mess around with heroes’ civilian identities just because you’ve got daddy issues,” you say. When hurt flashes across her face, you wince. “Sorry. But it’s one thing to mess with heroes in masks, okay? Messing with a hero’s family—”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were stealing my car the other night.”

“That was before I knew your dad was Mr. Solve or whatever—”

“The Sun,” Gina says.

“What?”

“My dad’s the Sun.”

“That,” you say, “is so much worse. Didn’t he burn some minor villain’s eyes out last week?”

“Yes,” Gina says. Her mouth twists. “The guy got off easy compared to some others.”

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. “And you wonder why I’m not going to antagonize the guy?”

“But you already do,” Gina says. Her eyes are glinting. She looks so out of place against the dim interior of your home, a radiant girl dressed all in white and gold. She rounds the couch and snatches up one of your hands between two of her own. “Everyone else loves my dad. Except you. My entire life, and you’re the only one who dares to make—make statements about Hero Force consumption by stealing their deliveries or make the heroes chase you around an abandoned mall on foot like regular people. You challenge them, Elian. All I’m asking is that you do it again.”

“That sounds like a lot more than just crashing your car,” you say. Your voice sounds very far away. You never thought of your actions as so noble. There’s a tingling in your stomach that you’ve never felt before and your hand is so warm. She sees you. You shake the fantasy out of your head. “I—look. I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. The heroes know my face. It’s only a matter of time before I get sent to whatever detention super-powered kids get sent to. I have to graduate high school.”

Rather than discourage her, Gina presses closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to do both?”

Her closeness fogs your brain. “Both?”

“Take the heroes down a notch and maintain your identity,” she says. She releases you and whirls to get her purse off the couch. “I can help you. We can train so that the heroes never recognize the new you. You can use your powers in new ways. And you can wear this.”

She thrusts a piece of chewed leather into your hands. A mask.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “we call you Outlaw.”

------ Now ----

You can’t shoot. Night is falling by the time you admit it to yourself. You press your back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the first stars. You cradle your gun in your hands.

The bloodlust is still there. You aren’t a fair lily incapable of staining your petals red (as red as her). So why can’t you pull the trigger? Because of her ghost? Her last message to you?

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back. More than anything, I want you to live, Elian.

You grind your teeth. Easy for her to say. The dying never have to feel the weight of consequence. They can just say whatever the fuck they want.

You aren’t thinking when you climb down the tree. Your powers give you a lot of things – speed and healing, an instinct for the outdoors, and excellent eyesight. You don’t need to look to find one branch and another, dropping to the forest floor in ten-foot increments. By the time your boots hit the ground, you know what the problem is.

Unlike your other kills, this one is personal. It was never going to be enough just to see him dead. You need him to know why you’ve got him in your sights.

The Sun is an old school hero. The traps you were so afraid of are predictable, turns out. You pick your way around bear traps and landmines, sharp eyes easily picking out silver trip wire when it glints in the moonlight. There are cameras, but there’s likely only one person with access. In the past ten years of following the Sun, you’ve learned two things about him.

One, he’ll kill the things he loves before he loses them.

Two, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

You get to the building inside of an hour. The first floor is hidden by steel shutters and there’s no light peeking out from behind them. The second floor window where he’d been sleeping for most of the day shines with the faint blue glow of a television.

The front door looks like a bank’s with how thick it is. There’s a keypad and a biometric scanner you don’t have a prayer of hacking.

That’s okay. You’ve already seen your way in.

You climb up the nearest pine tree. The Sun likes to think of himself as a competent hero, but too many mayoral kickbacks over the years made him soft. He surrounded himself with powerful heroes and never once struggled to win. Because of that, he’s missing some caution and common sense. The building’s first floor is locked up tight, but the windows on the second are regular glass.

And he hasn’t trimmed the tree line back far enough.

You fire your first shot of the night into his empty desk chair, exactly where his chest had been hours earlier. Immediately a siren sounds, and the TV glow coming through the office’s open door is consumed by bright light. You run two steps and then leap, neatly flipping through the empty window frame. Your boots slide for a moment on the broken glass and you catch yourself on the edge of his desk. There are medical papers scattered across it, prescriptions and diagrams of the face and eyes and heart.

You chew your cheek at the sight of a pill bottle. There had been rumors that the Sun is sick with his own radiation poisoning. It’s good you’re here before nature runs its course.

The siren wails for another beat before dying. The silence rings. Your heartbeat picks up as your ears strain to hear if anyone’s coming to meet you. Strange. The Sun had to have been the one who shut off the alarm.

So where is he?

You hold your gun out in front of you and check your mask. The Sun knows who you are by now, but you want him to see the mask she gave you. The handsewn leather, patched more times than you can count, is recycled from one of his old leather jackets. It feels oddly poetic to be dressed in the first iteration of your costume, cowboy hat tipped back and a biker vest embroidered with the name she gave you.

Is the Sun hiding? You creep out of the office, eyes darting from the quaint landscapes hanging on the wall to the tasteful wooden floors. The Sun’s safe house feels more cabin-y than you expected. The property deed has been in his name for the past fifteen years. Did Gina ever visit? Her ghost runs ahead of you, golden nails dragging along the peach wallpaper to the first open door on the left. She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

There are times when you’re glad for the afterimages your brain conjures. This is not one of those times. You don’t think she’d be happy to see what you’re about to do.

You swing around the doorway gun first, a snarl on your lips. “You old bastard, drop what—”

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first, dashing away the red haze filling your vision in an instant. A TV murmurs against the wall, some rerun of an old western, but it’s not what holds your attention.

There’s a bed in the center of the room. The Sun sits at bedside, his attention wholly invested on the hand he’s holding up. Carefully, he applies gold paint to the nails without once looking up at you.

The woman in the bed is obscured with white gauze and beige compression bandages. Her breathing is soft and even. The one eye you can see is closed and still. No dreaming, no awareness.

“Outlaw,” the Sun says. He gently sets Gina’s left hand down on her stomach and picks up her right. He squints at her pinky nail. “Close the office door, would you? I don’t want the heat to escape.”

“What,” you breathe, “the fuck.”

-----Ten years ago ----

It’s a good year with Gina. You never realized how friend-starved you were until she was there, over at your house every day after school. She always makes it sound like she’s coming over to talk about the Outlaw thing, but there’s other stuff too. Movies and cooking and tutoring.

“Life is about balance,” Gina says sagely during one such tutoring session. “Besides, even heroes don’t go on more than two missions a month. We’re doing just fine.”

There’s always a pressing need to do more though. Whenever you pull off a particularly daring heist, she smiles this secret and pleased smile that makes your stomach flip. Sometimes, when the two of you watch news coverage of your getaways, she murmurs how impressed she is, how smart you are, how cool your powers are.

It makes you want to do anything for Gina.

You’re watching the news one day, waiting for a recap of how you stole the Sun’s favorite shield from the armory, when a rare story comes on. A Hero is dead, some guy named Ibis from Atlanta. There aren’t any leads to the culprit except for eyewitness accounts of a mysterious, winged super-powered individual flying low over the city, hiding in storm clouds.

“I’d kill a Hero,” you blurt out.

Gina jerks so hard that the popcorn bowl goes flying out of her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice. “What?”

“N-not your dad or anything,” you say quickly although yes, if you had to kill anyone, you’d start with the man who makes Gina cry like that. “Just…in general. The news anchor said Ibis was connected to a civilian’s death, right? I could kill a Hero like that.”

“No,” Gina says. She drops off the couch to kneel by you. “No, Elian.”

You flush like you’ve done something wrong. You sink into your hoodie. “I’m not going to, I’m just saying—”

“If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back,” Gina says. She’s too close, so close that you can see the flecks of gold hidden in her eyes. “Your life—it’s not like what we’ve been doing. Dad’s got rules when it comes to stealing. But if you kill a hero?” She shudders. “I want you to live, Elian.”

“I got it—”

“Please,” she blurts out. The plea in her voice makes you really look at her despite the pounding of your heart. Her eyes are wild and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “No matter what. Promise me.”

“I—” No matter what? You slowly shake your head, trying to get away from the instinctive desire to agree with her. “I-if someone is really bad, I’d—”

“Elian—”

The tension makes you truthful.

“If your dad hurt you, I’d kill him,” you say. When she rears back, this time you follow. You brace your arm against the couch so you can lean into her space. With your other hand, you trace the fading burn on her cheek that could pass for an old sunburn if you didn’t know the truth. “I know you don’t think he will, but he’s been erratic lately. And I know about his temper. If he hurts you, I’d kill him.”

The air thickens between you. It’s rare that you don’t back down, but you’re not backing down now, staring into her eyes. Competing wills. For a moment you let everything you feel come to the surface. Your frustration when she visits with that fucking shadow in her smile, the helplessness when there’s another burn on her arm, the adoration when she’s just there.

Gina shudders and looks away first. She licks her lips. “I—I…appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m fine. You agreed I got to make the rules for Outlaw. I’m telling you one. Don’t kill heroes.”

She’s pulling away. You do too, falling to her side and sitting next to her rather than hovering over her. You try for a careless shrug but fall short. How can she make you feel so powerful one second and so powerless the next? You avert your eyes. “I won’t kill heroes,” you promise.

You hear her suck in a breath. “Good. Because I need you alive.”

“I do like being alive,” you say and don’t finish the sentence with with you.

“We’re done studying,” she decides. She darts up towards the kitchen. “I’m getting another bowl of popcorn before we start the movie. You want some?”

You stare at your reflection in the dark TV. Your jaw works. Finally, you say, “Nah. I’m good. I’ll just eat it off the floor.”

“Don’t be gross, Elian!”

------Now.----

“I will regret that day for the rest of my life,” the Sun says. He hasn’t looked at you once. His eyes are glued to the steady rise and fall of Gina’s chest. He times his breathing to hers and then sighs. “What a fool I was. Drunk on power.”

You’re standing on the opposite side of the bed. Your gaze flicks from Gina to him and back again. “Is she ever conscious?”

“It’s a medically-induced coma,” the Sun says. “The doctors say she should wake up any day now that most of her injuries have healed. Her last surgery was the final one. Now it’s up to her.”

This might be the first time in ten years that you’ve breathed. You suck in air greedily and imagine you can taste her scent under the layers of sickness and medicine. “They told me she died.”

“I told Hero Force you did it,” the Sun says. There’s no remorse in his voice. “They always tell villains they were successful, so they don’t try again.”

A decade of rage slides around your ribs. “You fucking bastard.”

“I did think it was your fault ten years ago.” He carefully picks up Gina’s left hand again to apply a second coat. It takes all your willpower not to slap him away from her. “If you hadn’t stolen Hero Force data, I wouldn’t have had to come after you with my full power. She would never have been in the line of fire.”

You’re fists shake at your sides. “I didn’t steal Hero Force data, I stole your fucking car. Don’t rewrite history.”

“There was Hero Force data in that car.”

“It was your Porsche, your civilian Porsche!”

“My fault to have left sensitive data out,” the Sun says. His confession surprises you into silence. “But I had to get it back no matter what. Then I blamed you by thinking how if you’d only asked me to take my daughter to Prom, I would’ve known she was in the car.”

“She’s not your property and it’s not the 1800s, of course I didn’t ask if I could take your daughter to—”

“I’m telling you what I thought,” the Sun interrupts. He finally looks at you. He looks worse than he did earlier, the years cutting deep lines into his face. There are black bags of exhaustion under his watering eyes. He breathes out shakily. “I had to tell myself it was your fault. It was the only way I could survive, Elian.”

Your real name shocks you. You stumble back. “How do you know that name?”

“She calls for you sometimes,” the Sun says. He drags a hand over his face before grimly returning to his daughter’s nails. “She’s never been really conscious for long. The d-damage took a long time to heal. But when she’s awake, she calls for you and she calls for Outlaw. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

Your chest throbs. “I should have been here. You should have—I could have—”

“Blaming you let me keep her by my side,” the Sun says. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand me. But I…I regret more than anything what I’ve done to my daughter.”

“You’re going to regret it even more,” you say. The rage you feel is like a tidal wave. Ten years. Ten years. You could have held her hand through her recovery. You could have been there for her. And this selfish asshole who never even loved her like a father should took that away from you. You remember your gun. “You never deserved to be her father.”

“I didn’t, did I?” the Sun asks. He sets her hand down and swallows hard. He looks down the barrel of your gun without flinching. “She says one other thing, you know. When she asks for you.”

The curiosity stills your trigger finger. “What?”

“She says, Don’t kill heroes.”

Your face contorts. There’s the memory of popcorn in your mouth and the heat of her eyes on you. “Yeah, she said that to me before too. Back when I offered to kill you the first time.”

The Sun hangs his head. If he’s surprised to hear that, he doesn’t show it. “I wasn’t a good father.”

“No. But she didn’t want you dead.”

Understanding dawns. “Don’t kill heroes.”

“Exactly.” You tilt your head. “Do you feel like a hero?”

His lips tremble. His gaze drifts back to his daughter. Her eyes are flickering under eyelids. “I—I—”

The trigger presses back against your finger, eager and ready. “Do you?”

He licks his lips. “N-no,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

This time, it’s easy to take aim. Steady your breath. And—

Fuck.

“Leave,” you say. You drop your gun back to your side and scowl when the Sun’s eyes fly open in surprise. “If you do what I say, you’ll live long enough for Gina to decide what to do with you. Leave and don’t tell anyone about this.”

The Sun shakes his head. “No, no I can’t leave her—”

“Then die here,” you snap. You bare your teeth at him. “Leave. We’ll be gone in a week. Maybe she wakes up and calls you. Maybe she—” You take a deep breath. “Well. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, your part is done here.”

“I need to be there when she wakes up. Please, I’m her dad—”

“You’re her murderer,” you say. More than anything, you want to pick Gina up and run out of here before the Sun can stop you. You eye the monitors and know three people you need to call for advice before you even attempt to move her. A week should be just enough time to disappear. “You think you deserve to stay by her side?”

The Sun opens his mouth twice before he finds words. “I just—let me stay until she wakes up. That way I’ll know.”

“I spent ten years thinking she was dead,” you say. “You can last a month in limbo. If I have to ask you again, we’ll finally see who’s stronger now that I’m all grown up.”

The Sun picks himself up slowly. You think he cries. You’re not sure. He may even plead with you again. You’re deaf to it. Your brain has given up on splitting your attention and every atom of your being is homed in on Gina.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

You kneel at her bedside and wait for her to wake up.

----

Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of work or get access to stories like this a week (or more!) early, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! This week's short story for my Triple Shot and above tiers is about a world where being loved adds years to your lifespan!

Based off this prompt (X): Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.

[novaursa]

Where Banners Fall

- Summary: After your fall at Rook’s Rest, Gwayne takes you to safety and some hidden things come to light.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's sister and bonded with Silverwing. This part continues just after The Flames We Carry. For all parts done in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

-Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 3 320

- A/N: Yeah, this one was not ment to come out today either, but you all liked the last part very much, so, here is the continuation of it. Enjoy! ❤️

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The moon casts its pale light through the dense trees, illuminating the night in a silvery glow. The wind is cold, biting through layers of bloodied cloth, as Gwayne Hightower clutches the reins with one hand and his side with the other. His breath comes ragged, each inhalation a struggle as the gash Cole delivered sends jolts of fire down his side. But none of it matters, not when your life is in his hands. 

You lie slumped against his chest, your skin far too pale, and your breaths shallow, rattling with a sound that tears at his heart. Blood streaks your face, staining your lips, a crimson trail leaking from your nose. The fall from Silverwing... gods, he can still hear the roar of dragons and the sickening crunch of bones as you hit the ground. He couldn't—wouldn’t—leave you there, even if it meant betraying everything he'd ever known.

He halts the horse in the shadow of a large oak tree and dismounts with a groan, one arm wrapped protectively around his wounded side. The pain lances through him, nearly buckling his legs, but he grits his teeth and turns to you, his gaze softening despite the turmoil raging within.

"Y/N," he whispers, barely able to speak your name without his voice cracking. Carefully, he lifts you from the saddle, feeling your weight crumple against him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His fingers tremble as he lays you down gently on the mossy ground. You are so still, too still. 

He kneels beside you, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. "Open your eyes. Just... look at me, Y/N." His voice is hoarse, almost pleading. His hands, stained with blood—your blood, his blood—ghost over your cheeks, checking for any signs of life. 

Your eyelids flutter, and a soft moan escapes your lips, causing his heart to lurch with both relief and anguish. "Gwayne?" you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. Each word seems to sap what little strength you have left.

"I'm here. I won’t leave you, I promise," he assures you, his voice steady though it takes everything in him to keep it that way. He cups your face in his hand, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're safe now."

Tears prick his eyes as he sees the pain etched across your features. It’s a stark reminder that you’re not just his princess, the sister of Rhaenyra, daughter of Viserys—you’re the woman who’s owned his heart for years, even if it was a tragic love and often denied.

"You shouldn’t have come back for me," you rasp, your breath hitching in pain. "They’ll kill you…"

"Let them," Gwayne says with a fierce intensity, voice raw with emotion. "If it meant keeping you alive, I’d suffer any fate they decide." He swallows, lowering his head so his forehead rests against yours. "But I couldn’t let you die back there. Not you."

