#which is why i was surprised to see him there in the first place

[gurugirl]

DILF | older!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.

A/N: This was requested + this! Also, please think before you judge Y/n. She is very bold and confident in this. Maybe even a little pushy but Harry likes it (even if at first he doesn't give that impression). Also he's single so this isn't cheatrry!

Word Count: 6,580

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light)

. .

"That one. Total dilf. He looks grumpy. Bet you can't crack him."

Y/n laughed at her friend and looked down at her red-painted nails before narrowing her gaze on the attractive older man who was seated at the corner of the bar alone. He was nursing a whisky and he did look rather sullen. Unapproachable even.

"Why him?"

"Because he's hot. And I'm curious to see if you can get him to smile at least," Warren raised her brows, "I dare you."

Y/n tilted her head and assessed him. He was nice and big, taking up a decent amount of space at the bar, broad shoulders and back hunched as he leaned his muscular forearms on the wood of the bar top. Meaty hands placed on either side of his lowball glass. Thick brown waves on top of his head with a bit of silver coming in at the temples. But the handsome features on his face really set him apart. His granite jawline gave way to stubble that stretched over his skin and shaded in the spaces around his pink lips.

If she could "crack" him she wasn't sure she'd want just a smile. He looked yummy enough to eat.

Drinking down the last of her martini she pointed at Warren and then Tara, "Fine. Give me twenty minutes and I'll have him eating from the palm of my hand."

Tara laughed, "If you say so…"

She placed her heeled feet down on the floor and brushed her hands over her dress, "Oh, I do say so. Just watch and learn, ladies."

Y/n wasn't quite that confident, but she wasn't about to say no to dare. And she could hold her own when it came to flirting. She liked getting a little attention and if she could garner this one's interest it might be fun.

She sauntered up to the bar behind the man and noticed the way his t-shirt stretched over his lats and tapered loosely down at his waist. The guy was fit. And lucky her, there was an open stool next to him.

Sliding onto the seat she waved at the bartender to order another drink. She'd need all the courage she could get, in whatever form she could get it.

Tapping her long nails on the lacquered wood she felt nerves thrumming through veins before turning toward the man finally. He hadn't seemed to take note of her yet, which honestly was unusual in most cases. Maybe she thought too highly of herself but men tended to notice her right away. She appreciated the challenge, though.

Reaching her hand into his space to greet him, she pushed down her nerves to sound steady as she spoke, "I'm Y/n."

She watched his brow furrow as he turned to look at her hand and then up at her eyes, his expression, which she expected would soften once he looked at her, was unamused. A single light overhead lit the tops of their heads as a shadow cast over the side of his face and he didn't make a move to shake her hand, "And I'm old enough to be your dad."

A surprised scoff fell from her lips as she moved her hand away from him. She wiggled in her seat and crossed her leg over her thigh toward him, gulping down the initial rejection with as much grace as she could muster, "I think you're jumping to conclusions about my intentions. But so what if you're older than me? I don't mind. We're both adults, right?"

An unimpressed grunt rumbled from his throat before he took another sip of his whisky and he looked away from her toward the TV that hung not far away from where they sat.

The bartender placed her olive martini down on the bar in front of her, "It'll be on Y/n Y/l/n. I already have an open tab."

A sip of the salty drink felt warm down her throat. So he was going to be a bit tough to crack. She turned to look at her friends who were grinning in her direction.

Straightening her back to feel more confident she tried again, "So you're not gonna tell me your name even?"

Without looking at her, he licked his lips and ticked his jaw, "Y/n, I think it's past your bedtime."

She smiled at that. He'd said her name, which meant he'd been listening, "My bedtime is whenever I say it is, not when some grouchy stranger says."

He puffed out an amused laugh through his nose, "I am a stranger. Which means you should be cautious, little girl. Your dad didn't teach you about things like that?" He turned to look down at her again, and that time she saw the soft green color of his eyes as the light hit his face just right.

But now she was really determined. She smiled brightly at him and let her eyes coast over his tattooed arm and then back up to his face, "Are you telling me you're dangerous?"

He still didn't smile as he shook his head like he was surprised by her gall, "Do your parents know what you're up to tonight?"

"I'm 24. Graduated from college, live on my own, pay my bills, have a full-time job. You seem to be awfully worried about my parents. I can take care of myself just fine."

Just then another person sat down next to the man Y/n was trying to whittle away at. He poked his elbow at him, "Who's this?"

"Don't know. Someone who's about to go back to her table with her little girlfriends."

Biting her lip she traced the rim of her martini glass with her fingertip, keeping her eyes set on the handsome tattooed one, "Not even a smile. Just one? Please?"

"Like I already said, I'm way too old for you."

The other man leaned over and reached to tap Y/n's shoulder, "Hey. Forget about Harry, here. You can bring me home with you if you're looking for a daddy tonight."

She frowned and looked him up and down to asses. He was late 40s perhaps, wearing a local band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a backward cap to make himself appear a little more youthful. "No thanks. You'd know if I was interested in you."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at her retort. She was definitely too young but he liked her spunk.

"Now, Harry…" she said his name slowly as she leaned a little closer, "I've got your name thanks to your friend. Can I have a smile?"

"Why?" He stared down at her, the caress of his gaze felt infinite and she found her skin convecting in its wake. He might be hard to crack but this one would be worth it, she determined.

She sighed and slid her finger dangerously close to his wrist as he looked down at her nail and watched her trail it near his arm, "I just hoped to see you smile is all. Too handsome to have such a sour scowl on your face."

"And you're hardly old enough to be so confident to walk up to a strange man at a bar."

She laughed and tilted her head, "You planning on doing something bad to me, Harry?"

And that. That pulled a reaction out of him that spread over his features slowly as he shook his head in disbelief, "Darlin', you wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her eyes widened slightly. Now she was definitely not giving up. Y/n wasn't one to fail and Harry might be making her work hard for it but she couldn't imagine it wouldn't be worth it in the end.

"Is that a challenge or something?" She softly scraped her nail over his tattooed wrist and Harry watched her red nail work over his skin.

His resolve was fading fast. She could tell he wasn't going to keep denying her. And why should he? If he was single, which he appeared to be, what was the harm in having a little fun with someone younger? Y/n didn't mind. And he certainly shouldn't either.

"If it were a challenge you'd know it. Lots of other guys here, Y/n. Go enjoy your night with someone closer to your own age."

She sighed in annoyance. But he hadn't moved his arm away from her and she was going to take that as a sign.

Dragging the toe of her shoe into his shin she grinned, "I don't want to enjoy my night with someone my own age. Not tonight anyway. I think you've convinced me that I need to test out this theory of yours. That you think I can't handle you. Cause I bet I can."

With his eyes piercing into hers, he took another sip of his drink. She thought she might have just convinced him to give her a smile at the very least because it looked like he was weighing his options. And if she could get him to smile she might have luck with the rest.

He tilted his chin upward for a moment, eyes aimed at the ceiling like he was calling on a higher power for strength, "Go back to your friends, Y/n. Any other man here would love to have your company."

"But you wouldn't love to have my company?"

"I mean… I'm still here," the other man raised his hand and leaned into Harry, "Honey we could have so much fun. Any man who'd turn you down is either battin' for the other team or more likely," he chuckled and pushed his shoulder into Harry's teasingly, "He can't get it up anymore."

Y/n's mouth dropped open at that and Harry turned to look at the man. She wished she could see the look on his face, "Sit the fuck back down, John. She already told you she's not interested in you."

"Yeah, and you're not interested in her so what's it matter to you? Look at her, Harry. Practically begging you. Young and bubbly… Tight—"

Harry's hand covered John's throat as he pushed him away, nearly making his stool topple over, "Get the fuck outta here. You had too much whisky tonight."

"Aww… come on Harry… I was just jokin'!"

She watched as he stood from his stool and looked down at John, "And you thought that was funny? You like making jokes about women like that?"

The man put his hands up in surrender, "I'm out. Here…" he threw a wad of cash on the bar top before he moved past Harry and then looked at Y/n, "My apologies if I offended you."

They watched as John left the bar quickly and then Harry sat back down before he waved at the bartender and signaled for the check, "Just the one whisky neat."

"You're leaving already? Night's still young, Harry."

He sucked at his teeth as he scraped his gaze over her face and down to her cleavage. She smiled when she watched the path his eyes had taken.

The bartender handed him the bill and Harry leaned over to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

She scooted closer to him, "You headed home?"

He nodded, but not necessarily in answer to her question, it was more of an appraisal kind of nod. He was still silent as he pulled cash out of his wallet.

"Thanks for that, by the way. I'm sure John's a nice guy and all but he's not really my type. And I'm sure he was wrong about you."

That got his attention. Harry flicked his gaze back to hers, "Wrong about me?"

She smiled, "The part where he said you couldn't get it up. You're not that old. I'm sure you still can. Right?"