Your eyes fill with tears, but your smile is faint and tinged with regret. "Foolish knight. Always so stubborn."

He chuckles softly, though the sound is strained. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve finally done something right, if it means keeping you with me just a little longer."

You cough weakly, and the sound sends a fresh surge of panic through him. Blood dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and his heart twists at the sight. Desperation claws at him, urging him to do something, anything to ease your suffering, but he knows there’s little he can do out here in the wilderness with no healer, no herbs, nothing but his own two hands.

"I need to make camp," he says gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek one last time before he stands. "We’ll rest here. I’ll tend to you as best I can."

You try to protest, your voice faint. "You’re injured too… I can see the blood. You’ll bleed out if you—"

"Shh." His tone is soft but firm, silencing your concern. "You’re more important to me than any wound I bear." 

He gathers what little strength he has left and begins preparing a makeshift camp, struggling to keep his movements swift despite the burning pain in his side. He lights a small fire, the flickering flames casting shadows over your pale features. Every time he glances at you, his chest tightens with fear that he’ll lose you before the dawn.

Finally, when he’s done, he returns to your side, wrapping his cloak around your trembling form. He cradles you gently in his lap, pressing you close to share what warmth he can offer.

You turn your head weakly to look at him, tears brimming in your eyes. "Gwayne… if I don’t—"

"No," he interrupts, his voice sharp, as if the very idea of you leaving him is unbearable. "You’ll live, Y/N. We’ve both been through too much for it to end here."

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of night creatures. You rest your head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of armor and cloth. Despite everything, the world seems a little less terrifying with him holding you like this.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, your fingers curling weakly against his tunic. "For saving me… for staying."

"Always," he whispers, tightening his hold on you, as if afraid you’ll slip away. "For you, I would defy the world."

His words are heavy with truth. He betrayed Cole, risked everything—his loyalty, his honor, his House—because nothing mattered more than you. As he watches your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, he swears to himself that he’ll see you through this, no matter the cost.

The night wears on, and as the fire crackles and the stars glimmer overhead, he keeps vigil, his thoughts solely on you. In the stillness of the night, there is only the two of you, bound by fate, by the shared loss and love that lingers unspoken between every touch, every look.

And as sleep finally claims you, Gwayne brushes a tender kiss to your brow, whispering the words he’s held back for far too long.

"I love you, Y/N."

The admission hangs in the air, soft and fragile like a promise yet to be fulfilled. But as the night deepens, with you in his arms and the world beyond fading into the distance, it is a vow he clings to with all his heart.

The first rays of dawn filter through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns of golden light over your face. The chill of the night still lingers in the air, but warmth gradually spreads as the sun climbs higher. Gwayne Hightower stirs awake, the dull ache in his side reminding him of the wound that still bleeds sluggishly beneath layers of makeshift bandages. But the pain is forgotten the moment he notices your chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. You’re alive. You’re breathing.

For a fleeting moment, all his worries and fears dissolve as he watches you. Your skin is still too pale, your breathing shallow, but your lips are no longer tinged with the blue pallor of death. When your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Gwayne?” Your voice is soft, laced with confusion and pain, but it’s enough to make his heart soar.

“I’m here.” He shifts closer, gently brushing his hand over your forehead, smoothing away a few stray strands of hair. His touch is tender, reassuring, but there’s an edge of desperation to it, as if touching you is the only way he can convince himself you’re still with him. “You’re safe.”

You close your eyes briefly, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whisper, “Silverwing… she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Gwayne’s throat tightens, and he struggles to find the words. He knows how deep the bond is between a rider and their dragon, knows how it must feel like losing a piece of your soul. “She saved you, Y/N. She fought until the very end to protect you.”

A sob escapes your lips, but it’s weak, more of a trembling breath than anything. You turn your face into his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. “She was everything to me. I felt her… I felt her fear when they descended on us. She tried, Gwayne… she tried so hard.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you grieve. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “She was brave, just like you.”

For a long moment, he just holds you, letting the silence settle between you, broken only by the faint sounds of the waking forest. His thoughts, however, race. He knows they can’t stay here. His nephews’ banners surround them from every side, and it’s only a matter of time before scouts or patrols find them. He can’t risk it, not with you in this condition.

“We need to get you to Dragonstone,” he finally says, his voice low but determined. “To Rhaenyra. She’ll know how to keep you safe.”

You nod faintly against his chest, but your eyes are distant, as if lost in some faraway memory. “Dragonstone… where our son is.”

The words come so softly that at first, Gwayne thinks he’s misheard. His heart stutters, the blood draining from his face as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “What did you say?”

You blink slowly, your eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain, but there’s a haunted look in them now. “Our son… I can’t… I can’t lose him too.”

The world tilts beneath Gwayne’s feet. He stares at you, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said. “Y/N… what do you mean, our son?”

You swallow, the effort seeming to drain you. “He’s ours, Gwayne. He… he was born after… after everything. After Daemon took me.”

His chest tightens, shock mingling with something deeper, more painful. He had always known you were taken by Daemon, given to him as part of the political machinations he could never fully understand years ago. It was a decision that had shattered him at the time, but hearing this now—knowing you bore his child in secret—rips at old wounds, laying them bare.

“A son…” The words are a whisper, disbelief and awe warring in his voice. “You kept him hidden from me?”

Tears brim in your eyes again, your voice breaking. “I had no choice. Daemon… he knew the child wasn’t his. He claimed him, raised him as his own, but he’s ours, Gwayne. He’s our flesh and blood.”

Gwayne’s heart pounds in his chest, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him—anger, sorrow, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “All this time… I never knew.”

“I wanted to tell you, but it was too dangerous,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I thought… I thought it was better if you didn’t know. To keep you safe from Daemon’s wrath.”

Gwayne’s world narrows to this moment, to the truth of a child he never knew he had, one who’s been raised by a man who has always been his rival in more ways than one. The thought of Daemon laying claim to something so precious to him—it ignites a rage deep in his chest, but it’s tempered by the sheer anguish on your face.

He tightens his grip on you, pulling you into him as if holding you closer will somehow mend the broken pieces of the life you might have had together. “We’ll get him back,” he vows, voice low and fierce. “You and I—we’ll go to Dragonstone. To your sister. To our son. I won’t let Daemon keep what’s ours.” 

The thought makes his blood run cold, but for you, he’d face even that man.

You look up at him, your gaze searching his, and for a moment, you’re not the princess caught in the bloody web of war and dragons—you’re just a woman looking at the man you love, hoping against hope that he can keep the promise he’s just made. “I’ve missed him so much,” you whisper. “And I’ve missed you.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he allows himself to hold you as if you’re the only thing that matters. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “And I’m not going anywhere without you. We’ll get through this.”

The resolve in his words steadies the both of you. There’s a long road ahead, fraught with dangers and uncertainties, but he knows with unwavering certainty that he won’t let anything tear you away from him again—not the war, not his family’s betrayal, and not even Daemon’s machinations.

You’ve lost so much—your dragon, your freedom, your soul—but in this moment, you find a glimmer of hope in the man who’s risked everything for you. And as the morning sun rises, casting light on the uncertain path ahead, you cling to that hope, knowing that Gwayne will do whatever it takes to bring you home—to your sister, to your son, and to the life you both deserve.

Together, you’ll reclaim what’s been taken. And together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves on uneven ground fills the tense silence between you and Gwayne as he guides the horse deeper into the wilderness. Morning light filters through the trees in shifting patterns, but it does little to ease the weight pressing on Gwayne’s chest. His mind churns, cycling through the revelation you just laid bare—a son. His son. Every heartbeat seems to echo with the implications, each thump a reminder of the child who was taken from him, raised by a man Gwayne both loathes and fears.

He clenches the reins tighter, trying to steady his thoughts as they race uncontrollably. A son. His thoughts circle back to it, gnawing at him like an itch he can’t scratch. What is the boy like? What does he look like? The questions burn in his throat, but the uncertainty of what comes next gnaws at him even more. Daemon, he thinks bitterly, the name sour on his tongue. The prince’s shadow looms over everything now, twisting this newfound truth into something almost unbearable.

But he can’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now. You’re still weak, clinging to consciousness by a thread. The ride is perilous, the terrain rough, and every jolt of the horse draws a faint whimper from your lips. Each sound slices through him like a blade, a reminder that you’re slipping further away with every mile. His instinct is to press forward, to ride hard and fast to the nearest settlement that might offer help, but every harsh movement risks worsening your condition.

He takes a deep breath and glances down at you, leaning back against his chest, your eyes half-lidded in a haze of pain. "Y/N," he calls gently, hoping to draw you back to him, even if only for a few moments. "Stay with me. I need you to stay with me."

You stir slightly, your eyelids fluttering as you try to focus. Your breaths are labored, each one a struggle, but the sound of his voice seems to anchor you in the present.

"I’m here," you whisper, though your voice is faint and distant, almost as if you’re speaking from another world. "Just… so tired."

Gwayne swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push through the fear gnawing at him. He needs answers, needs to understand what you’ve been through, what he’s been through, if he’s going to piece together a plan that might save you both. "You spoke of our son… before," he says carefully, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of reality. "Tell me about him, Y/N. I need to know."

Your gaze drifts upward, unfocused, as if you’re looking at something beyond his reach. A faint smile tugs at your lips, though it’s tinged with sadness. "He’s beautiful," you murmur, voice trembling with emotion. "He has your eyes… that same spark. But he’s stubborn, too. So stubborn, just like his father."

Gwayne’s heart clenches at the thought. He can almost see it—an image of a child with your grace and his determination, laughing with that carefree joy only children possess. But there’s a shadow over the image, a darkness that steals the warmth from it.

"He doesn’t know who I am, does he?" Gwayne asks, though he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head weakly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He thinks… he thinks Daemon is his father. That’s all he’s known." Your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of the truth. "It was the only way to keep him safe. The only way to protect him while the world tore itself apart."

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, a surge of anger rushing through him, not at you but at the situation, at the cruelty of a world that forced such a choice upon you. "Daemon," he says bitterly, the name dripping with resentment. "He took everything from me. He even took him—our son—and you."

You turn your head slightly, struggling to focus on him, your expression full of regret. "He did it to protect him, Gwayne. As much as I hate it, I can’t deny that. In a world like this, with war tearing us all apart, who else could raise him? Who else could keep him alive?"

Gwayne’s throat tightens, the fury and sorrow tangling together in a knot that’s hard to unravel. He wants to argue, to curse Daemon’s name, but deep down, a small part of him knows you’re right. That’s what stings the most. Daemon was the one with power, the one who could shield the child from the dangers that lurked on all sides, even if it meant poisoning the boy’s mind against the truth of who he really is.

But he’s not ready to accept it. Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance to change things, to reclaim what’s his.

"I’ll find a way," he vows, more to himself than to you. "I’ll get him back, Y/N. I’ll make sure he knows who his true father is."

You smile weakly, though your eyes are growing heavier, the strain of staying conscious taking its toll. "You always were driven, my love," you murmur, voice fading. "Just… don’t lose yourself in anger. Our son deserves better than that."

Before he can respond, your eyes close again, and your body goes limp against him. Panic seizes him for a moment, but he quickly checks your pulse, relieved to feel the faint but steady beat beneath your skin. You’re slipping back into delirium, but you’re still alive. That’s all that matters now.

He looks ahead, squinting at the road as he spots the faint outlines of a small village in the distance—a neutral settlement, one of the few places where banners don’t fly for either side. It’s a place to rest, to gather supplies, and perhaps even to find someone who can tend to your wounds. But it’s not without risk. Enemies could be lurking anywhere, and he knows he can’t let his guard down.

As he rides toward the village, Gwayne’s thoughts swirl with plans and possibilities. He needs to get you to Dragonstone, needs to confront the truths that have been hidden for so long. But more than that, he needs to find a way to reunite with the son he never knew, the son who now lies in Daemon’s grasp.

And as the horse plods steadily forward, the determination in his heart hardens into something unbreakable. He will see this through, no matter what it costs. Because even in the face of betrayal, war, and loss, there’s something worth fighting for—a future that’s still within reach.

And he won’t let anyone—not even Daemon—take that from him.

[heartkaji]

2O WOMEN VS 1 EGOIST !

bllk boys if they were in the videos by the sidemen + beta squad

includes: michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

MICHAEL KAISER !

“kaiser, ask her if she’d let you put your balls in her jaw.”

isagi’s voice is only a static crackle through the ear piece speaker, but it’s more than enough to have kaiser gnashing teeth & wrinkling nose. it was taking everything in his power not to snap the headset between his fingers. kaiser wasn’t even sure why he had to do this ; fuck yoichi and fuck bastard münchen’s publicity team.

he tries for an exhale but his dignity accompanies it, “would you let me put my balls in your jaw ?”

you’re the third girl who’s sat with kaiser so far & fuck his heart is aching— you’re far too pretty for this, blood drenched cheeks & freckled nose & silver draped around your neck like rings of vined ivy. kaiser can’t help but wonder why a pretty thing like you is here seeking male validation in thigh highs & skimpy bralette. surely someone of your beauty would know better, no ?

“what ?”

you ask so sweetly, lashes fluttering as you blink hurriedly as if it’ll help you hear better. if you were actually somebody, michael kaiser would be almost embarrassed by now, but you’re only pink painted lips & syrupy sweet voice so kaiser clears his throat & swallows his pride. he parts his lips to repeat the query but a hiss in his ear interrupts him, “she didn’t hear you, say it a—“

kaiser snaps the headset between his fingers & tosses it somewhere behind him. “i said, can i take you out sometime ?”

ISAGI YOICHI !

“try to sit on her lap while she’s talking.”

“you lot can’t be serious.”

unfortunately for yoichi, hiori & kurona were dead serious. he picked at the earpiece as you babbled on about your ideal first date, teeth kissing as he plotted on how he’d sit himself between your thighs.

“— and i’m not trying to be different or anything, but i think dinner dates are rather boring. i’d rather go to an amusement park or—“

“same, honestly,” yoichi was a charmer with a voice heavier than tree sap. his baritone alone had your guts knotting & spilling. “rides are way more exciting, really get your adrenaline going huh ? and then at the end of the date you share a kiss on the ferris wheel. i fuck with that.”

you blink, flesh pinkening & blush crawling up your throat as your fingers play with your bag strap. yoichi thinks you’re cute. you’re a fucking doll really, a pretty little thing isagi has decided he likes staring at.

yoichi can’t help but tease your further, “you wouldn’t mind if i kissed you on a ferris wheel, right ?”

you bite your inner cheek & yoichi swears you’re the cutest thing in the world. as if rehearsed, you cross your legs, shoulders tucking as you straighten your spine,

“on the first date, isagi ? quite the manwhore aren’t you ?”

it catches him by surprise but also pulls him back to earth. he bites his tongue, “oh ? when would you let me kiss you then ?”

he gets off his seat as he speaks, striding towards you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. you choke on your tongue, “um, me ? on the first date is a bit too— isagi ? what are you—?”

he positions himself on your lap. “you were saying ?”

yoichi’s ear piece blares with booms of laughter. “nah this man’s not real ! man said—“

NAGI SEISHIRO !

“are you a magician ? because when i look at you, everyone else disappears.”

“next.”

this was the eighth girl nagi had rejected. each girl came in with a new pick up line, and to nagi, each one seemed to be worse than the last.

“nagi, you have to say yes to someone already. you’ve rejected almost every— don’t listen to chigiri, nagi ! you don’t have to say yes to any of these bitches—“

nagi was about mid eye roll when you walked in.

you were rose dappled cheeks & fluffy jacket upon crème tee. your eyes met the room before his, scanning the seemingly infinite white walls & high ceiling. you even did a little wave to the camera before taking your seat. cute

even then, your eyes settled everywhere except him.

“hi,” he broke you out of your trance.

“ah— hello !” you flash him a shy grin, dimpled cheeks & freckled nose. “i was supposed to say a pick up line, right ? are you french, because—“

“no, no, please don’t,” nagi interrupts. you’re a pretty thing, red bruised knee bouncing over the other as you tuck away a strand of hair. fuck, you’re like candy for the eye.

“you get a pass.”

“huh ? but my pick up line—“

“no need, it’s a yes from me.”

pretty pink lips bend into a pout & nagi is almost tempted to let you say your line, but he shudders at the thought of your incomplete statement. you nod a bow & show yourself out with another tiny wave to the camera. perhaps this game isn’t all that bad after all.

mid thought, nagi’s earpiece crackles to life. “nagi, why’d you say yes ?! what’s she got that—“

ITOSHI SAE !

“ask her if she’d get with a bisexual dude.”

“what ? stop it shidou he doesn’t like dudes. ask her if she—“

“how about i ask her to shut the fuck up?”

sae says it a bit too loudly so your eyes widen a bit before you seemingly shrink in on yourself. sae hadn’t actually meant it—he was only trying to put a stop to the squabbling in his ears but now your nose is red & you’re biting your lip like you’re about to cry.

truthfully, he doesn’t give a fuck.

but his PR team sure does. sae was live right now & his public image already wasn’t the prettiest. he’d also rather not receive yet another lecture from his manager.

“um, girl number nine ?”

the sound of a facepalm rattles in his earpiece. “isn’t she like, the fourth girl ?”

sae bites his bottom lip. you’re fidgeting with your nails & your breathing seems heavy & your eyes seem to be everywhere but his. you don’t even respond to his call. he sighs.

“that wasn’t meant for you, sorry.” he swallows. “you were talking about red flags in a relationship, right ?”

you seem to perk up—perhaps you thought he wasn’t listening ? you were going on & on but how could sae not pay you any mind when your voice seemed smoother than redwine & myrrh ?

“yes—yes i was ! um, what about you ? any red flags ?”

“when they’re too horny.” a damn-it ! blares through his ear piece.

you nod, “i get that. though honestly, i’m a bit of a freak myself.”

you say it like you didn’t just admit to being a professional dick sucker. “sae, ask her for her number—“

he taps a button & the humming in his ear ceases. “a freak, you say ? do elaborate.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, edit, translate or reupload

[meelusinee]

HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU ★ R.B X J.P X READER

word count \ 2.4k | fluff and stuff | slash / regulus black x james potter x reader

in which you and regulus escape to james' house after a failed house party (no thanks given to walaburga in this house <3) author's note at the end!

It's you, it's you, it's all for you Everything I do I tell you all the time Heaven is a place on earth with you Tell me all the things you wanna do I heard that you like the bad girls Honey, is that true?

HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU | REGULUS BLACK X JAMES POTTER X  READER

James Potter and Regulus Black were complete opposites.

Regulus Black was a prim and proper man. The second heir to the Black family, the most prestigious Pureblood family within the Sacred 28. An excellent seeker with an eye as sharp as a needle, easily able to pick a Snitch out of thin air. Neat and professional, always tailored to perfection no matter when or where you look at him. Quiet and calculated, able to do anything to someone all in the drop of a hat.

James Potter was a messy and muddy man. The only heir to the Potter household, a home full of love and warmth ever since it came together. An excellent Chaser able to throw Quaffles as easy as blinking his eyes. Cocky yet charming, jumbled in a way that was endearing to many no matter when or where you look at him. Loud in a friendly way, able to befriend anything all in the drop of a hat.

Even still, they had their faults.

That fault was always you.

Regulus found himself growing bolder within your presence, his journal full of scattered and obsessive thoughts about anything to do with you. The way your face shines in the sun, or the way it gets even brighter whenever you smile. He often found himself giving you small flower crowns or trinkets, like a worshipper worshiping its deity.

James, however, found himself growing calmer within your presence. His head was full of nothing whenever he was around you, nothing more than static he wished he always had running through his mind whenever he was out in public. He often found himself giving you more affection than anyone could think possible, like a sloth latching onto a tree branch for his nap.

Even though they were opposites, you brought out the best in both of them. And in return, they saw each other in a way they felt almost no one else could. Every kiss to you meant a kiss to Regulus for James. And every thought about you meant a thought about James to Regulus.

Which led them both to where they were right now, both with you in a way that made their hearts soar.

Regulus and you were both sitting in the backyard of the Potter Manor. Nobody else was home right now, but the both of you needed an escape from the party going on at Regulus’ house.

Which led you both here, listening to the car engine running through the streets and closer to you two. The sun was shining down on the backyard field, pollen and small dandelion fluffs running through the air and itching both of your noses.

Your heads turned as you heard the door of the car close, a small whistling tune ringing in your ears as whoever was driving got closer to you.

James. 

You chuckled softly as he dramatically turned around the corner, both of you watching as he ran up to the both of you much like a golden retriever.

“Reggie!” he smiled, leaning down dramatically and kissing his forehead before moving to yours. “Oh how I’ve missed you, my love. And you too, Y/N. I missed you as well, don’t you forget it.” 

“We won’t, Jamie.” you whispered, kissing his lips. “Do you have any beers?”

“If my dad doesn’t count his stash.” James said mischievously, his hand patting your head before he rushed off to get three cans. “I’ll be back!”

You and Regulus both giggled, his body scooting closer to yours as you watched James run off. Regulus’ hands moved to wrap around your waist, his fingers messing with the belt of your sundress. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

“You’re an utter sap.” you giggled, your head resting on his shoulder.

Your lips rested on his cheek as his hands toyed with your belt, the both of you watching as James ran back out of the house with three beers and three swimsuits. 

“What on Earth is he doing?” Regulus asked incredulously, a small smile on his face.

“We should go to the pool!” he said, running up to you both out of breath. “We could go swimming, or we could maybe play a game. What do you say?”

You and Regulus turned to each other before giggling at James’ ridiculousness, the two of you getting up to walk to the pool.

The sun was shining down on the pool as Regulus and James sank into the water, James’  arms wrapping around Regulus to help him swim.

“It’s not that bad, baby.” he whispered, chuckling softly. “You can still stand even in the deep end!”

“It’s water!” he hissed slightly, the water freezing against his skin. “I could drown. Do you want me dead, James? Drowned and buried?” 

“You’re not going to drown.” James chuckled, his thumbs caressing his waist. “I’ve got you.”

Regulus was about to complain again before his eyes darted over to the entrance of the pool, his eyes widening slightly as he watched you walking towards the pool.

You still had your sundress on, a small tray of fruit in your hands as you put it at the edge of the pool. “Are you two having fun?”

“Massive fun.” James chuckled, placing a kiss on Regulus’ cheek. “Right?”

Regulus nodded, his hand rapidly slapping James’ back as you moved to take your dress off. Your fingers moved to untie the belt holding it up, the zip falling down as it fell off your body. Your hands grabbed your swimsuit as you put it on, a pattern similar to your sundress.

Regulus and James were both staring at you, eyes widened and jaws dropped down to the floor. 

Regulus absolutely loved the way you looked, at least 20 different poem lines or song lyrics running through his mind as he stared at you. Like you were a holy and divine being he worshiped.

And James was looking at you like a ray of sunshine or field of flowers. How could something like you exist in the same world as he did?

You turned around and chuckled softly at the look on their faces, your body moving to slowly wade into the pool. “Hey there, you two.”

“Hi.” Regulus whispered, clearing his throat before saying it again. “Hi, mon amour.” 

“Hi there, baby.” James whispered, letting Regulus stand in the water so they both could wade towards you and cover you in kisses. 

“You’re both the best.” you chuckled softly at them, wrapping yourself around James and leaning in for a kiss before doing the same for Regulus. “I love both of you, do you know that?”

“Yes, we do.” Regulus whispered, kissing your jaw as James’ buried his nose against your hair. “Meethee, are you wearing perfume?”

“Perfume?” you asked, before nodding. “That vanilla one you like. Do you still like it?”

“Oh, mon cœur. The woman that you are.” Regulus whispered softly at that, taking a small scent of the perfume before pulling your lips in for another kiss. “Merlin, I love you so much.” 

“I did it for you,” you whispered, giggling as you felt James kissing your neck. “That tickles!”

“All for us?” he whispered, looking up at you with a gaze so sweet you could melt it like molten candy. “You’re so good to us, you know?”

“Says you.” you giggled.

“What on Earth even happened at his parent’s house in the first place?” James asked you confusedly, looking over at Regulus who had drunken over three beers in twenty minutes. He was standing under the pool shower now, his hair dripping water as he stood in it.

“Lots of yelling and stuff.” you whispered, frowning softly at Regulus’ state. “Plus, Bellatrix was acting like, well, Bellatrix. You know how she is.” 

“Maybe he needs to drink it off?” James whispered, looking at you. Neither of you liked Regulus drinking, though you did know it was a way for him to cope. And until he could escape the hellhole he lived in, it was what worked for him.

“Muggle bar?” you asked him curiously.

“Muggle bar.” James nodded at you.

The both of you got out of the pool and walked over to Regulus, playing with the shower nozzle for a minute or two before drying everyone off.

“Do you want to head to a bar, Regulus?” James whispered, his fingers running through his hair.

“A muggle bar?” Regulus whispered, his eyes shining slightly as he looked up at him.

“Yeah.” James smiled.

Regulus sniffled dramatically, hugging James tight. “You love me so much, don’t you?”

“Both of us do.” you whispered, nails gently scratching at his back. “We love you, ‘kay? We’ll stay sober so you can get drunk, as long as you take a Wiggenweld Potion after we get home.”

“And a Sobering Potion too.” he promised, kissing your forehead lovingly. “Thank you, my love.” 

“Don’t thank us.” you whispered, helping the both of them walk up to James’ room so you could all get ready for the bar.

“Is James going to stay sober?” Regulus whispered softly to you, watching as James looked through his shirt collection. His eyes unabashedly traced the muscles of his back, smiling softly at the sight.

“I think so. He doesn’t like getting drunk, you know how he is.” you chuckled softly. “A big health nut he is, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.” Regulus whispered, turning to you with a curious expression. “Are you going to get drunk with me, pretty girl? I have extra potions if you need.”

“If I ask James, maybe.” you whispered, before pouting softly at Regulus. “As long as I don’t get the vodka you like. It burns.”

“Of course not.” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I’ll get you all the drinks you love.” 

“I’m going to beat you!” yoh slurred, the pool stick in your hand swaying slightly as you angled it to the white ball. “Just you wait, Reggie.”

“You’re going to try, pretty.” he chuckled softly at you. He was holding his alcohol a lot better than you were. “And then you’re going to be sad when you lose, y’know that?”

“Nuh uh.” you said, giggling softly as James walked up behind you and helped you line the stick up.

“That’s cheating!” Regulus chuckled, leaning against the table. 

James chuckled softly as you started drunkenly bumbling, taking over the pool stick and hitting the ball against the others. “Look babes, you’re solid.”

“I’m solid?” you asked, looking up at him as you pulled him into a hug. “I think I’m starry.”

“Starry?” James asked, kissing your forehead as he watched Regulus shoot his shot. He shot about three in a row, impressive for how many drinks he had already. “How are you starry?”

“Because you’re giving me a hug, and it’s starry.” you whispered, giggling as you bounced over to Regulus. “You make me starry too!”

Regulus chuckled softly at your drunkenness, realizing rather quickly that you probably wouldn’t be able to play pool nor darts. He still didn’t mind entertaining you though. “Did you know my name is based off of a star?”

“It is?” you asked, clapping your hands together. “We’re stars together!”

“Yes we are, mon cœur.” he chuckled softly.

“And Jamie has to come with us too.” you whispered softly, looking over at James. “I don’t want him feeling left out, okay?”

“Of course he can come with us.” Regulus chuckled softly to you. “He’s like the sun.”

“The sun!” you giggled softly, before stumbling into Regulus’ arms. “Sorry Reggie.”

“It’s okay, just be careful next time pretty,” he whispered, smirking softly. “You wanna watch me beat James’ ass in pool?”

“Yeah!” you giggled.

James had been smiling the entire night, ever since he saw you two in his backyard.

You were wearing a different dress, one that was black and a bit puffier at the end of it. Regulus was wearing all black attire as well, a black silk shirt with black slacks and Doc Martens. Right now, the both of you were standing by the bar, sticking out like a sore thumb in a crowd of people who looked a little better than average.

You were both absolutely beautiful. And absolutely wasted.

“I think this is going to be your final drink.” he whispered softly, grabbing you by the waist when you sat next to him.

“What?” you whined, looking over at Regulus. “Why is he cutting us off?”

Regulus shrugged, taking a sip of his drink as he looked at James with puppy eyes.

“Nope, not falling for it.” James muttered, dramatically tossing his head to the ceiling. “We’re going to get you two your potions and then we’re going to head home, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“On the contrary to the message you are trying to spread,” Regulus slurred out, hiccuping at the end. “I believe we should be able to consume alcoholic beverages however long we want.”

“And I believe that I don’t want you sick tomorrow.” James said, looking down at Regulus. “Don’t make me do it.”

“You won’t!” you gasped audibly.

“I would.” he said sternly, putting as serious of an expression he could on. “Don’t test me.”

“No, no!” Regulus said. “We’ll go.”

“Good.” James said, chuckling softly as the both of you stumbled to put your glasses back at the bar. Oh how he loved you two.

“Okay, who’s in bed first?” James asked, looking at both you and Regulus in matching pajamas.

“I believe that it’s your turn for mutual cuddles.” you mumbled sleepily, patting the bed down for James to get in. “Go on Jamie.”

“Oh,” James nodded, looking down at the bed before smiling. “My turn it is.”

“Your turn it is.” Regulus hummed, crawling in and wrapping his arms around James. You were much more uncivilized, wrapping your entire being around him contently. 

The lights turned of magically as you all got comfortable in the bed, small sighs escaping your mouths as your eyes closed. Regulus’ grip tightened ever so slightly, his hand grasping yours in his sleep. Your body stayed wrapped around James, though your calf somewhat covered Regulus’ leg.

And James was content laying in the middle and spread like a starfish, smiling as he listened to the both of your breathing gently. James wouldn’t have this any other way. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH POST OF THE CENTURY (really its not) i'm waiting for my amazing poll votes to come through, so i'm currently just posting up whatever on earth feels like posting before i head out for the day. thank you guys so much for the support it geniunely means so much!!!

AS ALWAYS please like and comment and reblog and all of that snazzy snaz snaz, and i hope you have an excellent day!

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 9

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

July 1983

There is a crackle and a pop that comes from the fire that dances before you. Fiery like an angry monster erupting from his hibernation, ready to feed. The wood sizzles, as the last bit of sap cooks from the bark. Moisture drains as the wood turns to ash.

Your eyes train to the open night sky. Trees touch the air reaching out to the heavens above. Pine has become one of your favorite scents since coming out to camp here nights ago. This is one of the final nights all together.

That being said, you’re a bit melancholic about going home tomorrow. At home, you won’t have the dramatic retelling of woodland monsters by Eddie who ghosts over the flames, and nearly commands them to bend and to turn. You won’t have Gareth’s half decent cooking that sits just right in your belly, and not making you bloat out until you’re about to burst. Freak quietly eats the leftovers from dinner time. Hot dogs. Potato chips. It’s all quite typical of a camping trip. And, Jeff, who plays you songs on his harmonica that he says his grandfather taught him ages ago. You’re immersed in the experience, truly.

Jeff puts down the harmonica a moment, and Eddie files his stories back between his ears. The conversation is light. Although, there is a line crossed eventually. Gareth storms off down a darkened path to a lake of water to get some air. You tell the group that you’re going to the bathroom quickly after this happens.

You sneak around the campers, and take a flashlight with you. The pathway is a straightforward slope. Even if you somehow veered off the path and onto the thick wood, you would hear the water and still push forward until you hit the lake.

The large moon overhead mirrors into the water, along with its friends - the stars. Ripples in the tide gently caress the sand leaving soggy wet trails. You can find Gareth making purchase against a fallen log not too far from the path.

“May I join you?” You clear your throat, adjusting the flashlight to the beach floor when Gareth squints at you.

Gareth doesn’t have much to say to you. It’s not you that has him irritated after all. He drops the tension built at the base of his jaw, and his shoulders follow.

You take this as an invite, and you scoot not-so-close next to him. The sea speaks to you. She says so many words without saying anything at all. The freedom to travel the world, and to touch so many people. She’s home to many creatures. And, abused by so many humans. They take advantage of her generosity, and thus is the meaning of womanhood. You could shred your English teacher apart for giving you a scalding hot ‘D’ on your essay about femininity. For him, the world bended on hand and knee.

At least you wouldn’t have to take a class with him this upcoming year.

“Moon’s big,” you bite your tongue for such a silly little thing to say.

Gareth kicks the sand and the pebbles at his feet, “I know they’re just teasing me because they’re older.”

Their conversation grew childish, as Eddie had picked on Gareth for his lack of experience with women. It nicked a hole in his pride, or perhaps invited the shy little boy to rise to the surface after all of these years. Truthfully, the sting of Eddie’s comment isn’t what bothers him. The other guys laughs. It’s all a joke to them. But, internally Gareth has been struggling. All by his age, the boys had at least one date under their belt.

You inhale deeply, which grabs Gareth’s attention. With the moonlight caressing your skin like a tender hand holding up your chin to bless you even more beautifully than you already are, Gareth knows how screwed he is. Jeff has told him to back off. He insists that you’re Eddie’s girl. You’re fueled by a secret passion that burns only for Eddie.

That might be true by the way you laugh undeniably hard whenever you are left together. Oh, your laugh is a fresh breeze on a hot day. Warm sun punches his body. The leaves on the trees begin to shake. Finally, the wind kisses his ears coolly in a most needed sort of way.

In a way, he needs you to laugh at him like that.

“Don’t let them get to you,” you shrug your shoulders up and down. The flashlight has fallen into the sand, while still on. Shadows of their toes hit the beach sand making silly little puppets. “You don’t have to go around sleeping with every girl you see. I’ve never . . .”

Your confidence fails you right then. Simply, you didn’t want to seem suggestive towards Gareth. Well, in case a situation like that might happen. That’s not to say that it would. But, you know - you have a long life ahead of you and Gareth isn’t the worst looking guy you’ve seen. Or, calling him not-the-worst sounds wrong. That’s not what you meant.

Gareth bursts your train of thought, “I’ve never even kissed a girl. Shouldn’t I have at least done that?”

Was he really asking you for advice? Sure, your first kiss was soggy and far too wet for your liking. You could have sucked face with a frog, and he would have been kinder than- oh, it doesn’t matter. First kisses are always less amazing than what you expect. That’s why you practice.