He clenched his jaw and breathed out of his nostrils like he couldn't believe she'd asked him such a thing. He handed the bartender his cash with a nod before he stood up from his stool.

"Huh. Since you're so quiet about it maybe he was right," she goaded, pressing her lips together to flatten her smile as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Harry placed a palm down on the bar top next to her hand and leaned over her, "You're out of your depth here, Y/n."

"Now, you don't really know that do you? Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're awfully pushy. Not used to hearing no, are you?"

Y/n watched as the edge of his mouth lifted in amusement and she widened her eyes and pointed, "You're almost smiling."

He shook his head and looked around the bar before pinning his gaze back to hers, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. But your luck has run out with me, princess."

Harry stood to his full height and Y/n decided to try one last time, "So it's true then. What he said."

He stopped and turned to look back at her, a slow burning heat behind his gaze, "Couldn't be further from the truth."

She smiled and slid off her stool to stand in front of him. His height was impressive, "Prove it."

The line of his jaw hardened, turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension. His eyes simmered as he weighed his options. Finally, a hint of a smile stretched over his mouth. A small one, but still.

"I don't need to prove anything to silly little girls."

"Good thing I'm not a silly little girl. I'm a grown woman, Harry."

Y/n knew she was pushing it. She'd never needed to throw herself at any man before. But because of that, she wasn't used to rejection either. Maybe it was a good lesson for her ego. She knew her big fault was how entitled she could act sometimes. But that was partly thanks to how she was raised. It's better to act like a man to get what you want in life, her dad told her. And so far, that had been true. Some women balked at her confidence and her bold attitude. She wasn't demure or sweet enough. And men would often refer to her as a bitch or say that she was trying too hard.

She'd work on her ego another time. But right now? She was focused on winning this battle.

"What do you want with someone like me anyway? Hm? I'm old, Y/n. What's in it for you?"

Blinking her eyes she shook her head, "You're not old, first of all. Secondly, you're really attractive. It doesn't need to go much deeper than that, does it? I just think you're handsome. And I do kind of like a challenge."

"I can see that you like a challenge. It's the only reason I haven't walked out that door yet. Kind of relentless."

She smiled, "So it's working?"

Another half-smile worked its way up his mouth as he laughed in disbelief, "Are you surprised that it is?"

His pupils coasted over her figure and then back up to her face. The warmth of his gaze singed her skin like an open flame.

"I guess I just didn't know how difficult it'd be with you."

He licked his lips, "Difficult. You have no idea. But looks like you're about to find out. Go tell your friends what's going on. Meet me out front."

Y/n watched him turn and walk away. She was shocked. For a minute she thought he wasn't going to go for it at all.

Shaking off the sudden surprise of having gotten to him she settled up with the bartender and then stopped at the table with her friends. They were just about to give her condolences for having oversold her ability but she interrupted. "He's waiting for me outside. Location is on. Don't wait up!"

Harry was leaning against a black car in the parking lot when she stepped out of the doors. The moment he saw her he pushed himself off the car and opened the passenger door for her.

It was going to be tricky to maintain the kind of confidence she'd been feigning with him up until then but there was no part of her that didn't want to find out what he could show her.

She watched as Harry sat down in the driver's seat and started up his car. He took up too much space in the seat. His big hand wrapped around the leather steering wheel while his other encased the shift stick. Even the way he drove was turning her on.

She was pleased that she'd wormed her way under his skin and that he'd given in. She'd try her best to make it worth his while. Reaching across the console she put her hand on his thigh and he glanced down quickly before setting his gaze back on the road.

Now, Harry had slept with younger women a couple of times. He generally preferred someone closer to his age because he liked the confidence and experience that came with age. Women in their 20s were often in a different stage of life and that was fine –normal even, but it just usually wasn't a match for him. Not sexually and not mentally.

But Y/n was unusually confident for being so young. Persistent. He liked it, he couldn't lie. Whether or not she really had much else going for her beyond confidence, he guessed he'd find out. Well, she was very cute too. She did have that in her favor.

And Y/n at least seemed like she knew what she wanted. It was flattering as well. Being approached by such a pretty young thing. He figured the moment he told her to go back to her friends she'd give up but she was just fiery enough that she wasn't deterred.

When she ran her nail over his wrist he knew he was screwed. She was just close enough that he could smell her perfume and then she nudged her shoe into his shin and all he could think about was that she really wanted to be shown a good time and if anyone could it was him.

Harry knew his way around a woman's body. They were all different and he liked finding all the buttons and things that made them purr. In his experience, though, the younger the woman, the less she knew her own body. He didn't know if Y/n was just talking a big game but he was about to find out.

He stayed quiet as she ran her hand down his thigh and he shifted as the car accelerated past the green light. He'd see if she'd do anything with her hand but maybe she'd just pet at him like a novelty toy. He didn't expect—

"This is okay?" She asked him, her tone sultry as she palmed at his crotch.

He licked his lips, "Have at it."

His cock fattened up nicely with not much effort on her part. Proof that he definitely could get it up. Plucking at his button she looked from his face to her fingers as she leaned further over the console to reach her hand into his open pants to help him with the awkward angle of his dick. He seemed to appreciate that as he shifted under her palm.

Rubbing over his heather grey briefs she peeled down the elastic band the slightest to get a peek. The dark shade of pink on his tip matched the muted raspberry of his lips. She slid the pad of her middle finger over the slit and he softly inhaled through his teeth.

She wouldn't be able to give him roadhead like she wanted. It was impossible with the stick shift in the way. But she could wrap her fingers around his shaft and feel him under her palm until they got wherever they were going.

"Mmm… It's so big, Harry. Knew you would be. Might be the biggest I've seen in person. Can't tell yet, though. Have to wait to see when we've got these off."

Harry pushed a laughed breath through his nose. She was a bold thing. Her assertiveness was a turn-on. He didn't like meek and shy. Not when it came to sex.

When she spit into her palm and smeared it down his length, the best she could, he parted his lips and stepped on the gas. She was already exceeding any expectations he had for her. Maybe she'd prove him wrong.

Her nail scraped the underside of him and she moaned, "Really want it in my mouth."

He gulped harshly and ticked his jaw, "Just be patient. I'll let you put it in your mouth soon enough."

"And where are we going? Your place?"

He nodded, "Just a few minutes away."

She squeezed around him and pulled upward slowly. She knew already, he was well above average and she was going to have to work to give him a proper blowy.

His house was a one story, the driveway at the front with a garage attached. He lifted his hand and pushed on a device that was clinging to his sun visor and the garage door began to open. There was a covered motorcycle along the back wall and then the garage door closed after he shut off the engine.

She moved her hand away and unbuckled herself as he got out. When she reached down to pick up her little purse she realized her panties were already wet. She grinned as she stepped out, adjusting her dress before closing the door, and then followed behind him as he led her into a dark hallway.

When he turned on the lights she took it all in. Hardwood floors led into a dining area and then a kitchen. Hung on the walls were photos of himself with two children and then more framed photos with just the kids.

"Do you have kids?"

"I do. Boy and a girl. 7 and 10."

"You're not married are you?"

He laughed, "If I were you'd have known. Wouldn't have been out in the first place if I had a wife waiting for me at home."

She nodded as he turned on the kitchen light and pulled out two glasses before filling them with water.

"Divorced?"

Handing her a glass he squinted, "Yes."

She took a sip. He was a man of few words she'd gathered. She looked around the kitchen. Wood cabinets, an outdated laminate countertop, stainless steel appliances. The space could use some updating but it was large and he had a big pantry.

Sitting the glass down on the counter she watched him closely. His pants were still unbuttoned. She eyed the space at his crotch as he placed his own glass down next to hers.

"It's not gonna suck itself."

She laughed and looked up at him. He had a genuine smile on his face that time. The first real smile she'd seen from him all night. A healthy row of clean teeth, a dimple…

"Hmm… I think you're right. Let's see what we've got…"

She moved in front of him and placed her hands on his pants to push them away but before she could inch them down he wrapped his meaty hand around the back of her neck and drew her into his chest. His mouth was warm and soft. His tongue tasted like the whisky he'd been drinking.

Letting go of his pants she held onto his biceps as he used his free hand to push her hips against his. Still nice and hard. He ran his tongue over her lips and she moaned into his mouth. He worked his warm lips down to her jaw and then he licked upward on her neck, the wet patch was cool on her skin from the air in the kitchen. He did it again and her knees almost gave out. She hadn't been licked like that before.

He kissed over her clavicle and then drew his tongue over her flesh. Her heart was thrumming quickly and she squeezed his strong arms when he rutted against her.

"You good at sucking cock, Y/n?" He pushed his nose against her jawline and the hot breath from his words scattered over the skin on her neck.

"I want to be," she spoke breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed as he mawed at her throat.

He parted from her neck and looked down at her, half-lidded gaze and spit-slicked lips, "Go on."

Instantly she dropped to her knees as her fingers worked deftly at pulling his pants down and then his underwear. She'd sucked a handful of dicks so she knew a couple of moves.