“There isn’t a timeline on this sort of stuff,” you explain to him. “It just sort of happens. Some people don’t get kissed until they’re forty.”

Gareth’s half glare shuts your mouth, before you could make him feel any worse. So, you’re not good at this? Who knew?

“I cannot wait for my first kiss to be when I’m forty,” he snorts lightly. “Eddie’s already-,”

You jerk your head, but the end of the sentence never falls out of his mouth. Gareth’s quite red in the face, and he doesn’t dare turn his head back to you.

“Eddie can do whatever - whoever he wants,” you pretend like the bomb Gareth dropped doesn’t bother you, but he watches your shoulders bend slightly.

According to Jeff, you’re Eddie’s girl. They’ve spoken a lot. Jeff’s advice is to back off, before Gareth gets bitten. Knowing Eddie, he’s a shark that could take you down whole if he wanted too. That’s not to criticize his close friend. It’s just that keeping you so close, but to not make a move on you is beyond childish to think of. He has to understand that one day someone will come along and ask you on a date. That they’ll sweep you off your feet. You deserve to be loved, and to be held. Not kept under Eddie’s shadow.

Oh, God. Can Gareth risk loosing Eddie as not only a friend, but as a major part of a band they created. This band means everything to all of its members. The sound is so unique, and so new. They could really be going somewhere with this.

Gareth decides in that moment that he would rather chance making the band a success, and to keep everyone and everything the same as it has always been. One day he can wake up without humming to the tune of you. That the scent of your perfume doesn’t send him into a trance-like-state of utter silliness.

The burn in his belly aches. Gareth stares into the sea, as though he’s thrown his greatest secret, and his greatest worry into the ocean. She swallows the message whole. Yeah, if only that works. He hangs his head.

Your fingertips grace the top of his left shoulder blade. Even though his jacket, Gareth can imagine the softness that the pads of your fingers provide. Soft and smooth ridges pepper alonghis hidden skin like a well-rehearsed song and dance.

“Gareth,” the sound of your voice melts him. “Are you okay?”

Gareth cocks his head in your direction. You watch in waiting as his eyes fall to your lips. Hopefully, he doesn’t see you tremble too.

There is a moment that the both of you share in complete silence. The waves quiet themselves. The trees no longer move, but rather watch the scene unfold in front of them. It’s perfectly romantic.

Hot breath hits your face. Gareth has become closer to you, or maybe you moved to him. You swallow thickly. He licks his lips.

Pause.

There is a thrust of wind that hit the both of you, but doesn’t cause either of you to break away. It only moves you closer. Hand in hand.

“Fuck it,” Gareth mutters to himself, and closes the gap.

Slotting his lips against yours, Gareth could swear he hears the heavens calling from beyond. You tangle your fingers into his hair, holding on for dear life. While Gareth’s lips aren’t classically trained, you hold out for practice. The message is clearly written. His nose bumps against yours, and you hum through locked lips. Gareth sneaks his grip on you around your waist, below your jacket. The skin there is cool. Shivers wrestle up your spine. you around the waist below your jacket in a bold move. You gasp.

As the kiss ends, you both find pulling away to come too soon. Sneaking in one or two more small kisses, your eyes do finally meet. Your lips are swollen and damp, and so are Gareth’s lips. Somehow you’ve tangled yourself into him. Threatening to swing your legs back over his lap, Gareth grasps the back of your knee with his hand.

“Stay,” he stammers out of breath. “Please.”

You nod - completely winded yourself.

“Maybe you could use a bit more practice?” You pinch your fingers together with a suggestive smirk playing against your lips.

Gareth cackles into the sky, then lets his head fall back to you. “Seriously?”

You nibble your bottom lip.

Gareth brings his lips to yours once again bringing your two bodies into one shared unit. You wait to slip into something deeper that he isn’t quite ready for yet. Instead, the two of you spend far too long enjoying the moment.

There is a group of campers not far away wondering where you have gone off too. Robin rides into the darkness with the assistance of a flashlight to use the bathroom. Hopefully, you haven’t died in there yet.

Robin does catch up with you two in the sharp fork that’s along the pathways. If you head upwards, you’ll begin to smell the bathrooms not too far away. Down the hill is the short walk to the lakeside where you’ve just come from.

“I went to the bathroom, and then I went to find Gareth,” you explain rapidly to Robin.

While she knows that could be a lie, Robin has had far too much pop and she does really have to go to the bathroom. She leaves you there, and she will forget about finding you two suspiciously in the woods together.

Upon returning to the camp site, you hadn’t talked about if either Gareth or you wanted to tell the others about what has just happened. It doesn’t seem as though you’ll get a chance because Gareth is whisked off in a drunken apology from Eddie. Gareth tells Eddie not to sweat it, then accepts a marshmallow peace offering.

You too return to the fire opposite side to Gareth. A poker is offered to you, so that you might stick marshmallows on the ends to cook them. That is one of your favorite parts to a camping trip - it used to be your favorite.

Perhaps, something has changed your mind. Something sweeter has come along. It's like the scent of a new book. Sweet and woodsy. You’re just unfolding the pages to this novel.

Gareth’s gaze softens as he catches you looking right at him, and you blush while tucking your lips into each other.

You can’t wait to read this book.

-> <-

[August 1983]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Bubbles | König x Reader

Day 7: Hoodie Weather w/ König

Summary: When Task Force 141 joins together with KorTac for a mission, he doesn’t expect the bubbly member of the 141 to give his entire base a Christmas surprise.

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: None!

A/N: the könig brainrot is deadly. it is infecting me at an unprecedented speed. on a positive note, we’re one week through with October! hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

You were known to him as the bubbly one.

König had caught his men referring to you as Blasen—bubbles, rather than your actual name, something he kept forgetting how to pronounce anyway.

How you, a small little thing compared to him, could be deadly on the field was a mystery to him, but your teammates in the little group you had, called Task Force 141, seemed to trust you. Especially the one with the mohawk. He often heard you and him laughing together down the halls, because of a mission where KorTac, for God knows why, required the additional help of the 141 due to border disputes with the enemy they were hunting down.

It was stupid. He knew that.

But you’d brought out a surprising little bit of happiness and cheer to the base.

Christmas was nearing, and you seemed to have settled into their base by now, despite not speaking a lick of German other than the very basics that you even butchered at that. You mostly just used basic gestures or made the tall man, with the strange mask, translate for you.

König woke up early in the morning, earlier than anyone else, pulling his clothes and uniform on, walking out of the bunks, only to find tinsel with little ornaments hanging from it, no lights—they would be a fire hazard, in the hallways.

If it weren’t for his mask, anyone could’ve seen the plain surprise and confusion on his face. His men surely hadn’t done it, he knew they were busy training, or keeping themselves occupied until the next mission. And the only other person with enough time on their hands, and the balls to pull it off, would naturally be…

“Ah.”

He muttered to himself when he found you, standing on top of two barrels stacked on top of each other, adding a small fake star to the very top of the tree that had somehow been moved inside the center of the rec room.

You must’ve noticed him despite his quiet steps, throwing your head back to give a bright grin, jumping off from the barrels, and landing on your feet to lean back and look at the decorated tree from afar as you backed up until you were right next to him, hands on your hips.

“What are we thinkin’, Kön?”

He despised the nickname. Or at least he tried to, despite the way your audacity alone made him want to let the laughs bubbling up in him go, and not hold them down.

“It is…a tree.”

He stated, swallowing, not sure what to say, wondering how you’d even gotten a tree in here, knowing it was real based on the sap he could smell coming from it.

“That, my friend, is a lovely observation.”

You said, grinning, clapping him on the back as he stared, utterly gobsmacked when you sauntered over and plugged something in, and lights began glimmering from the tree.

He blinked, blue eyes filled with confusion as he tried working out the math in his head, only to fail every time. He watched as you walked back over, looking proud as a peacock, despite the little shiver in your small frame.

“How.”

He asked, accent thick as you sniffled, nose running slightly, before answering.

“Well, I went and got a tree, brought it back here, then dug up some old shit from your storage room. Simple as that.”

König hadn’t even known they kept anything in that storage room. Let alone Christmas lights, or anything to decorate, really. And to gather an entire tree, it must’ve taken all night, and with the storm blowing through—

You must’ve been freezing.

No wonder you were shivering, small body not large enough to keep warm as long as his, or any of the other men on base.

He reached out, pressing the area where his glove and sleeve failed to overlap against your exposed neck, frowning with worry at the temperature he felt. You probably hadn’t known. How could you, when you were probably used to the temperatures at your old base? There was a reason they wore thicker clothing here.

Humming to himself in thought, he pulled the hoodie he wore over his normal uniform off, and promptly placed it on top of your head, watching as your expression transitioned from confusion to understanding, then amusement as you pulled it over your head, putting the arms in, savoring in the warmth the thick material brought you.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. I would’ve been fine.”

You pointed out. He’d been expecting it. Women were undermined already in the military, so it was no surprise they usually made up for their size with their attitude and wits.

“You needed it, Blasen.”

He spoke simply, watching the confusion overtake your face again as you tried to figure out what he’d just said in German. It was a little funny. That was, until, he heard the signs of the other men in base waking up, with confused and excited German and English being exchanged through the base, with a familiar,

“Steamin’ Jesus!”

Being heard through the hallways your grin somehow spread wider. König heard Horangi and Nikto conversing, wondering what the hell was going on, only to stop dead in their tracks when they saw the Christmas tree in the rec room.

The masked man cocked his head at König, who only jerked his head towards you with a shrug, Horangi just taking everything in with a furrowed brow.

The 141 weren’t too soon after to file in after more soldiers on base, Soap first to greet you with a laugh and some gibberish in an accent so thick not even König could understand it. He ruffled your hair, eyes taking notice of the hoodie you wore, raising a brow at the large German man standing awkwardly nearby, watching, but commenting nothing.

Then another man he’d forgotten the name of came by, a dazzling white flash of teeth, then he was trailing off to find Soap and keep him out of trouble. The Ghost took one glance at the room, shook his head in what König assumed to be exasperation, and went to sit with Price, the man who seemed to be in charge and had been up early, taking all of the decorations into account already.

As everyone settled into the new surroundings, you and König exchanged a long glance, before you swallowed, almost nervously, giving a small smile.

“Well, uh—thanks for the hoodie. I’ll see you around?”

He took your words into account for a moment, before nodding.

“Ja. See you…around.”

And you sauntered off to the table where Price and the strange Ghost man were seated, only for Price to raise a brow at the hoodie you were wearing, muttering something König couldn’t hear from his distance before he walked to join his men.

He was greeted with a,

“Permission to speak freely?”

Carefully eying Horangi, he responded.

“…Granted.”

“Am I invited to the wedding?”

Tags:

@hawke1917

@flufftober

[serpentface]

WARDI TERMS OF ENDEARMENT

emense [ɛmɛnse] (eh-mehn-say)

Has meaning close to 'beloved' or 'darling'. "Ya emense" (meaning 'my beloved'/'my darling') is often contracted "y'mense".

bubuch [bubuk] (boo-bookh)

Somewhat of a nonsense word, basically ‘big-big’. Tends to either be used for small children or flirtatiously between adults (kind in between 'baby' and 'big boy' in functionality, though without gendered implications of the latter). Sometimes instead used as a form of intense condescension.

ya mache mes [ja mɑke mes] (yah mah-kay mace)

Functionally means "my other face", using the figurative word for face describing a concept of fundamental nature rather than anatomy. Very intense term of endearment, expresses the recipient as a core part of one's identity. Kind of equivalent to 'my other half' but not exclusively romantic.

ya tsitsima [ja ͡tsi͡tsimə] (yah tsee-tsee-muh)

Means "my blood". This term is used more broadly to denote familial relations, and is more of a term of endearment when used outside of actual biological relationship (calling your sister 'my blood' is just an intense way of saying 'my [relative]', calling a non-relative 'my blood' is VERY pointedly affectionate).

ya ungande [ja ungɑnde] (yah oon-gahn-day)

Often contracted to y'ungande, dead literally means "my liver" as in the organ. Ungande alone is also used as a food-based term of endearment, similar to 'honey' except instead with delicious organ meat.

anuje [ɑnudʒe] (ah-noo-jay)

Food based term of endearment, referring to a tree sap that is the most commonly used form of sweetener. Functionally identical to 'honey' in usage.

anu tlansekoma [ɑnu tlɑnsekoʊmə] (ah-noo tlahn-say-koh-muh)

This one actually means 'honey' (dead literally 'bee sweet'). Less common than 'anuje' as a term of endearment due to general cultural preference for anuje as a sweetener and the relative rarity of beekeeping.

inyagit [injəgit] (een-yah-geet)

Diminutive form of 'sun'. 'Ya inya' (my sun) occurs as well, but is less common.

y'mit agai [j'mit ɑgaɪ] (yuh-meet ah-gai)

Contraction of 'ya amit agai', 'my blue moon'. This specification is more common than a general 'my moon(s)' and is fairly loaded, given this particular moon is the site of the afterlife for the most honored dead. The phrase both suggests a sort of celestial beauty and a sense of being honored and finding rest in the recipient. This is a VERY intense and almost exclusively romantic term of endearment.

coutomara [koʊtoʊmɑrə] (koh-to-mahr-uh)

Means 'handsome' or 'beautiful', implies masculine attractiveness. (Dead literally closer to 'strong face'/'strong featured').

jaimara [dʒaɪmɑrə] (jaim-mahr-uh)

Means 'pretty' or 'beautiful', implies feminine attractiveness (dead literally close to 'beautiful face'/'beautifully featured').

katsuy [kɑtsui] [kaht-soo'ee]

Sexually charged description of physical attractiveness, basically calling someone 'sexy'.

ya katsuymen [ja kɑtsuimɛn] (yah koht-soo'ee-mehn)

Related and also sexually charged, close in meaning to 'my desire'.

at akmatse yachouy [ɑt ɑkmɑtse jɑtʃɔɪ] (aht ahk-mat-say yah-choi )

Sexually explicit term of endearment. The dead literal translation is "one who makes me flower". The word "flower" here is not as euphemistic in context and is rather the nicest sounding possible way to say "makes me cum (HARD)". Not considered vulgar, rather cloyingly romantic if anything.

gan(ne) ama [gɑn(e) ɑmə] (gah(-nay) ahm-uh)

Means 'bull'. When used affectionately, implies masculine strength. Usually used in conjunction with an adjective (ie 'handsome bull') or more teasingly gannit ama (little/baby bull))

jaimeti [dʒaɪmɛti] (jai-meh-tee)

Means 'gazelle' (the name for the animal itself is close in meaning to 'beautiful horn'), heavily associated with grace and beauty. Also tends to be used with adjectives ('lovely gazelle' 'handsome gazelle' etc) or with a diminutive.

ansiba [ɑnsibɑ] (ahn-see-bah) or ansibit [ɑnsibit] (ahn-see-beet)

Means 'duck' and 'duckling' respectively, specifically refers to the animal and implies cuteness. Ansibit is a very common term of endearment for children.

"Wannaukoma such datse anmo" [wɑnaʊkoʊmə suk dɑtse ɑnmoʊ] (wahn-now-koh-muh sookh daht-say ahn-moh)

Means 'an ant could swallow you', implies cuteness (ie the recipient is so small and tiny an Ant could devour them whole). Usually used on children, occasionally used on adult women (in a way that feels intensely patronizing to many). 'Datse' (you) may be replaced by the recipients surname or honorific in the rare case that someone would dare calling someone this without being on first name basis with them.

wannaukomit [wɑnaʊkoʊmit] (wahn-now-koh-meet)

Means 'little ant', a term of endearment that borders on insulting even to babies.

OTHER:

-it [it] (eet)

This is a diminutive modifier, which can be added to a name or other word/term of endearment to denote affection (can also be condescending). It lacks internal meaning in everyday use and is closer to the English -y or -ie (billy johnny rosie susie puppy kitty ducky etc).

hippe [hipɛ] (heep-peh) (some dialects drop the h sound entirely)

Means 'small' or 'little', can be spoken with other words/names as an affectionate diminutive.

Other epithets-

Various epithets used in the language are not exclusively used as terms of endearment, but can be contextually. Most commonly, this will be the -machen epithet of the recipients zodiac birthsign (particularly those considered auspicious). Someone with the lion birthsign could be respectfully and/or affectionately called 'odomachen', or VERY affectionately called 'ya odo' ('my lion'). There's also a good variety of poetic epithets that have worked their way into common language as affectionate compliments/descriptors- ie ganatoche (dead literally 'cow-eye', more prettily 'ox-eyed') is a complimentary descriptor for brown eyes, anaemaitsa (dead literally 'river-haired', more prettily 'flowing-haired') compliments wavy hair.

Given name basis-

In Wardi culture, full names are spoken with the family name preceding the given name. When respectfully speaking to a stranger, peer, or authority figure, you refer to them by their family name, title, and/or an honorific. Being on an accepted given name basis with someone is generally indicative of closeness and affection.

datse [dɑtse] (dah-tsay)

This is the word for "you". Similarly to the use of a given name, actually referring to someone as 'you' (rather than a surname, title, or honorific in place of the pronoun) expresses familiarity and intimacy.

[breelandwalker]

Cold Moon - December 14-15 2024

Bundle up, witches! It’s time for the Cold Moon!

Cold Moon

The Cold Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs in the month of December. This will be another month when the moon appears full for two nights in a row, so we’ll have a nice bright full moon in the sky for the 14th and the 15th, with peak illumination on Dec 15th at 4:02am EST.

Like most full moon names, the Cold Moon takes its’ moniker from an English translation of a traditional name used by one or more North American indigenous groups. There are a number of indigenous names that reference the wintry conditions when this moon occurs, including Snow Moon (Haida, Cherokee), Winter Moon (Tunica-Biloxi), Hoar Frost Moon (Cree), and Long Night Moon (Mohican). More evocative names include Frost Exploding Trees Moon (Cree) and Moon of the Popping Trees (Oglala), both of which refer to a phenomenon which occurs during extreme cold, when the sap inside a tree freezes and the expanding pressure causes portions of the bark or even entire limbs to “pop” with loud cracking sounds that can be heard for miles.

Other names for the December moon include Yule Moon (Norse origins), Oak Moon (Celtic origins), and Bitter Moon (Chinese origins).

What Does It Mean For Witches?

The year is winding down. It’s time to wrap up our projects and put aside what we haven’t finished or no longer need. Rather than berating ourselves for the things we didn’t finish or didn’t accomplish, this is a time to give ourselves some grace and celebrate our successes and triumphs and the things we DID accomplish.

With only one page left on the calendar, many of us are already looking ahead to the new year, making plans and setting goals. This is a good time to brainstorm and engage in a bit of broad-view planning. Sketch out the things you’d like to see or do or try in the new year. Give voice to your dreams and start thinking of ways to make them happen.

The Cold Moon also falls shortly before the winter solstice this year (Dec 21), which could be a boon for anyone looking to time their seasonal rituals in optimal fashion. A working could be begun on the full moon and built up to culminate on the solstice, or whichever post-moon December date has special meaning to you and your practice.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

Have a small supper gathering with friends or family (holiday themed or not, it’s up to you) to share joys and fellowship and enjoy good food and drink. Make wishes together for the new year. (Wish jars can be done individually or as an informal group ritual. Sharing wishes anonymously can be a fun party game.) A “White Elephant” gift exchange or swap meet with inexpensive or homemade witchy goods for your circle could be fun too!

Make a wish jar for the new year and put it out to charge under the Cold Moon. Cleanse any of your tools or crystals or accoutrements that you use moonlight for one more time this year.

This is the perfect time for divinations and goalsetting for the coming year. Pull out your favorite divination tools and your new planner and sketch out the coming year. You can also try candle wax divination with holiday candles, if that’s something that interests you.

Also, save those seasonal bayberry candles for future use! They’re great for debt repayment and money-drawing spells.

If you need some ideas for a fun family activity, you can feed the birds for good luck, either with scattered birdseed or pinecone birdfeeders. String dried fruit slices, cinnamon sticks, pinecones, holly leaves and berries, and other seasonal faves to make garlands. Stick apples or oranges or clementines full of cloves in pretty patterns to make pomanders.

Use those fibre arts skills to create a special piece to keep your home warm and safe and well-supplied until spring. It doesn’t have to be anything big - a simple weaving or single square will do. Crochet or cut out snowflakes for your home decor. If you want to get fancy, pick up a ball of cotton warp thread and look for old doily patterns - they look great as hoop weavings hung on the wall (or make a witch web in winter colors).

Make one more batch of moonwater to carry you through to the new year. If it happens to snow or freeze where you live, you can save clean snow or icicles for special (non-drinkable) elemental water, which can be a fun base for moonwater as well.

And speaking of elements, make sure to remember in all your seasonal decorating that fire safety is paramount. Be careful with your candles, warmers, light strings, plugs, extension cords, and cables. DO NOT “daisy chain” your extension cords or power strips. Never leave candles or wax warmers or simmer pots unattended, and turn off your holiday lights before bedtime. Safety first, witches!

Thanks for joining me for this exploration of full moon magic. See you next year!

Happy Cold Moon, witches! 🌕🧊

Further Reading:

Additional Lunar Calendar posts

Secular Celebration Suggestions for Yule

Moon Rise Calculator - The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Cold Moon: Full Moon in December 2024, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

December Full Moon 2024: Cold Moon’s Epic Spiritual Meaning, The Peculiar Brunette.

How Do Trees Survive The Winter?, National Forest Foundation.

How to Make Pomander Balls, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Fun Kid’s Activity: Winter Pinecone Bird Feeder, Audubon Southwest.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

[cinnahoons]

visions of gideon - (n. riki) 𖤓

— to love, is to trust.

p. criminal!nishimura riki x criminal!reader w. 2.8k

genres & warnings. angst, partners in crime, established relationship, guns, blood, death & killing, very slight character study, riki is complicated but reader gets it, tears and more tears, cussing, did i mention angst, this has been stuck in my pea brain for so long pls bear with me

“I won’t let anything happen.”

Rain pelts against the windows of the dark cabin. It cracks against glass like shards of ice, sharp and stabbing; a staccato of impending doom.

“Stop��acting like everything’s fine,” you snap, agitated. You’re cradling a pistol in your arms, huddled on the wooden floor with your knees up like they might shield you from your current predicament. It’s dark, dark enough that you can barely make out the ashen metal against your skin.

Riki turns around, silvery moonlight glistening across his black hair. It shimmers like a frozen lake; crystalline. He fixes you with an authoritative glare, one you can only outline by the grace of the moon.

“I need you to trust me, Y/N.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a deep breath coursing through your lungs in an attempt to quell the anger that simmers just below your collarbones.

“I do. That’s all I’ve been doing. Trusting you.” You toss your arms out, suddenly gesturing wildly around the dark cabin. “But this is different, Riki. This time, they have us. They fucking have us.”

Something like guilt flashes in his eyes for a passing moment, and then it’s gone. His jaw hardens.

“By the skin of their teeth,” he retorts, crossing the room to squat in front of you. His boots crack against the wood. “Listen. They have us surrounded, but we’re smarter than them. We have a straight shot from the cabin door to the trees. The lake isn’t much farther. We’ll swim it.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes. The anger in your chest has given way to something heavier, sharper. Pure, unadulterated fear.

“It’s too dangerous. They’ll shoot us.”

Riki frowns, a marvelous thing. His arms come down to your shoulders, giving you a little shake. 

“You can’t cry now,” he scolds. “I told you, I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

You draw your lips into a line, hot tears slipping past the chapped skin. It’s infuriating. In all your years of skirting around danger with Riki; pulling off heists, sprinting down guarded alleys, gunfights with gangs looking to score the bounty on your heads…nothing has ever shaken you like this. You’ve never been compromised in this way, and it’s terrifying.

“But—what about you?”

A flash of white. Riki’s teeth; he’s smiling. He reaches behind his back, pulling out a dark, heavy pistol. 

“Nothing we haven’t handled before.”

You stare at it, eyes wet, before nodding slowly. He’s right. You’re not thinking straight. Youve done this before.

You reach a shaky hand down to your lap, wrapping your fingers around your own pistol. It’s cold and solid against your palm. Riki watches you with something careful in his eyes. It’s almost like he’s relieved that you’ve finally snapped into your usual resolve.

He stands up, beckoning you with his gun. The floor creaks as you both make your way to the door, guided by the light that flushes through the window. He signals you to stop.

“Remember, as soon as we step outside this door, they’ll close in. We need to move fast.”

You nod. Your neck feels stiff; cold. The rain outside has slowed. It sounds like a gentle drizzle now, taps against the window that are hardly noticeable. Your fingers flex  in anticipation.

You catch Riki’s eye as he leans into the door. He’s all sharp angles and deep shadows, but there’s a curiosity that seeps through him like sticky pine sap. He’s an enigma, really. Quietly self-assured but with a wide-eyed innocence all the same. It’s exactly why you fell in love with him. Why all those years ago; you followed him. Why you’ll follow him today.

“I love you,” you tell him, because you can. His brows soften.

“You can say that when we make it to the lake.”

You don’t say anything else. He’s said I love you back.

It’s what’s most important to him. To love, is to trust. There is no greater gift.

The door swings open.

The moonlight is odd now. Sickly. There’s an incessant buzz that you imagine the drizzle might sound like; a thousand roaring droplets. Run, they chant. Run for your life. 

Soil crunches beneath your feet. Are you running? You’re running. Riki is running.  

There’s a splintering to your left. No, to your right. Or was that behind you? 

Everything blurs around you. Shadowy forms lurk on your periphery, slinking around like in your particularly awful nightmares. A chill runs through your veins. And suddenly, there’s yelling. Loud, horrid sounds; a chorus of angry commands, and then—gunfire? A bullet whizzes past your ear. You duck, hissing.

“A thousand times, Y/N,” Riki yells over his shoulder. His gun fires loudly as he lifts his arm up and pulls the trigger. You think you see a body crumple to the ground. 

There he is. So sure. So trusting.

You lift your own gun, firing it at an agent that’s been popping up in your line of sight often enough to piss you off. He grunts, shoulder flying back as he stumbles, wounded. 

There’s a commotion to your left, a cluster of agents that have broken off together and are firing in your direction. Their bullets crack like dynamite in the night air, loud and bright. 

A searing pain shoots through your leg as one of the bullets grazes your skin. You stumble, but Riki is there, grabbing your arm and pulling you forward. 

“Keep moving!” He shouts, his voice laced with urgency. 

You grit your teeth. There’s a feeling blooming in your chest, a sort of technicolor that winds and oozes around your bones. It tells you to push through the pain.

There’s a spattering of trees not too far ahead. They offer some semblance of cover, but the agents are relentless. One lunges from the side, giving you a hair's-breadth of a second to react. You twist, slamming the butt of your gun into his face. He drops with a groan, but the others are quick to follow.

Your grip tightens. Together, you and Riki press forward, firing off bullets in quick succession. Each shot is calculated, deliberate. Another agent falls, then another.  

There’s a dark blur, and then suddenly Riki is being tackled to the floor. He hits the ground hard, gun flying out of his hand. An agent has him pinned.

“Riki,” you gasp.

You try to fire at the agent, but the shot goes wide. He grins, pressing his advantage, but Riki manages to get an arm free, grabbing a rock and smashing it to his temple. The agent slumps immediately, unconscious, and Riki shoves him off with a groan.

You grab him by the arm after he grabs his gun, pulling him along while bullets zip past. He curses loudly, turning to you with bright, clear eyes.

“We need to split up,” he says, breathless. “They won’t follow us both.”

“No fucking way,” you argue, but he’s already breaking away, squeezing your hand before he’s yelling loudly at a group of agents. They charge at him, guns aimed.

You take a short, squeezing breath. With Riki distracting them, you have a chance to make it to the grove of trees just before the lake. You press on, a dull ache spreading through your leg with every sharp jolt of boot to soil. Wind whips across your face. The rain is gone now, but the darkness still makes it difficult to see where you’re going. 

You lose count of how long you’ve been running when your surroundings change from practically barren, vast land to the dense forest that Riki had mentioned earlier. There’s a whirring sound in your ears, damp air escaping your mouth when you collapse against a large tree trunk. It’s even darker here, pale moonlight barely reaching through the dense foliage overhead. A cold sweat drips down your back; you can feel your heartbeat in your leg.

Looking down, you finally catch sight of what damage the bullet inflicted. There’s a fleshy pink hole visible through the fabric of your pants from where the bullet grazed you, dark red blood pooling over it. You dart your eyes up to the sky, stomach turning. The pain is dull, probably from the adrenaline. It’s going to be a real bitch later.

Now, sitting here, the forest is quiet—alarmingly so. You belatedly realize that maybe you should be pushing on towards the lake, but you can’t bring yourself to strain upwards onto your feet. Your head falls back against the tree trunk, willing yourself to take steady breaths as your head swims with exhaustion. 

A rustle in the underbrush snaps you to attention. Your heart flips, fear flooding your senses. You reach silently for your gun, aiming it shakily at the source of the noise. There’s a shifting in the shadows, and then a figure emerges—it’s Riki. Your arm falls, relief washing over you in waves.

“Riki,” you whisper. “You’re okay.”

His eyes widen when he sees you, and he rushes over, boots crunching as he crouches beside you. He lays his gun on the ground, hands ghosting over your extended leg.

“I lost them,” he mutters distractedly. “Damn it, Y/N.”

His eyes are dark and narrowed, glazed over with concern. You let a little shiver wrack over your body before hardening your jaw.

“It’s just a graze,” you say, trying to sound more convinced than you are. “I can still walk.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment before his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“We still need to swim the lake. Can you do it?”

You pause, and then you try to smile at him. It comes off more like a grimace.

“That should clean it out,” you joke.

Riki frowns, eyes dropping to your leg again.

“Funny,” he deadpans. 

His next movements are swift. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pocket knife. He grabs the bottom hem of his shirt, slicing a long piece of fabric. The knife falls, and he moves toward your leg. Gingerly, he lifts it up, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. When he’s met with nothing, he wraps the fabric around your leg, above your wound. Tying it, he pulls it tight enough to act as a tourniquet. 

“This won’t help for long, but it’s something,” he murmurs, voice low. “We’ll get you to the medical contact I have as soon as we’re out of here, okay?”

You nod, slightly sluggish. Riki moves closer to you, reaching his arm around your back and using his shoulder to hoist you up so that you’re finally standing again. You breathe evenly, focusing on the feeling of your boots on the ground.

“We need to keep moving,” he tells you, his voice apologetic. You sigh.

“I know. Let’s get on with it.” 

Immediately, Riki tries to wrap an arm around your shoulders to have you lean on him, but you shake your head.

“Just—let me do this,” you tell him, putting a little distance between the two of you. “I don’t fall down that easy.”

He raises a speculative brow, but seems to think better of trying to argue with you. Instead, he turns around silently, keeping his gun close at his side. 

The two of you walk in silence for a while, the only audible sounds being the various chirps and buzzing of whatever insects live in the forest. It’s colder now, too, the type of cold that comes after a bountiful rain. It’s sharp and biting. You pull the jacket you’ve been wearing a little tighter to your chest.

There’s something bothering you. It’s like an itch, maybe. A senseless, baseless thing. It crawls up the length of your spine and sends a rigid, uneasy feeling to lodge itself at the bottom of your throat. You wonder—is it your leg? The blood loss must be causing ghost sensations to travel all around your body. You feel them, but they’re not there. That must be it.

But then there’s the chill. The knowing.

How long have you and Riki been walking?

How long have you and Riki been walking towards the lake?

How long have you and Riki been walking towards the lake, without looking back?

A gun clicks. Your blood runs cold.

When you turn around, nothing feels real. There’s a man; an agent. He’s alone. He steps out from behind a large tree, his gun trained directly on you. The forest seems to hold its breath. The agent’s eyes are shadowy, a cruel smirk playing upon his lips. He cocks his head at you, mocking.

“Riki,” you choke out. You can barely hear your own voice through the sound of blood roaring in your ears.

Riki’s boots scuff from behind you as he comes to what you assume to be a languid stop. You can hear a trickle of fondness in his voice when he speaks.

“Are you finally coming to your senses and letting me—”

A terrible, screeching halt. You blink, but your eyes feel numb. Trust, trust, trust. To love is to trust. You trusted him, he trusted you. You’ve tiptoed to the eleventh hour, and now the axe must fall.

“Don’t do this,” you rasp.

A deafening blast sends a flurry of birds up through the canopy. 

There’s a lily. 

It’s dripping rainwater. You try to reach out and touch it, but you have three-thousand arms and two-thirds of your fingers. A pale halo of light caresses its milky petals, illuminating a spattering of iridescent droplets.

No.

Are you allowed to touch it? Or must good things stay unaltered?

No, please.

It’s okay, you think, to just be content with watching it from where you are. There’s no sense in disturbing what has been or what could have been.

Three perfect droplets roll right off the beautiful lily, plopping earnestly on your cheek. How did they get there? They’re salty, your skin says.

A dark shadow engulfs your vision.

When your eyes flutter open, Riki is crouched over you. 

His hands fly uselessly over your abdomen, fingers stained scarlet. You can feel his frame against your body, shaking. And when you take a wheezing breath, his eyes fly up to yours. There are wet marks on his cheeks, like tears had had their way with him. 

“Jesus fuck,” he moves fast, cupping his trembling hands against either side of your face. They leave bloody prints on your skin. “Just—stay with me,” he pleads, his voice cracking.

You swallow in your throat, your eyes moving sluggishly to the area in front of you. The agent who shot you is crumpled in an awkward pile on the ground, a gory hole drilled into the center of his forehead. You have to fight the urge to smile. It hurts too much to move more than your eyes, anyway. 

Riki brushes hair off your face, causing your gaze to snap back over. His eyes look so different to what you remember. Where there was once a somber serenity, there is now an ocean of uncertainty; glistening with more unshed tears. You make a sound in the back of your throat.

Riki’s hands tremble harder against your skin. They slip and slide as he tries to caress your cheek. It’s almost pathetic.

“I know it—I know it hurts, Y/N. Just…” he pauses, cursing under his breath. “You can’t leave, okay? You’re not ready. I’m not ready.”