Getting her hand around his thick shaft proved to be a small challenge. To say he was thick… understatement. Long too. His tip was smooth, mushroomed with ridges along the length that she hoped she'd get to feel later on. His was the kind of cock that women dreamed of.

Looking up at him she licked her palm and used her spit to pump him slowly. Another glob over his tip for good measure. Then she pressed a kiss to the base of him, just over his sac, and screwed her eyes upward to watch his expression as she licked his balls, one side at a time. She wound her tongue all around to wet him before sucking at one side, pulling it into her mouth and he let out a ragged breath, his dark pupils spreading inky until the soft green had almost vanished.

He liked it.

She worked around the other side, sucking him in again and swirling her tongue softly underneath the tender bits. He gripped the counter behind himself.

Pulling off she straightened her back and licked upward, feeling every delicious thick ridge along his shaft until her tongue met his smooth crown. Laving every crevice of his tip, she dipped her tongue into his slit and then ran it under the frenulum before she wetted every inch of his glans.

Her mouth was watering when she parted her lips around him and flitted her gaze upward. He was watching her with a slack jaw as she took him a little deeper. He cradled the back of her head and moaned.

"Just suck the tip…."

She blinked up at him and pulled her lips just over the lip, swirling and suckling around him like he wanted.

"Fuck. Just like that." His hand at the back of her head was easy. He didn't push or pull. It was more like a pleased gesture as his fingertips flexed around her skull gently.

Y/n would have liked to have gone deeper. Wanted to show him her best work. But he seemed rather happy with what she was doing.

She bobbed a couple of times, only to slide her lips back to his tip. Her pace was slow when she began to stroke his length with a little twisting motion.

He was big. She knew she could take more but in a way, she was grateful that that was all he was asking for.

A groan fell from his chest and he bucked forward, his cock slipping down her tongue and she sucked, drawing more of him in as she moved her hands away.

"Goddamnit, you're good."

She took that as permission to go deeper. Relaxing her jaw she closed her eyes and held her breath, pushing down to her limit. She filled her throat with his cock the best she could and gurgled around his tip.

He coughed out a moan and then thumbed at her cheek, "Alright, that's good."

She pulled off of him. His heavy cock aimed right at her face when she sat back on her knees and looked up at him, "I can do better than that."

He laughed and put his hand out for her to take, helping her stand up, "I bet you can. Come on."

Harry kept her hand in his as he led her to his bedroom. It was just past the dark living space and he turned on a floor lamp on the opposite side of the room from the bed. When he turned back toward her he cupped her face and kissed her again.

She pressed her hand into his warm, hard chest and he reached around the back of her dress to pull the zipper downward, his fingers dragging down her skin as he went. His touch sent a tremor down her spine as continued kissing her wetly.

He stepped back, helping her out of her dress until it fell to the floor. His eyes raked over her body and he smoothed his hands over her hips and up to her bra-covered breasts. He stepped in closer, walking her backward toward his bed. He put his hands back on her hips and nudged her to sit before he reached down to lift her leg up by her calf, removing her heels, one at a time.

Y/n's thong was drenched. She stared at him while he placed her shoes side by side at the foot of the bed and then he placed his big palms on her thighs, pushing her legs open, "Lie back."

She let her back hit the mattress as Harry got to his knees on the floor. An arm reached under her thigh as he spread her apart and then she felt her panties being pulled at until her her wet pusslips were right in his face. He groaned and felt a hand slide up the inside of her thigh. He pressed his mouth over her mons and looked up at her before he opened his mouth wide and drew his tongue through her crease making her gasp.

"Get your bra off."

She pushed herself up slightly and worked at the clasp of her bra between moans as Harry continued licking at her pussy. When she pulled her arm through the flimsy material he lifted his head and reached around her back, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed and he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!"

Y/n's finger and her long nails pushed into Harry's hair and scraped at his scalp as he licked and pulled at each nipple. He buried his face between her tits and let out a low sound, like he was murmuring something to her but only her breasts were allowed to hear it.

When he sunk back down he pushed at her so she'd lie back and he started in on her clit, one hand holding her panties to the side as he devoured her glistening cunt.

She kept feeling like she was going to slide off the edge of the bed but Harry's grip on her kept her still. His tongue and his lips were magic as he drew her to her end. She yanked at his hair and babbled his name on repeat as her spine bowed off the bed when she came.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavy when she felt her body being pushed upward. She popped her eyes open and watched him roll a condom over his shaft before he kneed back up onto the bed next to her. He was stark naked. His body was insane. Thick muscle and masculine everything. Tattoos scatter over his arms and chest.

Fuck, she muttered under her breath.

"Flip over, for me," his deep voice was husky as he motioned toward her to move.

She rolled to her stomach and she felt his fingers slide between the band of her panties and her hips as he pulled them down her legs.

"Ass up a little. I want to see all of you, Y/n."

She grinned and turned to look at him over her shoulder as she lifted her hips and spread her thighs. His lips were parted as he grabbed her ass and squeezed, making her cheeks spread apart. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and then dipped in, kissing her pussy from behind before licking upward over her ass.

She squealed quietly and bit her lip, still watching him behind her as he lifted, a lopsided grin on his face. He gazed at her as he fisted the base of his cock and slid the head up and down her soaked folds before he tipped his hips to push in just the tip.

"Gorgeous. Gonna look even better wrapped around cock. You like anal?"

"Never tried it."

He licked his lips and pressed his lips together as he looked at the spot where his dick was pressed against her cunt, "Figured. S'alright. Pussy's my favorite anyway."

"We could try… if you want."

He looked back into her eyes, a cocky smile on his face, "Your little hole would need to be trained. And that takes time. So, there will be no anal tonight. Not gonna try and hurt you. But that's a cute thought."

He canted his hips inward, eyes on hers and her mouth dropped open when she felt her entrance splitting open for him. She was tight, but so slick, it only took a few slow thrusts until he was buried in with a low grunt. He pulled back and then pushed his entire length into the hilt.

"Fuck—fuck!" She cried and stuffed her face into the blankets.

"Too much?"

"No! It's so good. You're just so big…" She began to send her hips back against him and Harry slowly fucked in to match her pace. His eyes were everywhere. On her puss getting split open on his cock, the curve of her lower back, the swell of her ass.

He just knew she'd look so sweet with her ass stuffed too, but good things like that couldn't be rushed which was a shame.

Every thrust was gushy wet. Y/n bubbled out small moans every time his dick brushed deep into her guts. It was better than she imagined. The way he filled her to the brim was going to turn into an addiction. She'd never slept with any man that had her wanting seconds before they'd even finished.

"Oh my god…" she mewled into the comforter.

"Fuck, I know, baby…"

She fit him like a glove, it was perfect. He went in a little faster, balls thudding against her skin rhythmically making her bounce forward as she spread around his girth. When he ground in she arched her back deeply and let out a soft groan, her hands fisted at the blanket and Harry reached around and smeared his fingertips over her clit.

It had her panting and pushing into him feverishly. She'd needed the friction on her throbbing button and he'd found it easily, thick, rough fingerprints slicking back and forth as he rutted in and in. It sent electrical sparks over her limbs.

"Like that? Needs her clit touched? Shit baby, act like you've never been touched by a man right here before…" he plucked at her like he was playing the guitar and she began to fade, her moans getting caught in her chest.

He could feel her walls tightening around him as he drove in deep.

"Fuck, Harry— fuck!"

He grinned as he watched her shudder, "Give it up, Y/n. There you go…"

She began to pulse around him, a constant stream of nonsense falling from her lips as he stroked against her channel and pushed deep into her tummy, his fingers still working her clit with ease.

Just as her body had tipped and oxygen returned to her lungs he pulled out and she felt him taking her hips and turning her around to her back. Harry grabbed her ankles and lifted until each was settled over his shoulders and pushed back inside of her, cock drilling down to her core making her teeth chatter at the way he split her down the middle.

Harry leaned over her, cock buried deep as she watched her pretty face twist up with pleasure. Plapping into her, her tits wobbled as his balls tightened against his body. The harder he plunged in, the more her legs shook. Soon, her ankles had slipped down and her feet hit the mattress as he continued drilling into her. His face was flushed hot, lips parted, muscles tensed.

Reaching up to his neck she smoothed her fingers over his warm skin and he lowered his chest down to hers and kissed her. That filthy tongue ran over her lips and he sloppily sipped at her between sucking at her lips. Her brain had turned to jelly.

She felt his hand on her outer thigh squeezing and brushing as he fucked down into her. "Mmm… fuck, Y/n, m'gonna come…"

He trembled over her, thick thighs pressed down and flexed as he rutted in and in and in, and then… he stilled. A deep, guttural moan vibrated through his chest down into hers.

She sighed when she felt him throbbing, pumping into his condom. Her fingers caressed the muscles over his back and she gasped when he bucked in harshly, once more as he emptied the last of his come into the rubber wrapped around his cock.