You can see it now—the boy inside him. He’s only eighteen, burdened by a life he chose with you years ago; a choice, which was made under bitter loneliness, and disguised by ardor. 

Trust is his vice, because it’s all he’s never known.

Slowly, and with all the strength you can muster, you bring a cold, shaky hand up towards your face, cupping the back of his own and leaning your head towards it as much as you can. He lets a quiet sob wrack through his body. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers fiercely. “I’m so sorry. You trusted me.”

I don’t blame you, is what you wish you could say. Instead, your eyelids droop with a heaviness so extreme that they fall shut. Riki jolts immediately, his futile hands scrabbling for purchase against your face, trying desperately to keep you awake.

“Stop trying to die on me,” his voice is barely a whisper. Your eyes flicker open.

But then his face falls more, if that’s even possible. Guilt will eat him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I love you. All you did was love me back.”

You try to shake your head, but nothing moves. Riki’s eyes fall shut for a brief moment.

“You can rest.” The words ring muffled in your ears. “It’s going to be okay.”

You think you can feel a kiss pressed against your cheek, but, oh, the lily is back, and you think you’d like to go off after it. It holds you close to its chest.

And, even in death, there is nobody you trust more.

copyright ©cinnahoons

tags! @vousty @hittoki @neos127 @junityy

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a Acolyte

2

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him

The initial idea was to despair, cry, and pack my bags to flee, but none of this made sense. It was like being immobilized in time and space; maybe I had imagined everything, fallen asleep on the couch as I often did, the nightmares that accompanied me had become more fanciful and seemed real, but time was passing, and it was getting dark outside, it was obvious that even nightmares didn't last that long.

I moved in search of something to do, and the desire to eat became strong, so I opted to cook something while I thought about myself, the Jedi, and Qimir... it had been foolish of me to think I could escape. That no one would find me. And this pregnancy was sapping all my strength, if before I had been confident in my survival skills, now I doubted them. It was already a miracle that I could walk five meters without feeling exhausted, fighting was impossible. I had already admitted some of my activities to the Jedi, but it was obvious that as long as the target was Qimir, I would seem almost innocent in their eyes.

Yet... he was still looking for me. I was sure of it. Maybe the fact that the photo was still in the same condition was a sign... negative or positive, I couldn't say.

I finished preparing something for dinner and turned on the holonet, even though I didn't pay much attention to it.

I had to decide what to do, carefully plan all my next moves, the lies, the escape.

I tried to swallow another bite, but a sob stopped me. It had taken me a month to decide what to do with my life, how to escape and live peacefully after everything we had done in these years, and now I had less than twelve hours to come up with anything to do. I couldn't let the Jedi take me away, someone in the Order could recognize me, or recognize my voice, they would feel my signature in the Force, anything could betray me, or worse, they could take my child away once born and throw me in prison, the mere idea terrified me.

Tears fell into the plate as I tried to stifle another sob. At this point, maybe it was better to return to Qimir and ask for his forgiveness, maybe he would refrain from killing me at least while I was pregnant with his child, even though nothing would stop him from killing me afterward. I had betrayed him. I had led him to this, to what he was now, and then I had abandoned him. I had been a fool, I had seen all the signs that the situation was slipping out of my hands and now that I no longer had control, from perpetrator I had become the victim.

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my pajamas before forcing myself to finish the plate, walking around the house like a ghost, someone who had already been condemned to death and had accepted it.

In the bathroom, I changed into something softer and looked at myself in the mirror, I was ashamed of myself, my completely tattooed arms were witnesses of my victories and a black map on the skin that I had decided to form over time to describe my path, yet now they seemed like the whims of a rebellious child. They clashed on the body I had, sure the muscles were still there, it had been too little time to lose them, but my big belly was a huge beacon in the middle. I no longer recognized myself in my skin, I was a symbol of death, but in the mirror, I looked like just a failed mother. The bags under my eyes, the tired look, the condition of my hair, everything, it was terrible. I would never be able to escape from anyone, and at that moment I realized it more than ever.

Reaching the bedroom, I immediately lay down under the covers, the mattress was divine for my back, and despite the anxiety, I fell asleep early anyway.

Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was a sea of green. I was in a forest in the middle of the night, maybe... a jungle or worse, I had never seen such trees. I jumped up, feeling a piercing cold in my bones, immediately recognizing the presence hiding inside. "Qimir?" I called out with a trembling voice. If I could feel him, he could feel me, it was useless to hide.

"Darling" his voice behind me made me turn quickly, and finally, I saw him. The man I had run away from five months earlier and hoped never to see again, injured, tired, and dirty... our minds had reconnected after I had severed the bond, this shouldn't have been possible.

"My love, you are as beautiful as ever" he addressed me with that gentle smile I had learned to love, even at that moment despite the fear, that look warmed my heart. "Am I perhaps going mad dreaming of you pregnant?"

He approached me, but I didn't have the courage to move, he hadn't noticed that our bond had reformed? Did he think it was a dream? Maybe hiding my presence made me intangible even in the connection, making him believe he was dreaming.

I pressed my lips together before taking a step forward and pushing myself into his arms, I couldn't smell or feel his warmth, but I could imagine it from the vivid memories I still carried. "Qimir..." the words got stuck in my throat, I wanted to say so much, to vent even just the last few hours, but I risked making him understand too much, that something was wrong and if he found out it was really me... and I was pregnant... "I miss you so much, darling. I was so furious when you disappeared, I'm looking for you everywhere. And when I find you..." he squeezed my arms tightly before pulling me away a few centimeters, our faces brushing as his eyes scrutinized me deeply, and I could perceive the anger behind them. "I will punish you for leaving me, my love. And when we have solved this problem, we will continue our plan, you will be proud of me, when you discover how much I have done in these months" my heart pounded in my chest, here was that side of him that terrified me, I tried to free myself, but he squeezed my arms even tighter. "But look at you, trying to run away from me even in my dreams" the smile he gave me was terrifying, the kind of grin he used when facing an enemy, the one he had started to use on me when... "Qimir you're hurting me-" I gasped, feeling trapped, this was too much, if he realized I was more tangible than usual... I had to wake up.

He instead pulled me back against his chest before kissing me forcefully, the touch of his lips on mine was familiar, I couldn't help but let out a moan at the gesture, despite my reluctance, my body desired him more than my mind. "When I find you, maybe I should really make you pregnant, we would be a nice family, the sweet mother of my children" he whispered on my lips, I squirmed even more and luckily as soon as I freed myself from his grip, I woke up.

Outside, the first lights of dawn were peeking into the room, my heart was racing, getting up quickly, a pain in my arms made me hiss. Despite the numerous black tattoos covering my arms, bruises could be seen on the skin, the marks of Qimir's fingers that had managed to mark me even galaxies away, almost proving he was becoming stronger in the Force.

I stood up and took a quick shower, by then I was too scared to fall asleep again, I put on comfortable clothes and went to make myself something for breakfast.

It was only after eating that I felt the need to check my things. In the bedroom, hidden in a hole I had created in the closet, a box held the few personal items I had brought with me. Opening it, everything was as I had left it, my rolled-up clothes, my photo of me and Qimir along with others from my childhood, and my lightsaber. I looked at everything for a few minutes, the idea was to also put the photo of Qimir among these, but I didn't want the Jedi to request it and find me with my hands on it. Yet the idea of letting go of this memory to them burned my stomach even more than the fear of getting caught.

I put everything back, walking around with a lightsaber wasn't a smart move now, I had to convince the Jedi to leave me alone quickly, despite not liking the idea, if they were after Qimir, he was too busy fighting them to look for me, and maybe I had more time to find an even more distant place to hide.

It was around eight that someone knocked at my door, I took a deep breath before opening it, expecting to see the two Jedi, but in front of me was Yord. Alone. "Hey... did you come to continue the conversation from yesterday? Where's Sol?" I said, quickly looking down the hallway. "Hey good morning, no I... wanted to see how you were doing. Yesterday we stressed you out a lot, and I wanted to make sure you were okay" *or that you hadn't run away*, but I kept the thought to myself.

"I'm fine, I went to bed a bit late, but I've had worse hours" I tried to joke, showing him a smile, but it was obvious he wasn't convinced by my act. "Yeah, well if it makes you feel better, we're making sure no one suspicious followed us," I moved aside to let him in and realized he had a bag with him.

He sat at the counter before pulling out several paper bags, the smell of sugar was unmistakable. "I brought some things to apologize for my presence at this hour, you need to rest, and I was afraid you were still sleeping" Approaching the counter, I could see the various sweets he had chosen, among the different creams and pastries. "I don't know what you like, so I practically took every kind of sweet, and... and maybe you like salty food" he said as if struck by lightning. "Sorry, I didn't think of that—" but he stopped when he heard my laugh. "It's all okay, Yord. I like sweets" I said, reaching him and sitting on the chair opposite his. "You really didn't have to—" "But I wanted to" he interrupted immediately before giving me a small smile.

For a moment, it seemed like I was seeing Qimir again, yet despite the same mischief in his eyes, it was evident that Yord didn't have the same dark side; his smile was genuinely playful.

He took the cutlery and juice as if he was already accustomed to the kitchen, which made me giggle again. "You move around my kitchen better than I do" he replied with a smile before sitting down, the sweets in front of us ready to be eaten. "Well, I struggled yesterday to figure out where to put some things, so I actually opened the cupboards a million times." I laughed again while taking the first bite of cake. I had just had breakfast, but whether it was the pregnancy or the nerves, I was more than ready to eat everything he had brought.

"So..." he began, glancing at me nervously, "if you have something to ask, do it. I already said I would cooperate." I gave him an encouraging smile even though the irritation burned at the back of my throat. "No, actually, I wanted to ask you something more... personal." He waited a few seconds, expecting a negative response, but I was more curious than I wanted to admit and nodded for him to continue. "You and him... Qimir. You know, I met him a couple of times and... he managed to deceive me the first time. We met again a few days ago on a sparsely populated planet. We unmasked him and found him standing in front of us..." I listened in silence, taking in all the information I could passively. Some questions would have been too suspicious and not in line with the story of the love-blind girl I had built around myself. "It's a really bothersome question, but I couldn't stop thinking about it all night. You told us you knew he was a Sith. Even if you didn't know exactly what it meant, being so close to him, you must have seen that... something much worse was hiding beneath the surface, right?" The grimace he gave me was sad, almost pained, and I took a deep breath before answering him.

"As I already told you, I'm not a completely innocent girl. I'm used to meeting more dangerous people even though I've always kept my distance." He responded with a tight smile, "Yes, but you were a thief. Or at most, you smuggled stuff. He... he slaughtered half of our team without blink an eye. He's not just a man with an illegal job. He's a murderer. That's what he does best."

Of course, the truth was complex. I remembered well the first time I met him. Liars recognize each other, and we both knew from the first moment that the other was hiding more than just stolen items.

"At first, I didn't suspect anything. He always told me he did dangerous business, so I took it for granted that he knew how to handle unpleasant situations." I cleared my throat, looking intently at the plate in front of me.

I could feel Yord's eyes on me, and the sensation made me move uncomfortably in my chair. "When he opened up more and more, he confided in me that he had been trained by someone, that he had done much more difficult jobs than he had told me in the past, and that... he had hurt many people." I forced a smile before finally managing to look him in the eyes. "I know it sounds stupid, but words aren't enough to help you imagine actions like these. He had warned me, but I didn't really understand how dangerous he was." I took a sip of juice.

"He made me feel safe. He protected me... I trusted him" I continued, perhaps voicing one of the most sincere statements about what I had experienced and felt for Qimir.

Yord remained silent as he finished one of the slices of cake he had brought, wiped his mouth, and cleared his throat. "I’m probably speaking out of turn, as a Jedi, I’ve never been able to form a bond beyond the Order or even think about falling in love" he gave me a forced and slightly embarrassed smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

"And if you could? If you found the woman of your life, wouldn’t you leave everything to live a happy life?"

The silence that followed was perhaps the best of the last twenty-four hours. Yord was clearly uncomfortable with the question, but from the lost look he gave me, I understood he was seriously thinking about it. "I... I’ve sacrificed a lot to be a Jedi Knight. I was never a good student and... I took the trials several times before passing them" he cleared his throat for a moment, "it would be crazy to leave now that I’ve made it, I have a Padawan and... and..." he glanced at me quickly, his gaze settled on my belly and then returned to his plate. "I don’t know. If someone like Qimir can fall in love and make a woman happy, then maybe it’s worth it."

He gave me a gentle smile, but I couldn’t return it.

Gentle? No, Qimir was many things but not gentle by nature, definitely manipulative. Looking back, perhaps he managed to hurt me more with the kind gestures... which I allowed like a fool.

"He treated you well... right?" Yord’s voice woke me from my thoughts, I realized how he was looking at me, I had taken too long to respond and now there was doubt in his eyes.

Great job, idiot.

"Yes, yes, as I said, he made me feel good. It’s just that he wasn’t ready for a family, let’s say," his gaze became more intense, and the thought that he didn’t believe me lingered in the air.

"Yesterday you told us you were afraid of his reaction. Were you afraid he would react violently?" I hurried to shake my head, "No, no, it’s just that I thought he wouldn’t stop being a smuggler, not even for a child. He just wasn’t ready—" "But you preferred to run away without telling him anything. What were you afraid of then?"

The forced smile I had maintained disappeared completely. I put myself in a corner, again.

"I..." I took a deep breath to buy time, but I was only making things worse, "Sabrina, if there’s anything else you can tell me, do it, if something is bothering you, we’re here for you too."

My heart was pounding in my chest, I felt like a fool, I had managed to survive with worse lies than these, years of anonymity right under everyone’s nose, and now when I was asked something more personal, my brain was turning to mush.

I realized how this story had only reopened a wound that had never healed and perhaps had been bleeding for years.

It was easy to play when you were the predator, and it was fun as the prey, but like this? Caught between two fires you didn’t want to be part of but couldn’t choose between?

There was only one answer.

A half-truth. A half-lie.

[a-twistedheartslonging]

Nonhuman AU Trey

Ironically this baker is a type of cinnamon bear, but you wouldn't be able to tell since like his siblings he inherited his dad's green fur, though he is a lighter shade. It's more obvious if you take a look at his mother.

Said siblings climb around on everything, including Trey himself. He likes swinging them around when they hang onto his strong arms and... would be willing to do the same for you if asked.

He’s taller and has more muscle than his human counterpart, but also a bit more squish. Has some very thick dark claws, and human hands with some dark padding on the palm and fingertips. He has a little tail that isn't that noticeable given its size. Sharp teeth and noticeable canines.

Very interested in your little dull human teeth and small mouth.

Fur is fluffy and he has a lot of it. Arms, legs chest, underarms, floof happy trail, above his tail and the same shade of green as his hair. Now bear fur texture is shaggy and thick, but unlike regular bears whose fur is rough, dirty looking, and stiff due to dirt, leaves, tree sap, and old food, Trey takes very good care of his fur so it's great for burying your face in. Similar to other beasts he can and will use it to lure you in for cuddles and to give him scritches.

Like dogs, bears lose some of their soft, dense insulating underfur as well as some of their coarse outer guard hairs when temperatures climb. By late summer, they can look quite scruffy. However, as the weather cools and they layer on fat for hibernation, their underfur and guard hairs grow back. He is very not pleased when his fur gets scruffy in those hot months and how much he ends up shedding. Don’t worry, it won’t get in the goodies he bakes, in a world full of magic where the majority of the population are types of fur-having beasts, they know how to make sure everything stays sanitary. 

He very much appreciates you helping with brushing him out and unlike certain other guys, isn't a tsundere about asking, of course, he offers something yummy in return and will insist even if you say you're just fine with helping him out. It's totally because he just wants to pay you back and not because he wants to show off how good his baking skills are and how he can keep you fed.

Tbh even before you start dating you might end up gaining a pound or two because of him.

He’s too domesticated to hibernate but isn't opposed to taking naps when he can and can sleep pretty hard...unfortunately certain members of his dorm like to cause trouble and he ends up getting disturbed often.

Poor tired bear waking up all of a sudden and fur a mess because AceDeuce broke something and now Riddle is screaming.

The guy likes puns and dad jokes so if you think he isn't going to make any bear ones you're wrong.

Bear hugs. Human Trey already gives those warm comforting hugs, but bear beastman Trey? You will never feel more warm and secure in a hug. He smells like baked goods and has a comforting underlying musk. Loves how big and protective holding you makes him feel, you can't see it with your face smooched into his chest, but he has a very self-satisfied look on his face if you say anything about feeling safe with him.

Please scratch his back for him, his fur is thick, and it's hard to reach. You might even catch him doing this when he thinks no one is looking. He makes funny noises when you find a good spot. Is perfectly fine lying down with you sitting on his back and going to town on him with those nibble little monkey hands.

Speaking of noises, bears make a lot of them, and I don't just mean the growls they're known for.

Grunts are often used by mother bears to communicate with their cubs and can signal to cubs to climb trees for safety or to follow her. Now unlike regular male bears, bear beastmen are involved with their kids and do the same thing. Though admittedly Trey has a habit of doing this with you and his siblings when something goes down, though he doesn't expect you to climb up a tree, just get behind him. Though he can easily get you up there himself if need be.