He slowed his kisses until they were lazy little pecks and then he looked down at her, his chest heaving. She was already grinning up at him.

"What?"

She blinked her eyes, "That was fun."

He puffed out a breath, "I guess that's a good way to describe it."

Harry was a gentleman as he pulled out slowly and helped her off the bed and led her to his bathroom. He helped her clean up and listened to her tell him about her job —just reminding him that she was an adult after he commented on her being so young again.

When she picked her dress up off the floor and started to step into it, Harry frowned, "What are you doing?"

She stopped and raised her brows. "Getting dressed. Was gonna call an Uber. I'm sure you don't want a stranger in your house all night," she laughed.

Harry pulled at her hand, making her drop her dress, "What kind of men have you been hanging out with that let you leave in an Uber at 2 am? You'll stay here."

She opened her mouth and then closed it in surprise before tilting her head in confusion, "Really? I just assumed—"

"You'll stay the night here. There's no way in hell you're getting an Uber at this time of night. It's dangerous."

She grinned and shrugged, "Well then… can I have a shirt or something to sleep in?"

He placed his warm hands on her hips, "You can have a t-shirt if you like. I prefer to sleep naked myself."

"Oh yeah? I usually do too as a matter of fact."

He held her out in his arms and eyed her naked frame, "Looks like we're both good to go then. We'll get you sorted in the morning. I'll give you a ride home then."

"I think you just want to keep me here with you," she chuckled.

Harry shook his head and released her hips before he popped her on the bottom with his palm. She bleated out a laugh.

"Get your ass in bed before I change my mind."

"Yes, sir."

. .

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[xinganhao]

🍨 svt spoiling their partner.

★ prompt: how ot13 spoils their partner? ��🥹🥹 i am just a girl give me treats c/o @shinwonderful

ⓘ established relationship, pet names, fluff. headcanons under the cut. special thanks to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping! ♡

🍨 read more?

seungcheol 𖹭 planning dates. he will refuse to let you lift a finger for your day out. everything will be meticulously laid out, finetuned to be something that you'll enjoy. his goal is to lessen the mental load of decision-making and planning; he wants you to be able to focus solely on enjoying the surprise, and he'll break his back to make sure that happens.

jeonghan 𖹭 'parallel play'. even if the two of you might not be interested in the same things, that's okay. he's happiest to spend quality time with you at home, where the two of you are free to do your own thing within eachother's presence. just being in your vicinity already makes him content, and so he plans everything around the two of you getting to explore and share your respective hobbies.

shua 𖹭 acts of service. need help with your taxes? need someone to fill up your tank? he's already on it. he'll say that these are all 'little things', call it the bare minimum, when it's apparent that he makes it a conscious effort to make your day-to-day easier. his brand of spoiling you comes in the form of quietly doing things that will improve your quality of life.

junhui 𖹭 buying clothes you'll like. he can't help it, really. when he sees an article of clothing that he thinks suits your style? when he finds a local brand that shares your advoacy? he's already pulling out his wallet. he likes the idea of dressing you up. nothing makes him happier than knowing you're wearing an outfit that he entirely picked out for you.

soonyoung 𖹭 daily reasons why he loves you. people always joke that he has a bit of a motormouth, so why shouldn't he use it on talking about you, you, you? he's big on words of affirmation, on making sure you never doubt how he feels for you. he'll point out the little and big things that make him adore you, and it's never the same reason twice.

wonwoo 𖹭 indulging your interests. he may not always understand these trends— blind boxes, must-have fashion pieces, et cetera— but he'll never make you feel bad about it. if there's anything that you want, he's already doing everything within his power to get it. his greatest joy is seeing your face light up once he's gotten you your 'priority' item; it's why he keeps doing it in the first place.

jihoon 𖹭 trying new things for you. there's a long list of things that jihoon never thought he'd do, but then he started dating you. time and time again, he willingly goes out of his comfort zone to accompany you on the little adventures and experiences that you ask to go on. he does these things scared, does them anxious, does them begrudgingly,— does them all for you.

seokmin 𖹭 meals he thinks you'll like. he's the type to have dozens of tabs open for homemade recipes dot com. he knows he's an amateur at this, but he's undeterred in trying. whether it's a trending pastry on tiktok or the comfort meal that your mother makes you, he's determined to learn it so you're always eating well.

mingyu 𖹭 getting-to-know card games. he gives as good as he takes, which means mingyu's way is to listen and remember. a night where the two of you can just have deep conversations with no interruptions is his ideal evening. he will know he succeeded if the two of you end up talking until the sun rises, feeling like the hours haven't passed at all.

minghao 𖹭 postcards from tour stops. he loves art and he loves you. his postcards are pocket-sized reminders of those facts, always packaged with a few choice words that are sweet and sincere. his trinkets are very "i-got-you-this-because-it-reminded-me-of-you" in nature, and you know each one was purchased with you at the front of mind.

seungkwan 𖹭 getting you your favorites. he figures he should put his industry connections to use somehow. he's always amused by how happy you get over a rare photocard, signed album, or concert tickets, and so he keeps it up. buying dozens of albums, contacting other labels, bearing the arduous ticketing. your excitement at the end of it makes it all worth it.

vernon 𖹭 producing songs. he hadn't really pegged himself as the making-music-for-the-sake-of-it type until he met you. now, he revels in getting to send you a track that's for your ears only. all the lyrics just seems to flow naturally when it's you inspiring him, and so he sends you works-in-progress with reminders that you're the only intended audience.

chan 𖹭 at-home massages. he's all too familiar with the aches of an ailing body, so he knows exactly how and where to work on you. he always does what he calls 'the works'— a good bath, scented candles, essential oils. he lets you take your time, and he takes his time with you in helping you unwind.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[koalayoo]

Men who talk a certain way.

They carry themselves with elegance, talk with a poised cadence unique to them. They hold themselves upright and have an air of superiority. A cunning look, signature smirk, firm hand; these are staples of their character, they know how to strike a deal. Whether for their people or their own gain, they intimidate those to gain an advantage no matter how many exploits gone through or people exploited.

People either love or fear them.

They’re important.

It’s no surprise that they sit at the centre of the table at a meeting, commanding attention. All eyes are on them, gripping their every word. Prompt nods and murmurs of agreements follow. They’re smart too. Incredible wit and perceptiveness as they continuously glance at everyone, especially you.

Fuck, and they’re hot too.

It makes your blood run hot. Jolts shoot throughout your body and you avert your gaze. It was stupid to you to be losing your cool for a man who felt indifferent about your existence. Maybe that isn’t the right word. 

Sometimes, you would question whether he hated you. Whenever you needed a pen, your hands brushed against one another for a second and he would quickly pull back as if being stung by a bee with a slight scowl forming on his face. If the piles of paper you needed to finish took too long, he would be adamant you finish for the night, which is all fine and dandy if he wasn’t looking for help from others to complete your work. He even reprimanded you, talked to you in that familiar stern tone once for not having your priorities in place when a stranger came up to you in a flirtatious manner as if you could control that. 

He pissed you off. 

Why couldn’t he care about you like a normal person?

However, you were wrong about all of it. He cared too much.

When your fingers grazed him he was ridden with guilt, these were the same hands he would think about at night. Imagine tracing the sharp edges of his skin. He would shut his eyes and throw his head back, replacing his hands with your own. Try to commit the soft feel of yours to his. Would you go slow or fast? He wondered. How would you hold him? Would you let him make a mess? His thoughts would trail on and on questioning your grip, your face, what you would say.

So, it was no surprise when he saw you working yourself to exhaustion that he wanted you to rest. That was his duty after all. Only he could do that. The eyes that he desperately wanted to see glazed over with a lust filled haze needed to be well rested first. That way, he could slowly see them become drunk for him, turning red, bloodshot from just how well he would treat you.

And it was especially no surprise that when another person had the audacity to want you too, he had to stop them. Sure, you didn’t deserve the scolding but he would make you feel so much better later on. He just had to be patient.

Had to keep his tone steady and tame. Pretend to treat you just like everyone else. Even if you thought he hated you. He could fuck you like that too if you wanted. He would give you anything you wanted. However, you didn’t deserve to know how depraved he truly was.

There was a thought that lingered at the forefront of his mind. If you found out just how he imagined you, would you leave? He figured you might feel disgusted, a man of his caliber, his power, wanting to succumb to you. And so he continued to talk. Continued to keep his tone steady. Keep his tone tame. 

He would keep himself in line; refined. Because if you found out how he was imagining you, perhaps then this man would truly feel fear.

fantasising about...