Huffing is a warning to get away, teeth clicking is a warning but also a fear/stress response, and similar to humans, bears whimper when they are in distress or fear. It’s a sound that indicates submission or vulnerability. Hmm getting him to whimper because of submission though...

Adorably they snort when surprised or experiencing mild alarm but also when investigating a new scent or object. It makes me want to try sneaking up on him so he does it but I'm sure those adorable ears would hear me before I have the chance.

But also...Trey unintentionally does it the first time he gives the cute new human some sniff sniffs.

Bear mating strategies vary by species/breeds, with some relying on scent-marking and vocalizations to attract mates, while others engage in physical displays of strength and dominance. Male bears may engage in fierce battles with rivals for the opportunity to mate with a female.

Trey isn't the type to act outright aggressively but he's not against using his stature to intimidate and to be a sneak to get between you and the other guys. He's good at always finding an excuse. Needs you for taste testing, being his little helper for baking, or helping with the mountain of tasks he has on his plate as Riddles right pawed man.

Female bears are pretty selective with mates, size, and strength are two big parts of attraction for them, so he's going to keep finding ways to show off his strength and draw attention to how much bigger he is than you. Catch this guy carrying around huge sacks of flour like it's nothing and playfully teasing you when you try and fail to lift a bag.

...Trey really likes teasing you. Oh, the feelings it gives him when you look up at him all flustered or even all huffy from his comments. He can't help but want to see how far he can take it, but he needs to keep a level head. Can get pretty horny grip about it though.

Regular bears follow females to assess their receptiveness, regularly sniffing areas where the female has sat and the female herself when possible. Couples often play and rest together during courtship. They also engage in various pre-mating rituals, such as nuzzling, and pawing at each other. 

...no, he isn't going to sniff your seat like some weirdo. I mean, yeah, giving some sniff sniffs is acceptable in this society but not to that extent. He gonna sniff the hoodie you borrowed tho. You're totally going to get sniffed during hugs or when he's looming. He gets growly when his trailing after you/interactions gets interrupted, especially when the territorial part of his brain kicks in and certain other guys are nearby.

Oh, he has so much fun playfully chasing you around. Especially when he catches you, wrapping his arms around you before lifting you into the air...maybe giving your shoulder a little nibble if he's feeling extra playful. Don't worry, he knows how to be gentle with his teeth.

Don't expect to outrun him though, a bear can run 35mp and catch a horse.

The guy is great for napping and resting on and will encourage you to do so. He's going to want to turn your room in Ramshackle into a proper den for you two to rest and be away from the others.

Bear mating and junk info below. ⬇️

Mating season begins in May and lasts until early July. Mating mainly occurs during June.

Brown bears, American black bears, Asiatic black bears, sloth bears, giant pandas, polar bears, and spectacled bears all generally breed between spring and early summer.

A male bear recognizes an estrous female by her scent. He then walks behind her, shadowing her movements like he has a laser sight affixed to her rump. It’s certainly not uncommon to see a male following a female for hours and hours, he is biding his time until she's willing. Now I'm not saying he's going to stalk you but he's sure as hell going to want to stick close, especially if you have a mating scent...and pay a lot of attention to your butt. God, forbid you sit on his lap or bend over in front of him. As much as he enjoys the view, he's going to make sure to block it from others, just another reason for wanting to stick close to your back.

Male testosterone levels peak, not coincidentally, in June as well so he's definitely going to start getting some of that strong musk during that time.

Outside of the mating season, male bears pose real threats to smaller females (sometimes, albeit very rarely, killing them) so the close, persistent proximity of a large male is usually alarming at first. Eventually, hormones and habituation to the male overcome her initial trepidation.

With the bear beastmen females/the one the male is interested in don't need to worry as much about that, but Trey is def going to do a lot to show you that he's safe for you to be around and that you can be comfortable around him, he's very good at it too.

Alright so...bears have a penis bone, along with certain primates, rodents, shrews, hedgehogs, dogs, walruses, seals, sea lions, and raccoons.

It allows him to stay hard for longer, though with regular bears the actual mating process is typically brief, lasting only a few minutes, but can occur multiple times over a few hours or several days.

After mating some males have been shown to make intense tongue-clicking vocalizations and prevent the female from leaving, perhaps to give his sperm time to fertilize her eggs before she met another male. I'm picturing Trey getting pretty clingy after sex and using his great aftercare and cuddle skills to keep you from leaving and making that noise when you try to get up to use the bathroom.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

Vessels x GN reader

How they act after a really long day ~ Headcannons.

Under the cut <3

Vessel catches a big attitude problem when he’s had a really long day. This guy is grouchy and pissy and doesn’t want to deal with anything. A big permanent frown pulls at his lips the whole night. His only cure is a good nights sleep, he knows it and you know it, but don’t you dare tell him that’s what he needs or else he’ll stubbornly keep himself up. If you get some good food in his belly you might be able to knock him down a few pegs, but ultimately calling it a night nice and early is your best bet at settling him down. He relies heavily on you to pull him back to earth when he gets like this, and you’re more than happy to every time. If you thought vessel was a little clingy before, welcome to a whole new world of clingy. He’s scowling and pouting the whole time, but don’t think for a second he’s leaving your side. The moment he sets his sights on you, his stuff is dropped, shoes are off and he’s glueing himself to you before he’s even said hello. He knows he’s probably being a bit of a nuisance, it can’t be easy cooking dinner with a six foot something tree of a man pinned to your back. But in that moment, he probably couldn’t care less.

Getting him into a warm shower and getting him into bed is a mission. He does absolutely nothing to help you. He’s dragging his feet, still wrapped around you as you move through the house. This means that most of the time you end up in the shower with him, which might have been his plan, but all he does cuddle you the whole time. If you want to wash him you need to pry him off you, but let your guard down and he’s back on you again quicker than you can blink. You’d want to hope you remembered to lock the house up before you got to this point, because if you think vessel is letting you get any kind of clothes on, you’re sadly mistaken. For the first time that night he’s the one pulling you around, except the only difference is, he’s pulling you right to bed and straight under the covers so you can’t even try to get into your pyjamas. He plants a big wet kiss on your lips and then proceeds to bury his face into the warm skin of your neck, mentally checking out for the night. His body heat keeps you nice and warm, but vessel is so big on skin to skin contact that even if he wasn’t enough to keep you warm, he’d invest in the best heated blankets for you to ensure that he still got this. This, right here, is where he is happiest and it’s all he needs to feel like himself again. Your big sap will be back to normal again in the morning, with lots of apologetic kisses waiting for you the moment you wake up.

II, needs a really slow, quiet night after he’s had a long day. He doesn’t care for a big nice dinner, he doesn’t care for pulling out all the stops to ensure he feels better, all he needs is you, a dark room, and no distractions. He’s patient though. Lets you make him at least something to have on his belly or else he’ll feel worse in the morning. He will pull you to the couch for a little while, just long enough to let the food from dinner settle in his stomach before he’s getting you both up to call it a night. Yet even then, when the only thing he wants is to just go to bed, he lets you do your night time routine without rush. He stands with you in the bathroom, watching you in the mirror. You’ll brush your teeth together and he’ll watch you wash your face. But he doesn’t rush you. At all. He slips out of the room as you’re finishing up to lock up the house, all the lights are off and the house is so quiet. Maybe you’ll meet him in the kitchen after you went looking for him, slotting yourself into his arms for a quick cuddle. His face presses against yours and he’s holding you so close like he hasn’t been home for days, and to him it feels that way, but right now he just needs to remind himself that he’s home and his day is over. Sharing this quiet moment with you in the darkness of the kitchen, not another being on his mind.

His hand will slot into yours and he’ll slowly pull you to bed. There’s no rush. Because you’re walking there with him, and he couldn’t ask for much else. He sees you’ve pulled the covers back, all he needs to do is slip under them, and although you have your respective sides of the bed, he wants you on his side tonight. He doesn’t let you round the bed, instead, he sits on the edge of the mattress and pulls you into his lap. He presses a few quick kisses to the back of your neck then manoeuvres you both under the covers. You get the hint. Settling into him, his arm is around you and he’s huffing into your exposed skin from behind you. The room is dark. The house is quiet. And you’re right where he needs you. There’s no rush to fall asleep.

III turns into a bit of a grouch too. He’ll find you somewhere in the house, seeking you out right away as if it’s a sixth sense. But the difference with iii is that he becomes super restless. He can’t sit still. He can’t focus on anything. He doesn’t know if he wants to eat dinner, but complains his stomach hurts. Yet couldn’t for the life of him tell you what he wants to eat. Eventually he might settle for something that probably won’t make him feel any better, but if he’s getting something on his stomach then so be it. He’ll be on and off you all night. One minute acting as if his body is surgically attached to yours, then the next he’ll be face down in the couch groaning about how tired he is. You offer to lay there with him for a while, and although it’s nice for the first three minutes, it doesn’t last long. He’s up and off the couch flicking the tv on and asking you to play whatever game he’s been into recently with him. But, he can’t enjoy it. So that doesn’t last long either, he’s over it about ten minutes in and he’s sooking about his piss poor mood. He’s groaning and whining about everything he possibly could. And you know it’s because he’s just feeling over worked and exhausted, but settling iii down when he gets like this is a challenge.

You offer to call it and go to bed, maybe you could put a movie on and use it as some kind of background noise if he really wanted. He will say no to you. Trying to tell you he doesn’t want to go to bed just yet but if his heavy lidded eyes tell you anything, you know it’s only a matter of time before he caves. He’s tossing and turning on the couch, getting more and more tired as time ticks on. Getting up for no reason then coming back and plonking back on the couch with a huff. Waiting him out works every time. He’s asking to go to bed through yawns and by this point his eyes are barely open. Get him into bed all nice and warm and he’s out like a light the minute his head hits the pillow. Snuggle into him and he’ll welcome you in, even in his sleep. Maybe one day he’ll realise that early nights can be fun too.

IV gets super quiet after a long day. He’s not grouchy or in a bad mood. But he just needs to process his day slowly and recharge. It’s obvious he’s tired, and winding down and getting some good sleep would probably be the best option for him, but ultimately iv needs time to exist in silence before he’s ready to end the day. He’ll give you your cuddles and he’ll chat with you for a little, but it’s easy to pick up on where his mind is at. His answers are short and simple, his voice is quiet and his eyes are elsewhere. Offer him an easy dinner, maybe a nice dessert for after. Let him share the room with you while you both do different things. Let him watch you tidy up and begin the process of pulling everything together for the night. He’ll probably take himself to bed to lay there and decompress for a little, while he waits for you to join him. He listens to you wash up in the bathroom, having watched your nighttime routine countless times he could probably guess what you’re up to just by what he’s hearing. But that helps him too. Hearing your presence and knowing you’re close is so comforting to him. He knows you’re just at arms length if he needs you, while he sorts his brain out.

And usually by the time you find yourself both in bed, his arms are open and he’s pulling you into him before you even have a chance to pull the covers back. It’s during this time he will open up. Becoming a little more chatty and telling you about what he got up to that day. The conversations are quiet and soft, they’re slow and sleepy but they’re there. Your voices, your shared warmth and finally being in each other’s arms again starts to lull you both to sleep. Both secretly fighting it so you can spend as many seconds as possible still awake and together, but iv will nod off mid sentence and leave you hanging. You following soon after. His head drops, pressed against yours and your breathing syncs up almost instantly. Neither of you will have any recollection of what he was talking about before he crashed, but he’ll make up for his unfinished story in kisses.

[another-lost-mc]

DIAVOLO x gn!Reader 1.2k Words | NSFW | Explicit | Making Out, Marking, Oral Sex (m!receiving) CW: Mentions of alcohol. -> Prompt: Kissing in an Alley Behind a Bar [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

Diavolo makes every date with you an adventure. He loves exploring all the things in the human world that you used to take for granted; everything excites him, and it’s difficult not to be excited too.

Tonight he asked you to join him on a date at a human world bar. Bars aren’t really your thing, and you don’t drink much at the best of times, but you agreed anyway. It’s hard to say ‘no’ to the demon prince that asks you for so little, while the love in his eyes promises you the whole world just for being by his side.

Most of the time when you go on human world excursions, Diavolo is overdressed for the occasion. He looks handsome, sure, but his large stature and expensive, perfectly-tailored suits draw a lot of attention.

(You try not to grumble too much when other people blatantly stare at him, or try to flirt with him even though you’re standing right there, your arm obviously linked with his. Even though he doesn’t say anything, he knows you get a little jealous—and he makes it up to you later in the privacy of his bedroom and shows you why you have nothing to be jealous of.)

You wait patiently for Diavolo in the main foyer of the Demon Lord’s Castle while he finishes getting ready. You grin and ask Barbatos which suit Diavolo plans to wear tonight, but he looks far too smug when he hints that you might be disappointed. 

Diavolo’s voice echoes when he greets you from the top of the staircase nearby. You turn towards the staircase and wave, but your own greeting dies in your throat. You expect him to come bouncing down the steps in one of his three-piece suits. You didn’t expect him to wear a black leather jacket you’ve never seen before, or the slim-fitted white t-shirt underneath, or the dark wash jeans that hang low on his hips and cling to his muscular thighs. 

His joyful smile sharpens when he’s close enough to slip his hand in yours, and you realize you’ve been staring (and probably drooling). Your mouth opens and closes a few times while you try to think of something to say.

I want to climb you like a fucking tree doesn’t seem appropriate in present company, even though Barbatos has caught you both in compromising positions before.

“You look nice,” is the most eloquent reply you can manage in that moment; your voice is a bit higher than usual, and you want to die when your voice cracks.

Also, when did it get so hot in here?

Diavolo beams at your compliment (and very obvious once-over). “I thought I would try a different look today, considering the very casual nature of our date location.” He escorts you to the portal Barbatos conjures for you, and he leads you in the direction of a local pub his butler located for you in advance.

The demon prince grunts when his back slams against the bar’s rough brick exterior, but his eyes glitter with anticipation under the flickering street lamp overhead. His devilish smile is wide and full of teeth, and he traces his fangs with the tip of his tongue while he drinks in your needy expression.

“If I’d known bringing you to such a place would have this result, I would’ve done so much sooner,” he chuckles as he tilts his head back to give you access. You moan against his neck and scrape your teeth along the skin of his throat; he exhales a shuddered sigh grips your waist to drag you even closer to him.

“It’s those fucking jeans, and that shirt, and it’s—it’s everything about you,” you nearly whine against his collarbone between clumsy, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. Your hands slide under the thin material of his shirt, and he twitches when you graze the ticklish skin of his belly. 

“I’m yours,” he promises in a rough voice, and his hand cradles your nape and forces you to look at him. “All yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You big sap,” you scold him half-heartedly, but your breathy voice lacks any real heat. You push yourself against the firm, muscular planes of his chest and slot your mouth against his in a desperate kiss. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue when you lick into his mouth, and you chase the bittersweet taste with your own

He swallows your breathy sounds as he moves against you in a frenzied kiss. His own deep growls punctuate the wet sounds of his lips and tongue caressing yours. He jerks his hips when you run your hands over his chest and tweak his nipples between your fingers.

He’s hard and straining in these jeans he bought specially for you, and his body burns so hot he feels like you're consuming him. He's not going to last long no matter how you touch him. The only thing he knows is that he doesn't want to paint the inside of his pants when he can be inside you somehow instead.

“I want you,” he pants as you kiss a sloppy trail across his jaw and down his neck. Your muffled uh-huh tickles his skin and he pulls your hips flush against his. He grinds himself harder against you while you suck a mark below his ear.

(Diavolo knows Barbatos will disapprove of the mark and insist he cover it up later. He doesn’t want to, though—he would wear all your bruises and bitemarks proudly. He wants everyone in the Devildom and all the realms beyond to know that it's his bed you warm each night.)

The alley is dark and grimy and off-putting, but Diavolo still wonders how he can fuck you against the cold brick wall without roughing up the soft skin of your back. His train of thought breaks when you suddenly drop to your knees; the desire radiating from you in waves overwhelms him.

When he scents the air, he can smell your soap and your sweat, and below that, he can pick up the faint traces of the arousal that's dampening the inside of your pants. It makes his mouth water and he has to remind himself to be patient.

He throws his head back with a moan as his large hands stroke the sides of your face. “You’re so perfect for me,” he grits out. “I'm going to fuck you against this wall before I take you home.” He knows you're both desperate, and his dirty promises make you whine, a high-pitched noise that makes his cock ache. He tries not to buck his hips against your face when you rub your cheek against the rough denim covering his aching cock. He hears the soft sounds of metal clinking together when your nimble fingers loosen his belt.

“You'd better,” you mutter against him, tongue flicking against the wet spot of his boxer briefs before you pull them down.

You should've guessed all along what he wanted when he brought you here of all places. You wait until he looks at you properly—

—with his tousled hair and dark, lustful gaze blown-black, and his spit-slicked and swollen lips, and his chest heaving with anticipation and the control it takes for him not to push you against the rough brick behind him and impale you on his cock—

—and then you finally swallow him down.

[n0vazsq]

Love, a wonderful thing | Marc Bernal x Reader

pairing . . . marc bernal x gf!reader

summary . . . Marc surprises you with a necklace with his initials and tells you that he loves you for the first time

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.3k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . more christmas fics coming soon and ik im so late but dw guys ill grind to get them out asap

. . . The snow outside painted the world in a soft, shimmering white, and the glow of the fairy lights on the Christmas tree cast a golden hue across the room.