Sylus, NEUVILLETTE, Jing Yuan, Welt, Sunday, DAN HENG, Artem, Zhongli!, Gepard, Alhaitham?, Cyno ...and anyone else you're thinking of

Hope you liked this! Inspired by the song 'Talk' by Hozier. Specifically the line, "So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you." Please give it a listen! It was in my Spotify Top 5 it's so good and captures the vibe I was trying to go for with this. Sorry for the yap. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[doeidawn]

doeidawn's kinkmas day ten ❆ ugly sweaters

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY | NEXT DAY

 you and ghost bet on who can wear their ugly holiday sweater the longest. it's only a matter of time before one of you gets too desperate to keep it on. 2.7k

❆ pairing: ghost x fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; slight possessive ghost; impatient ghost; oral sex [f receiving]; fingering; piv sex; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); creampie

For such an intimidating and serious man, Simon was an absolute sucker for the cheesiness that came with the holidays. From the terrible movies to the cliché romantic gestures, he was more excited than one would think when it came to holiday celebrations. But, this year, he seemed interested in a particularly terrible aspect of the holiday season: ugly sweaters.

And the ones he got for the two of you certainly were ugly. Bright, obnoxious patterns that clashed, tinsel sewn in along the front, and small bulbs that actually lit up at the press of a button. They were, decidedly, terrible. And that’s exactly why he got them.

Although, he had intended for it to be something cute between the two of you. Wearing them around in the comfort of your home just to bask in the cheesiness together. What he hadn’t intended was your insistence on wearing the sweaters to a friend’s party. You thought it was the perfect opportunity to show up donning something atrocious, especially with such a big, intimidating guy like Simon. But he was hesitant, and you could tell. The man had somewhat of a reputation to uphold, after all. 

It took some convincing, but he came around to the idea. It might’ve got him some attention, which he wasn’t always a fan of, but it would be fun—and what were the holidays without a little cheer? But, to make things a little more fun, you decide to make it a bet—10 quid to whoever could stomach sitting in a sweater longer. That got him (and his competitive spirit) interested.

And, thankfully, the party was going well. Your friends were huge fans of the absurdly ugly sweaters the two of you wore. Even the people you didn’t know made a point to comment on the tinsel or lights that adorned the fabric. You loved the attention, loved seeing everyone laugh or brighten up when you showed off the terrible sweater. 

Simon was less enthusiastic. He liked the comedy of it all, particularly with your friends. But he wasn’t fond of the attention you seemed to garner from some friends-of-friends—a few guys you weren’t familiar with—who made it known how attractive they thought you were…even with the sweater. You didn’t think much of it when they complimented you, but nothing got past your boyfriend’s eagle eye. 

He sought you out like a dog, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close against his chest. It surprised you at first, especially when he held you like a vice. Slunk in the corner of the room like he didn’t want anyone else to see the two of you. 

Tension radiated off of him in thick waves, plainly evident by the way stood. “You alright?” You ask him, a hand on his chest in an attempt to ease whatever had him worked up.

There’s a beat of silence and a sigh before he responds. “Yeah,” is all he says, tight-lipped and sharp. You didn’t believe it for a second. “Jus’ want you close.”

He emphasizes the point by pulling you closer, if it were even possible. You were pressed up against his chest, his firm grip around your body keeping you in place. And when you squirm to try and get comfortable, that’s when you feel a familiar firmness pressing against your hip. 

“Are…are you hard?” You whisper the words softly for both his sake and yours. 

“You’re surprised?” He grumbles back. No wonder he was so tense.

“Seriously? This disgusting sweater,” you gesture to the tinsel-lined fabric on your torso, “and I still got you hard?”

“Well, those other guys really seemed to like it.”

Oh, so that’s what it was about. A few guys that were probably tipsy laughing about your absurd choice of dress. Granted, they were a little…personal about their compliments, but it didn’t take much for Simon to get possessive over you. The wrong guy could look at you and he’d feel the need to shove his tongue down your throat just to make a point. 

You roll your eyes at him, at the audacity to get worked up over something so minor. “Simon—”

“Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

Definitely not what you expected to come out of his mouth. But maybe he wanted the privacy. And you wouldn’t argue that he needed a few minutes to himself to calm down. 

“Past the kitchen, down the hall, I think,” you shrug, pointing in said direction.

“Show me.”

Christ. You roll your eyes again, taking his heavy hand in yours and dragging him behind you. Slinking past people and trying not to draw any attention to yourselves, you sidle down the hall until you reach the bathroom. You give Simon a look, something that said ‘hurry up and do what you have to do’, but then his hand is gripping yours tighter and he’s pulling you into the bathroom with him.

You could barely get a breath in before your back hit the wall. Simon’s body cages you in place, pressing his weight against you as his mouth finds yours in a sloppy kiss. The way his hands run over you is hurried and desperate, grabbing whatever parts of you he can to pull you closer. The bulge of his cock presses into your hip each time he tugs, grinding against you with each roll of his hips.

“Christ, Simon,” you manage to slide your mouth away long enough to catch your breath. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“‘Cause you’re hot,” his mouth trails down to your jaw, “and you’re mine,” a sharp nip of his teeth on your neck, “and I can’t wait til we get home to fuck you.”

One of his hands slides under the hem of your sweater, fingers splaying over your stomach before sliding upwards. Rough fingertips trace the line of your waist, dipping into your bra to grope your chest. His impatience extends to your clothing, trying to tug the sweater up and off your body, until you press a hand to his chest.

“Nuh-uh…” You pull your sweater back down and playfully swat his hands. “The bet. Remember?”

Simon audibly grumbles at that. He pulls his hands away from your torso, moving to grab your hips. “That’s fine,” he sighs. “Don’t gotta take it off yet.”

Then he’s dropping to his knees and tugging your pants down your body. His mouth trails kisses over the front of your panties before licking a fat stripe over your clit through the fabric. Impatience gets the better of him again, nearly tearing through the flimsy garment as he pulls it down your legs and exposes you to his hungry gaze. 

And ‘hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him. When he got between your legs, he moved like he was starving for you. Burying his face in your cunt, lapping and sucking like your slick was the only thing he lived off of, holding your hips in place so you can’t buck away from his mouth. It was intense right from the start. 

“Si…Jesus, baby…” Your head falls back against the wall, hips arching into his mouth just to chase the wet friction of his tongue. “We’re really doing this here?”

You feel him hum a ‘mm-hmm’ into your cunt that vibrates through you. His fingers dig into your hips keeping you pinned to the wall, nearly aching in their intensity. His tongue runs flat over your clit, circling in perfect strokes, before running down to prod at your hole. His face is buried in between your legs like he doesn’t want to let himself breathe; he’s more concerned with letting you grind against his nose than keeping himself conscious.

You almost wanted to damn him for being so good with his mouth. It was a struggle to keep yourself quiet enough to not get caught, covering your mouth with your hand just to stifle the moans that slipped past your lips. He wasn’t doing a great job at keeping quiet either—he was groaning into your cunt with every other wet suck and lap of his tongue. Looking down to see him knelt between your legs was always a sight you loved to see, even now with that horrendous sweater on his body, and it rocked you to your core seeing those brown eyes staring up at you. He could devour you with his eyes just as well as his mouth.

In fact, you’re so distracted by his eyes boring into you that you don’t notice his hand slipping between your legs until you feel his fingers prodding at your entrance. It was already hard to keep quiet, but when two thick digits slide into your cunt, it was near impossible to stop yourself from crying out. A shaky gasp and you’re whimpering out for him, reaching down to thread your fingers through Simon’s hair. The sharp tug only makes him groan as he focuses his mouth on your clit. 

He barely gets in a few thrusts of his fingers before you start to tremble. The dual sensation sends sparks through you, pumping thick in your veins. “Fuck, Si, ‘m not…you’re gonna make me cum…”

“Good,” he mutters against your cunt. “Want you to soak my fuckin’ face.”

The thought was filthy—the possibility of him smelling like you around all those people—but, God, did it make you shiver. Your slick walls fluttered around his fingers, clit throbbing against his tongue, and with one last focused curl of his fingers, you were struggling to keep yourself upright as your orgasm pulsed through you. Your knees felt weak as you rocked your hips into his mouth, grinding his digits deep inside you. The thought of someone hearing your panting moans was the last thing on your mind as Simon focused on drawing out every last drop of your slick cum.

You were still quivering when he pulled back, licking his lips of your cum as he stood tall in front of you. His heavy hands find your hips, pulling you flush against his body. The taste of your cunt floods your tongue when he seeks you out for more sloppy, hungry kisses. Your hand moves to run over the thick outline of his cock, squeezing him through his jeans, feeling his responding groan against your lips.

He wastes no time freeing himself, so desperate and hurried he seems like he could rip the leather of his belt in half if he were any more needy. He’s guiding his cock to your hand almost as soon as he fishes it out, rolling his hips to grind into your palm. You grant him a few steady strokes just to hear him moan into your mouth. It doesn’t last longe before his impatience gets the better of him once again.

A strong arm hoists one of your legs in the air with a force that nearly makes you topple over. Then his cock is running through the slick coating your cunt, the head spreading you open before sliding deep inside. The stretch nearly takes your breath away, the angle of his cock hitting something soft in your core. Trying to muffle each other’s sounds by kissing and nipping at each other’s lips incessantly, swallowing his grunts while he forces breathy pants from your lungs. 

Your back hits the wall on each deep and hard thrust, pinned against the hard surface by Simon’s weight pressing into you. His cock fills you completely, the head kissing your deepest parts on each downstroke, your slick walls hugging him tight as you quiver. Your hands dig into the rough fabric of the sweater over his shoulders as you try to ground yourself amidst the sensations. 

“Fuck, m’sorry, baby, I just couldn’t fuckin’ wait,” he pants against your mouth, voice strained with the need to be quiet. 

“I know, Si. S’okay.” You reassure him between the moans forced out of your mouth. Your hands cup his cheeks as you rest your forehead against his. “You like the sweater, then?”

He smiles at that. “I like you.” A sharp thrust makes you tighten around him, drawing a gruff sound from his throat. “Want everyone here to know that. That you’re mine.”

His movements turn rough and snappy, hard and quick thrusts that turn your moans staccato. You have to bite your lip for any hope of keeping yourself quiet. He holds you tight, rough fingertips pressing bruisingly into your skin, while he ravages you with need. 

Sweat beads on his brow over his red, flushed skin. He’s panting into your mouth, straining with the effort of holding back. The heat and friction is almost suffocatingly intense as it completely floods your senses. 

“Christ, it’s hot…” he grumbles, his hips starting to slow. He leans back slightly, hands falling off of you to move to the hem of his sweater. He pulls it off in one swift movement, throwing it to the floor without a care in the world, before latching his hands back onto your body. 

You seek out his chest with your own hands, feeling the hot flush of his skin. The sinewy muscles in his body flex with each movement as he fucks you. Fingertips trace the scars that litter his skin in gentle strokes, almost reverent in the way you touch him. All it did was remind you why you loved seeing him bare—the implications of trust behind it. 

Though now it was all shrouded in a layer of lust and arousal that made your head spin. You couldn’t think straight as he bullied his cock into you with deep strokes. All that mattered was the way he felt, the way he held you tighter when he couldn’t last any longer. 

“Give it to me, Si,” you pant encouragingly between his forceful movements. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, hot breath splaying over your skin. “Always.” He practically growls the word. 

Simon doesn’t hold himself back, slamming into you with another set of those sharp and rough thrusts that take your breath away. Grunts and moans and whimpers and every sound in between falls freely without any care for who might hear it. He pushes you against the wall with all his weight, burying himself to the hilt as his cock begins to twitch. You can feel him throbbing with each pump of cum that spills inside you.

His hips rock in shallow thrusts while he rides out the last of the sensation. His bruising grip loosens on your body, and he gently sets your leg down as the two of you catch your breath. You swallow thickly, hands coming up to rest on his cheeks as you guide his head away from your neck. He looks fucked out—pupils blown under heavy eyelids, sweaty and flushed, panting for air. You can’t help but smile at the sight.

“You lose.”

Still catching his breath, Simon gives you a confused look. “What?”

“The bet,” you remind him. You tap a finger against his bare chest for emphasis, “you took your sweater off. You lose.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel like a loss.”

No, it didn’t. The only loss he felt was when he slid out of you, pulling back so the two of you could get dressed. You were suddenly thankful that he dragged you to the bathroom; the mirror could help you at least attempt to look like you hadn’t just been fucked against the wall. You only hope your friends won’t question where you and your boyfriend disappeared to, or you might not get invited back next year.

Watching Simon shrug his sweater back on, you could tell he’d grown to dislike it. The uncomfortable fabric and obnoxious tinsel and lights didn’t make it a fun thing to wear—especially when he was still sweaty. You could tell he’d probably lose his mind if he had to wear it for another hour.

“You owe me ten quid,” you remind him. You hadn’t actually expected any payment since neither of you took the bet very seriously, but it was fun to remind him that you won.

“I give you a lot more than ten quid when we’re back home.”

To that, you had no doubt. And the impatience still buzzing off of him made it apparent that going home was going to happen sooner rather than later. You weren’t complaining. The party was fun, but you’re sure your friends would understand. 

Who knew ugly sweaters could be so damn hot?

[urstruly-ghst]

it was all by my design, now, you're mine !

in which goody-two shoes! reader reveals their first time meeting was just the first step of their plan: get deuce spade.

author's note: can be read as a stand alone, but it references my old works: pre-nrc deuce + goody-two shoes reader!

wc: 1.5k

deuce spade

You were stuck in the world you carefully curated; it was comforting, and all your steps had a calculated outcome. You were control, elegance, and…

“Strike!” Your instructor told as you fell to the ground. Truth be told, you were not in control as you’d like. The world plays you just as you play it, and it was winning this game you set out for the year. Usually, you’d grumble and glare at being outplayed, but today was different because Deuce Spade was waiting for you. Today marks the day you first crossed paths with him from a few years ago. 

You vividly remembered the blonde hair, patched-up wounds, and gruff attitude. Deuce pulled you in with a simple encounter, and from that day onwards, you curated every part of your world to make it effortless. To pull two souls together. 

You smiled as you dusted off yourself, the instructor smiling as they helped. However, as you were being helped out, you planned on the next match on the spot. You saw how the grip on your instructor was relatively more potent, which means you have to train your strength to outgrow that grip. Your calculations furthered as you stood up and looked over the facility; you’d consider the softness and roughness of each place you stood in. But that can wait. The clock on your wrist ticked, and you ran to change out of your uniform. Each tick was a second wasted.

Before leaving, you left a towel on the ground. It “fell” from your bag. You heard a stumble when you left the locker room. You saw the instructor holding his wrist as he stumbled out of the training room to the infirmary. You smile, bingo. Guess that means no training for the next week. 

“On time, as usual, babe,” a voice noted as you rushed out of the building to be greeted by your lovely boyfriend, Deuce Spade. He wore his casual attire as he went out of Night Raven to see you. You smile widely as you rush into his arms, missing the feeling of being with him. 

“Oh, my Sevens. You’re here.” You whispered, excited to see him sneak off again with his Magic bike. You were surprised to see him; after all, he told you that the dorm he was assigned to had become strict. Deuce winked and showed off a letter with a sealed signature. 

The letter was a simple approval letter, allowing him to leave the campus, signed off by a Riddle. You laugh in glee as you drag him to the Magic Bike and give directions to the place you meticulously planned for this moment. As you ride the bike, you check the time and smile.

We’re on time. 

“So, babe, why did you want to meet up with me? Exams are about to finish. Usually, you’d reserve our meetings after the exam period. Miss me that much?” Deuce laughed as you stalled in the lanes, waiting for the traffic lights to turn green. You stare at the sky, and a starry night greets your vision. 

“I…” You were about to say something, a planned response, but the lights turned green. The moment it turned green, Deuce turned unexpectedly and went fast. You yelped and laughed loudly as you sped through the roads at a reasonable speed.

“Jerk, I WAS about to say something.” You playfully glared at Deuce, who laughed and shook his head. You pout as you realize that the speed allowed you and Deuce to arrive early at the cafe you had a reservation for. 

Oh, we’re early. 

The clock on your wrist felt heavy as the time you enjoyed slipped quickly. It was never like this. You were always conscious of time, but not on this level. Deuce smiled softly as he noticed how antsy you looked at every clock. He held your hand as you brought yourself back to reality.

“Breathe in, that’s it. Hey, baby, welcome back to Twisted Wonderland,” Deuce teased as you flush back into the environment you're in. How does he know what to say? You kicked his feet under the table and smiled. He glared playfully and kicked you back. 

Your time with him starts to dwindle more, and the sands of time ebb away with each laugh you both share. Deuce noticed it, too; he frowned at the implication that you won’t cross paths for a while. As you two stared into each other’s eyes, your heart jumped out of your chest.

“It’s unfair how you stole my heart, Spade,” you glared as you subtly pushed the salt shaker to him, which would stumble and cause a delay in your stay at the cafe. Deuce smiled as he pinched your cheeks. He lowered his hand and pushed the salt shaker. Granules of salt fell onto the table and your lap; Deuce blushed and apologized as he tried to fix things.

You smile, point one for you again. The world may ebb away time but can’t ebb away your purposeful design. Deuce apologized as he managed to clean most of it; with your help, you both left with apologetic looks as you hurriedly shuffled out of the cafe.

As you both exit the cafe, you recheck your wrist. The clock ticked, and it seemed to slow down. You noticed one thing:

We’re late, but that’s good. 

Unbeknown to your periphery, Deuce was catching on to your habit of checking the watch on your wrist. He innocently asked the time and saw how your ever-goody-two-shoes self responded, 

“Twenty-two hundred and five. Or 10:05.” You respond curtly and look at him with that gorgeous smile. Deuce sighed as both of you approached his bike; before you could climb up, you felt Deuce grab your wrist. You gulped; this felt serious.