You were sitting on the couch, humming along to the faint Christmas music playing in the background as you adjusted one of the stockings hanging by the fireplace.

The faint scent of vanilla from the candles you’d lit earlier filled the room, creating an atmosphere so cozy it felt like a scene from a holiday movie.

When you glanced over your shoulder, you caught Marc staring at you, his head propped up on one hand as he leaned against the armrest of the couch.

There was a softness in his gaze, his dark eyes tracing your features with an expression so tender it made your heart skip a beat.

"What?" you asked with a shy laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

Marc didn’t look away. If anything, his smile grew, and the corners of his lips curled into that familiar, lopsided grin that made your stomach flutter every time.

"Nothing," he said, his voice low and warm, almost like a secret he wanted to keep between the two of you. "I’m just wondering how I got so lucky."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you sat back down beside him. "Marc," you said, playfully nudging his shoulder, though the warmth in his voice lingered in your chest. "You’re such a sap."

"Can you blame me?" he teased, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in closer. "You’re literally glowing right now. You look… beautiful."

His words weren’t dramatic or over the top, but the way he said them, like they were the most natural thing in the world, made your breath catch.

"Marc," you murmured, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek for just a moment. "I mean it," he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "You’re perfect."

You were about to tease him again, anything to keep yourself from melting under his affection, when he suddenly straightened up, his expression shifting slightly.

"I, uh…" He cleared his throat and reached for something on the coffee table. "I actually got you something."

You tilted your head, blinking in surprise. "Marc, I thought we agreed-"

"I know," he interrupted quickly, holding up the small, neatly wrapped box.

His cheeks were slightly flushed now, his earlier confidence replaced with a hint of nervousness. "But I couldn’t help myself. Just�� open it, okay? I know what you said. I couldn’t help it. You deserve something special."

Your heart warmed at his words, and you felt your cheeks heat up. "Okay," you said softly, taking the box from his hands.

His fingers lingered for a moment as they brushed yours, and you could see the nervous anticipation in his expression. He was chewing on his bottom lip ever so slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the small gift.

You carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, your fingers trembling slightly, more from the tenderness of the moment than the chill in the room. Inside the paper was a sleek jewelry box. When you opened it, your breath caught.

Resting on a bed of velvet was a delicate gold chain. At the center of the necklace hung a tiny, understated pendant in the shape of the letter 'M.'

The gold was polished to perfection, and the way it reflected the warm glow of the Christmas lights made it seem almost magical.

For a moment, you were speechless. The simplicity of the necklace was breathtaking, but it was the meaning behind it that made your chest ache in the best way.

"Marc…" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I know it’s small," he said quickly, his words tumbling out as though he was afraid of your reaction.

"But I wanted to give you something that, you know, would remind you of me. Something you could wear all the time." He paused, his cheeks flushing deeper. "I just thought it would look beautiful on you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming wave of affection you felt in that moment.

"It’s perfect," you whispered, running your fingers gently over the pendant.

"Here, let me help you put it on," Marc said, his voice soft and a little unsure.

You turned slightly, pulling your hair aside to give him access. His fingers trembled as he fastened the clasp, the cool metal brushing against your skin.

His touch was feather light, but it left a warmth behind that lingered long after he’d finished.

When you turned back to face him, his gaze immediately fell to the necklace, his lips curving into a soft smile.

"It looks…" He trailed off, his eyes meeting yours. "It looks beautiful on you."

You reached up, your fingers grazing the pendant as you admired his handiwork. "Thank you, Marc. This means so much to me."

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, the air between you thick with unspoken emotions. There was something different about his expression tonight, a vulnerability you didn’t often see.

"I-" He hesitated, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested on your lap. He took a deep breath and reached for your hand, his touch warm and grounding. "There’s something else I need to say."

You tilted your head slightly, your heart speeding up as you waited for him to continue.

"I’ve been thinking about this for a while," he began, his thumb gently brushing against the back of your hand. "And I didn’t want to rush it or say it before I was ready. But tonight… I can’t keep it to myself anymore."

Your pulse quickened as he looked up at you, his dark eyes full of emotion.

"I love you," he said, the words tumbling out with a mix of certainty and vulnerability. "I’ve loved you for a long time, and I just… I needed you to know. You mean everything to me."

The weight of his confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you could do nothing but stare at him, your heart swelling with emotions too big to contain.

"I…" You paused, your throat tightening. "I love you too, Marc."

His eyes widened slightly, and then his face broke into the most beautiful, genuine smile you’d ever seen. He looked almost relieved, as though a weight he’d been carrying had suddenly lifted.

Before you could say anything else, he leaned forward and cupped your face in his hands, his touch as gentle as ever. The kiss that followed was soft, tentative at first, as though he was testing to see if you would pull away.

But when you kissed him back, all hesitation melted away.

The world seemed to fade as his lips moved against yours, tender and full of unspoken promises.

His thumb brushed your cheek, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest, like your heart was wrapping itself around his.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his breath fanning against your skin.

"You have no idea how happy you just made me," he murmured, his voice laced with awe.

You smiled, your hand reaching up to touch the pendant again. "This necklace… I’ll never take it off. It’ll remind me every day of how much you mean to me."

Marc laughed softly, his fingers lacing with yours. "Good. That’s exactly what I wanted."

The two of you sat there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms as the fire crackled and the lights twinkled around you. It felt like time had stopped, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of happiness.

And as the snow began to fall softly outside, you couldn’t help but think that this was the best Christmas gift you’d ever received; not just the necklace, but Marc’s love, his honesty, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt perfect.

Love, what a wonderful thing.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[vllergy]

freedom of nature's gifts

h/alsin b/g3 allergy, kink tav, 2.1k for those not familiar with the fandom: enormous kinky beefcake bear-coded druid who is felled by nothing wanders off into the woods to sneeze without disturbing his companions for those familiar: pls enjoy astarion being an absolute bitch about it for .5 seconds regular goodies: allergies, vouyuerism, partner with the kink extra flavor: giant man, giant snz, formerly indomitable force meets pollen, forced politeness, h/alsin being a sap tbh THIS IS JUST FOR ME I WROTE THIS FOR ME OK SORRY YOU HAVE TO SEE IT

“And here I thought druids were supposed to appreciate all of nature’s many charms.” Astarion’s musical voice drips with amusement. Tav picks up on it outside his tent as the lithe shadow of the elf passes over the sun drenched silk of his doorway. Just behind him, Karlach’s larger figure marches diligently along the same path.

“Oh, he’s appreciating them all right,” she snorts.

Tav rubs his eyes and rolls over. It’s morning, or at least it feels like it from the ache in his spine and the slightly cool air whisking over from the lake. He picks his head up and tries to follow the thread of conversation. His companions are talking about a druid, so they must mean Halsin. Tav hasn’t seen him since the night before.

Memories come warm and sticky like honey. Halsin’s hazel eyes fond in firelight. A low chuckle. A massive hand settled onto the small of Tav’s back. His heart quickens just at the thought.

Outside, Karlach sighs with a note of sympathy. “Never heard anyone sneeze so much in my life.”

Tav’s heartbeat nearly catapults out of his chest at that. His fingers fist in his blankets before he tears them away and scrambles up. Despite wishing to burst free from the tent like a demon, he tries to make his movements as unhurried as possible. It’s with great effort that he emerges from his sleeping arrangements without appearing impatient and affects a bored glance over at the others as they settle around the warm embers from last nights campfire.

“Morning,” Tav says and makes a show of scrubbing his eyes.

“Good morning to you too, darling,” Astarion purrs, “And aren’t you looking lovely?”

“Heya, soldier. You sleep okay?” Karlach waves.

Tav nods. His patience has limits, however. “What were you guys talking about?”

Karlach gestures back over her shoulder towards the tree line, “Halsin. Surprised you didn’t hear him earlier this morning. Poor guy was sneezing his head off before he crawled off to the woods to do it in private.”

The warm flooding of pleasure in Tav’s stomach doesn’t stop his momentary concern. “Is he alright?”

Astarion’s eyes glitter with amusement, “He says it’s the flowers growing nearby setting him off.”

The vampire looks positively delighted to be delivering said information, as if he knows what it’s doing to Tav. Tav knows that’s impossible, and Astarion is clearly just tickled by the irony of it all, but it still makes his cheeks flush with unexpected warmth.

“A druid with allergies! Ha!” Astarion claps his hands once, “You can’t make this up.”

“I should go see if he needs anything,” Tav chews the inside of his lip. His body feels like it’s full of needles.

Thankfully, he has a well-known weak spot when it comes to Halsin. His abrupt need to go to check on him isn’t exactly out of the ordinary, nor is it any cause for suspicion. Astarion merely waves him off with a delicate hand and Karlach nods sagely. “Tell him he can come back any time, big guy’s too hard on himself.”

“I’d rather he stay out there,” Astarion balks, “I’d like to preserve my hearing, thank you very much.”

Tav leaves them to squabble and heads for the tree line where Karlach indicated. He knows he should probably change into something other than the clothes he slept in but he’s too warm already and the thought of delaying getting to Halsin makes her skin feel even more prickly and sharp.

—

Given how familiar he is with the volume with which Halsin can expel an irritant, Tav has some idea of what he’s getting into. Even still, the first far off sneeze he manages to catch once he’s in proximity stuns him with its power. The druid still has to be a few hundred feet off but Tav hears it clear as day. It's an unrushed, heavy thing with so much of Halsin’s voice in it, his knees go weak.

It only takes him a matter of moments to close in on his lover’s position. And when he does, the sight there unravels him completely.

Tav has never seen Halsin at the mercy of anything that wasn’t his animal form. That particular loss of control has always been wickedly erotic to him as well, just for the sheer rarity of it. It's not something Halsin enjoys succumbing to, however. The first time it happened when they made love, he’d been apologetic about it. Sheepish, even.

Halsin is a man who is undaunted by much of anything. It’s not surprising that the few things able to bring him to his knees are difficult for him to come to grips with. Tav thinks surrender must be a strange concept for a man who has burdened himself with nothing but crippling responsibility for over a millennia. When is the last time Halsin let himself truly be vulnerable to something? Does he remember how to surrender?

Tav would argue that yes, he does, because that's the only word that describes what’s happening here.

Halsin’s sitting under the cover of a tree on a large stump. He’s clearly been in the throes of this fit for some time, true to Astarion and Karlach’s report. Evidenced by the redness of his nostrils, the tears slicked down his tattooed cheek and the limp handkerchief laid open in his massive palm. The man appears breathless, panting with indulgent, open-mouthed gasps as his nostrils swell. He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes as he lets another clockwork sneeze take him.

“huh’uRRSSCHHHH’HOO!”

if he’d been using the handkerchief before, he’s abandoned it now, optioning to simply sneeze down in its general direction rather than try to contain any part of the expulsion. And Tav can see why. There’s hardly any point. Halsin's sizable chest swells with one, languid breath and whatever fire’s been stoked within his sinuses catches again and he sneezes without reprieve.

“hh’RRRAAAASSH’UUE!”

He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Tav wonders how long he’s been stuck like this, in an endless cycle of chest-clearing sneezes with barely a breath between. The idea of it being more than a few minutes is deeply intriguing to him, but also a little worrying. How much can one man possibly sneeze? He’s never seen Halsin like this. In fact, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen the druid sneeze. Tav has, after all, been paying attention.

“hh’RrrRSSCHH! hh? Hh! Hh’hhRRUSSh'SHOO!” Halsin teeters on the edge of a third, eyebrows bunched together, an allergic tear sliding down his cheek. He hangs on the precipice for an agonizing moment before roaring with the ferocity of a bear into the final one. “Hh’hhRrAAASSCHHH’uHH!!!”

His shoulders tremble with the force and Tav’s vested interest in the display finally makes room for guilt. He steps forward, purposely landing hard enough on the foliage underfoot to snap a twig and announce his presence.

“Halsin?” He calls.

The druid tenses. He straightens up and his eyes flash over to the treeline, surprised and a little guilty. He attempts a smile as color rises to his cheeks.

“Ah, my heart! I did not hhhea—excuse mhee’hh’WHFFHSHH!” He turns away promptly and smothers the harsh sneeze into his handkerchief, cutting the volume in half.

The propriety he insists on in front of Tav makes Tav’s legs feel like jelly. Moments ago he was sneezing with reckless abandon into the open air without a care in the world, but now he insists on sparing his lover from the display for a reason Tav can't ordain. They've seen each other bloodied and spent a thousand different ways before. How is this any different? Halsin twists away from him further, his massive shoulders swelling as he ducks into the handkerchief again. “H’hWHHFFSSShH!"

“Seven Hells, Halsin,” Tav murmurs. He lays a hand on the man’s back, “Bless you.” "My thhha-"

Tampering back those massive sneezes seems to make them vindictive, and Halsin can’t even get a proper thanks out before he's flinching back into a reflexive fit of them, once more trapped in his sodden handkerchief.

“wFFHSCHH! H’tSSCHh!” Halsin lifts his head and gasps desperately. Tav feels an odd sense of relief as the druid eschews a sense decorum for a cleansing, powerful third. “hhrh’RRSHHH-SHOO!”

“My thanks,” he murmurs directly after, but tends to his nose quickly before turning back to Tav. He sniffles unproductively and Tav notices his nostrils sharpening as they flare in an effort to stave off what he’s sure is another impending sneeze.

Tav gently tucks a lock of auburn hair that’s come loose from a braid behind Halsin’s pointed ear.

“Bless you,” Tav frowns, “How long has this been going on?”

Halsin looks dangerously close to another sneeze, but blinks furiously until the need abates. His auburn lashes look darker with irritated tears. He sniffs as delicately as he can, which Tav can only assume is incredibly unsatisfying, and gives a weak smile.

“The better part of the morning, I fear.”

“You could have woken me,” Tav murmurs, stroking fingers through his long hair.

Halsin chuckles, “I thought I might have, given the racket I was m—ma—ah, oohn...onnce more, apologies—“ He turns away and clamps the handkerchief over his nose and mouth. “h’WHFFHSHH'uhh!"

His lungs fill and he dips lower towards his lap.

“hh'RrSCHH!”

“I believe that was twice,” Tav teases, despite feeling his trousers getting uncomfortably tight.

Halsin lifts his head just enough to try and find a dry edge of the handkerchief. It doesn’t happen in time. His hazel eyes go narrow, unfocused, and he sneezes across it and his knuckles.

“Huh’uSSHH’HOO!”

“Gods, Halsin.” Halsin gives an experimental sniff. When he's certain it's not going to lead to another sneeze, he sags slightly and tilts his head back. "Oak Father preserve me." Tav's delirious at this point. He crouches down to get to Halsin's eye level, his hand lingering on the druid's knee. “How long does this usually go on?” Tav asks, worries for both of them at this point.

Halsin sniffs hard and finally finds the dry edge of the handkerchief, using it rather anticlimactically to dab at his raw nostrils. He blows his nose once while shaking his head. "Truthfully, I'm not certain. It hasn't been this bad in some time." "Would changing shape help?" Halsin chuckles, "Then, I would be sneezing as a bear." "Is that more pleasant?" "Perhaps for some," Halsin's eyes shimmer with sudden mischief beyond the allergic tears. Tav blinks. He takes a moment to process, then gapes. He smacks Halsin's knee and the druid gives a chesty laugh. "You bastard, how long have you known?" Tav asks. "My heart, you are many things, but subtle is not one of them," Halsin knuckles at his reddened nose and gives a warm smile that makes Tav melt on the spot. "Look, it's not like I meant to enjoy your suffering, I--" Halsin holds up a hand, "When have I ever given you the impression that you need apologize for your desires?"

Tav blushes. Halsin continues sniffling and tugs him forward by the hip. As he stumbles closer, Tav reaches for his face. His thumb clears away the track of an allergic tear from Halsin’s scarred cheek. "I do feel bad that you're miserable.”

“If it brings you pleasure,” Halsin says, his voice low, “Then I am not miserable.”

Tav lowers himself into Halsin’s lap. The druids hands dwarf his waist as he supports him, and also prevent him from worrying at his nose as he starts to lose himself to into the persistent tickle once more. Halsin goes to raise an arm but Tav captures it, lowering it back to his hip.

Halsin, to his credit, doesn’t even stop to question it. He lets the sneeze take him over fully, though habit still makes him turn his head as it barrels through him.

“h’HHRRUSSCHHH!”

Now that he’s seated astride him, Tav can feel the way his body clenches. Halsin has to be three hundred pounds of solid muscle, and each one of them turns to steel as he surrenders himself to the sensation. His chest quivers under Tav’s eager hands as he waits torturously for a second and his other hand reaches around the small of his back, holding the smaller man in place as he--

“uh'Hhh-!...huuh...eh'HUHH’ESSH’SHOO!”

Spray dapples in the sunlight from a break in the canopy of trees above. Tav's almost unseated from the man's lap with that one but certainly has no complaints. He's beaming as Halsin sniffles blearily once more and dips close to kiss at Tav's throat. "Tell the Oak Father I said thanks," Tav murmurs in bliss. That earns him a sharp pinch from Halsin, but thankfully no fewer kisses.