“Baby, you keep checking the time. Is there something you should be telling me?” You blush as you see Deuce smile and give you that look. That was the same look that got you hooked on him. It was a gentle yet loving look. 

“I swear, it’s nothing. I’m just… Saving time. Like, why waste our limited time together, yeah?” You said, embarrassed as you never were confronted with this question. Deuce analyzed your reactions, and you posed for him. He rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Fine. Oh, by the way, I think I figured out why you wanted to meet today,” He teased as he helped you wear the helmet for the bike. You hop on and let out a curious hum. You are aware, but was he?

“Oh? Why did I want to meet you today?”

“It's the day we first met. I marked it.”  

You felt your body freeze as you realized the world had won against you again. This was not in your plan? You glanced at Deuce from the side mirror and saw him smirking. You slapped his shoulder and shook your head in disbelief. 

“Shocked, I remember? Come on, babe, but I can tell you wanted to see me more often from the moment I saw you.”

“No?!” You said, embarrassed as you tried to rationalize each moment. When did your mask slip up? Did he know that with every move you played just saw, you can even become friends? You bit your lip, trying to remember the details that could’ve…

“Okay, fine… I set the whole thing up. I’m sorry. I made every encounter, even the first time, from a plan. I planned everything in this relationship!” You tear up as you feel shame. It was your guilty pleasure to set things up in your favor and keep things in check; it was something you learned to do ever since as a kid. You hiccup as the tears seem to slip out. Did the universe just win again?

Deuce panicked and pulled over to a park. The watch on your wrist felt heavier, and before you could check on it again, Deuce snatched it and kept it in his pocket. You gasp as you try to calm yourself and ground the situation– why were you crying?!

“Babe, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Why are you saying sorry? Babe, I knew. From the moment I saw you, I saw a spark in your eyes. I felt that spark, didn’t you?” Deuce said as he hugged you. Honestly, you felt shocked. Did he notice? Not to offend him, he wasn’t necessarily the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had a heart that could rival even the saints!

You hiccup with tears as Deuce wiped your tears away. The tears kept flowing as you finally realized you lost. All because Deuce knew. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind. Deuce made losing to the universe worth it.

“I felt it from the get-go,” You respond to his frantic questioning before laughing and hugging him tearfully. You both hug the feelings away, pulling away from the hug just to lock eyes. You felt your heart rush and leaned in, allowing the feelings to burst forth. Before you can kiss, however, the alarm you set from your watch rings in his pocket. He pulled the wristwatch out, and you saw a glimpse of the past flash in your eyes. He stomped on the watch.

“Screw the time.” He declared before blushing and apologizing that he ruined your watch. You laugh and shake your head, before stomping on the clock too.

Right on time, but who cares?  

[aziraphales-library]

I love your blog sm it’s been VERY helpful for me to find Fics! Do u have any smut Fics with bottom Azi and top cro that involves their first time together? Also maybe crying and/or rlly sweet aftercare?

Here are some first time fics with top Crowley/bottom Aziraphale...

A Healthy Appetite by INeedABurnerAccountOkay (E)

Crowley blames himself, really. He was the one who had tempted the angel in the first place. With the first taste of that ox, he’d created a monster. An angelic monster with a heavy appetite and a fondness for all things human. So, it really shouldn’t have come as such as a shock, when Aziraphale asked him to stave off his hunger for something quite different.

the desire and pursuit of the whole by unsinkablesammy (E)

After their respective trials, Aziraphale goes back to Crowley's flat and sees something he wasn't supposed to. Confessions and romance ensue.

Oh Dear Salvation by myfairstarlight (E)

1941. West End London. Their Arrangement has been discovered by an agent of Hell and when the sun rises, consequences will have to be faced. But not tonight, Crowley decides as he finally breaks and gives in to temptation, tonight they’re together, and if tomorrow may not be guaranteed anymore then he’d rather have a taste of his angel at last before they both meet their demise. “Angel,” he calls, hands reaching for the boa around Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulling him down on the sofa, “changed my mind, what was it you said about doing something in return for me?”

The Wrong Thing by SuspiciousCharacter1895 (E)

“We’ve played every game humanity’s ever invented, haven’t we?” They had indeed played quite a variety of board games, card games, word games, et cetera. Crowley had drawn the line somewhere around charades. “We haven’t played Truth or Dare,” Aziraphale said with unnecessary dramatic emphasis. Crowley took a moment to gauge whether or not Aziraphale was serious. It appeared that he was. “Come off it.” “What’s wrong with Truth or Dare?” Aziraphale asked innocently. “That’s barely a game.” “The magazine said it was a good way to ‘introduce novelty and fun, and to initiate conversations that you might not have had otherwise,’” Aziraphale recited. That’s exactly why it’s a bad idea. Especially this many drinks in. .... During lockdown, Crowley and Aziraphale resort to Truth or Dare to alleviate the monotony. The truth may be dangerous but, as it turns out, may very well set them free.

You had me at "Crowley In a Lab Coat" by LaudaddySmitten (E)

With a start, Aziraphale realized he’d been blatantly staring at Crowley's throat and upper chest for heaven knows how long. Mortified, he snapped his eyes to Crowley's, which, uncovered, only further fueled his lust for the enticing botanist. Aziraphale was surprised to see that Crowley was sporting a smirk that looked…pleased. “Enjoying the view?” He arched an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh my, I er…..” Aziraphale gulped and looked down at his wringing hands. “How rude of me. I'm…ah, terribly sorry…” “Angel. Don’t apologize. I was actually…hoping you would.” Hands instantly stilled, Aziraphale looked up quickly. Had he heard that right? Crowley held Aziraphale's gaze and trailed fingertips in a circle on the lab counter. OR It's Crowley in a lab coat, do I need to say more? 😉 (Mind the tags)

how you've haunted me by sunrisesinthesuburbs (E)

Aziraphale loves because he's an angel and wants more because he's Aziraphale. or; picture this: an angel and a demon (though it doesn't matter much, nowadays) move in together and assume many things about one another. This is how it goes.

- Mod D

[harumasa-wifey]

Hey! Glad that more people who love Zenless are here on tumblr. And I’ve been loving some characters but I’m trying to see if i really like Harumasa. So mind helping me out with some headcanons?

Harumasa with a dragon thiren reader who works a bookshop (and secretly is a proxy) who can summon wings, a tail, and a horn✨

Just general headcanons on how this relationship would be!

Harumasa x Dragon Thiren!Reader

Warning: none, not proofread!

Note: my ass had to skip and skimp through some parts so i was genuinely confused what a Thiren is then i found a post on reddit explaining what it is. Thank you for requesting and having patience!

At first he doesn't look like a guy who would visit a Bookshop so often but he does read books sometimes rather than the papers in office.

After hearing from yanagi that you keep some of the best books around the sixth Street oh well he had to visit

Though you keep your tail and wings hidden most of the time you wear a cloak around you a short one to keep it over your head to cover the horns it's energy consuming to hide them all the time.

You keep your bookstore in the vintage style! It's a good change of place without electronics around. ( A big ass lie)

Of course you were surprised by the first visit of yanagi even and now him got you thinking you might get behind the bars soon.

You really haven't done anything bad being a proxy quite the opposite you have helped people get out of the hollows and often retrieve lost items as commissions.

Your H.D.D is hidden in the storage room which is also filled with different type of books.

And The siblings are also in your contacts it's never bad to have back ups!

Although he was confused why you had your head covered he didn't question it.

He doesn't know why he found himself often around your bookshop it was almost alluring in a peaceful way.

He doesn't read much he often comes here to seek a nap on one of your reading places yet he has the membership to your shop.

Even your bangboo has become all familiar to him, it always knows it's him when there is only one knock on the door. ( He is too lazy to knock twice anyways lol)

Though your cover as a proxy didn't stay for long under his sharp eyes.

Well it's a whatever case now as you and the siblings were excused as a proxy by miyabi herself.

He never outright told you to show him what you actually are but he definitely hints at it sometimes.

And not to mention those pick up lines he drops every now and then from the books and movies he had watched.

Well of course there is nothing to hide from him now anyways. He was amused he has seen many thirens, an oni a cat, wolf and shark. However seeing a dragon was really amusing to him.

Get ready for the absolute amount of ridiculous questions to be asked. He is not holding back.

He definitely read about dragons in the books you have after that of course and his nap time at the shop is more peaceful than ever now.

He might have asked to see your tail sometimes out of curiosity. Feel free to refuse if you don't wanna go that far. But if you let him see he is amazed how well you hide yourself.

He says the horns on your head add to your charm.

He never saw you fight but he has you running around in your bangboo beside him in the hollow.

He definitely takes his power naps with your tail warped around him.

He has read about dragons banishing evil and bringing good luck so now you are named as "Lucky Charm" in his contacts. Only his lucky charm.

[admirationandromantics]

Teacher's Lounge

Another request! I'm thinking about not posting updates to anonymous requests, and instead just pasting said request in here? I'll tag you if you didn't ask anonymously. It's easier and more neat.

🍋‍🟩 Hear me out, Josh becoming a temporary teacher for film with his own office, he often let you study in there seeing as the campus didn’t have enough study space to accommodate everyone and you become quite overstimulated on a normal day (@b3rryb3t)

This is therefore maybe a teacher x student thing, but you're roughly the same age anyway (maybe 2 years difference), since he graduated before you and has already come out with his debut movie. You're still hanging out with the friend group as well.

Word count: 1,6k (Unedited)

It’s hard to find good reading spots on campus. My messy room could be an option, but I can’t get inspired there. I need different surroundings than what I’m used to. Booked rooms are a no-go, especially now that exams are coming closer. They’re always booked, and everyone uses them. I’ve tried going to the library, but if there’s room, the place is never quiet. The librarians don't care. I get it though, everyone is stressed, and the only place you can work on a group assignment is the library. You have to talk, you have to discuss. This means that I’m still left without a spot to study. I’ve tried other libraries, other cafes and even at my friends place. Nothing works. Maybe there’s something in the other buildings? Somewhere quiet where I’ll feel content. 

The first building that comes to mind is the Teachers house. A large building with some group rooms and many small study sofas. Many of the teachers have offices there, but if I'm quiet, they won’t mind. These spots are usually also taken, but maybe I’ll have a chance if I’m quick. 

I walk down the hall, stopping when I see the old abandoned office. This room is usually always empty, waiting for someone to inhabit it. But it’s not empty anymore. The previously collected dust is cleaned away, the wood door has a new furnish and a brand new slide-on plate reads a familiar name. Joshua Washington. 

I widen my eyes in surprise, it cannot be. Why is he here? Didn’t he already finish his degree? He just finished his debut movie, which was excellent. I saw him at one of Emily’s parties too, which was not long ago. About three weeks. He looked good then, very good. Like he felt fulfilled and accomplished. He should feel good about himself. Not many people do that on their first big project. He did talk about a new job he got, but I assumed it was another film-related gig. Was this the job? 

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I carefully knock three times. The sound is beautiful, hard and dark wood which doesn’t vibrate as I hit it. I wait, hearing shuffling and metal clinking inside. 

“Um, yeah, come in!” 

I open the door, holding the handle hard. If I was wrong, then this would be an awfully awkward encounter. The door glides easily without making any sound. They have really improved this place. He lifts his head, meeting my stare as he does. A smile creeps on his face, eyes lighting up by the sight. I stand still, mouth agape and furrowed brows. He’s really here. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite student” 

“You teach here?” 

“As of this Monday, yes” 

I close the door behind me, looking around the room. It’s cozy, filled with family pictures and a couple of movie posters. His diploma is also on the wall. On one surface are many small film trophies from his childhood, and in front of all of them, the price he got last year for his first debut Hollywood movie. I look around in awe, the yellow light making everything feel so professional and real. 

“And by the way, I’m not your student, I take another course” 

“That can’t stop me from stating that you’re in a superior’s office” 

“How did you get this job?”

“They offered it to me”

“Just out of nowhere? You don’t have experience in teaching. You’re not even a professor” 

“I guess my talent shines through”

I look at him and his smug face. He’s leaning back in the roller chair, feet upon his desk. Everything here is so neat, so unlike him. He also loves being able to joke like this, but honestly, I’m still surprised by the circumstances. He made one movie, and now, the university wanted him to teach a course? 

“If I know you correctly, you’ll probably be fired by the next month” 

“And why’s that?”

I take a seat in front of him, not surprised that the chair is lower than him. Oh, how he loves his power trips. The chair is comfortable, and suits the surroundings, but I feel small. 

“Because you can’t keep your hands to yourself” 

“That’s true” 

“There’s only a question about time, when will you fuck one of your students, and when will you get caught” 

He laughs, shaking his head as he fiddles with an expensive ball pen. He looks at me in disbelief, maybe a little surprised that I said exactly what I thought. 

“Who’s to say I haven’t done it already?” 

“One week into the job?” 

“Maybe” 

“You’re disgusting, Washington” 

“That’s Mr. Washington to you” he corrects, pointing at me with the same pen. I smile at him, almost unable to hide my laughter. 

“I’m not gonna start calling you that” 

“Ugh, damn you” 

A slight silence follows, and analyse his desk. Many, many pens, his laptop, a stack of papers and a couple of memory sticks. Again, everything is so neat. It makes me feel weird. 

“By the way, I actually haven’t had a teacher-student relationship” 

“You shouldn’t” I quickly shoot back. It would not be a good idea. Being in the filming industry is hard in itself, but he also has a shot of doing something more. This was not something to take lightly. 

“At least not gonna with my own students” 

“Jesus Chris Josh”

He laughs again, loving my overdramatic reactions. He knows what gets me to tip over, how to make me irritated and upset. Of course he’ll use it to his advantage. 

“Anyways, what are you doing here? Isn’t your building on the other side of campus?” 

I sigh loudly, leaning back in the chair and letting my head fall back. I’m tired, exhausted even. But just two more weeks, and I’ll be finished with the exams. My diploma isn’t far away. 

“Trying to find a study spot, but everywhere is taken”

“Why don’t you just use your dorm?”

“Easy for you to say, you never lived in one”

He leans back, furrowing his brows and being deep in thought. 

“You could sit here?” 

I look up, surprised by the offer. Is that even okay, am I, as a student, allowed to do that? I think about it, the place is quiet, cozy and a completely different atmosphere than usual. It could work. 

“Can I?” 

“Of course, it wouldn't be the first time you’ve been in my quarters” he teases, leaning back over the desk. 

“Haha, very funny, but are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I mean, my students usually don’t come here, too busy actually understanding the material, compared to some” he points at me and my backpack. I roll my eyes. 

“Well, if getting my degree consisted of knowing the on and off button of a camera, I would excel at it”

“Careful, or you might not get to study here” 

“Okay, okay, sorry. You’re an accomplished producer and teacher who’s totally awesome” 

“And you have to call me Mr. Washington”

I scoff at his request, shaking my head. He’s still smiling, biting casually into his lower lip. 

“I draw the line there”

“Fine”

I take up my laptop, immediately starting to type. This was gonna be great. Might have some negative effects though. We’ve got a history. Too much time spent together has usually led to more uncivilised activities, but that’s not something I have to worry about now. 

***

The weeks pass, and I truly enjoy his company, even if it’s in silence. He’s busy grading papers and making schedules. I’m prepping for my exams, writing, reading, and memorising. Everything was going great, and the day of the exam finally came. 

I took one look over the questions, and my heart fell. What the hell was this? I did my best, drawing out a mind map to help me refresh my memory. It actually went quite well, if I do say so myself. Not the best, but I’m definitely not failing. 

I walk down the hall yet again, not bothering to knock on Josh’s door. His head rises, noticing my presence, and he smiles. God I love how he smiles. 

“So, how did it go?” 

I close the door, biting my lip as I turn to face him again. He looks up expectantly, eyes big and round. He rises, walking around the desk to face me. 

“It went great!” I blurt out excitedly, arms going out. He smiles, meeting me in a hug as I throw my arms around him. His hands go to my waist, pulling me closer against him. I bury my face in his neck, warm skin against mine, smelling his expensive cologne. 

“See, you just needed a place to study”

“I indeed did”

We break apart a little, arms still holding tight so none of us leaves. He leans in, eyes lowering to my lips. I know what’s about to happen, it has happened a million times before. In his bedroom, a couple of random bathrooms, the mountain lodge, but never in an office. My finger finds its way to his lips, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Mr. Washington, what do you think you’re doing?” 

“Just celebrating” he whispers against my finger, hand going up to take it away. He finds his way to the back of my head, tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer. 

“You can get in trouble”

“Never stopped us before”

His breath feels hot against my skin, head getting dizzy and body warmer. How long were we going to keep this thing alive? 

“Fuck it” I whisper against him, capturing his lips on mine.

[galadrieljones]

Possession (Rook x Emmrich)

❤️ Dragon Age | Emmrook | Solavellan | one-shot | Mature ❤️

word count: 7,460 Summary: In the Lighthouse, Rook and Emmrich hunt through some of Solas's old records from his time with the Inquisition. What they find brings them closer together, as they embark on a romantic scavenger hunt through memories of the past.

Read here, or at AO3 💫

Possession

JOLENE MERCAR, also known as Rook, was stalemated outside the door of a certain generous and compassionate necromancer. It was late at night. Though time seemed to pass strangely here in the Fade, whenever she was inside the Lighthouse, she could always sort of tell what part of the day it was. Like an enchantment, or an illusion. She knocked on the door.

Emmrich answered. He was very tall, and when he saw her in all of her tiny elven glory, he smiled. He was genuinely surprised to see her, but seemingly very pleased. "Rook," he said. "What a nice surprise."

"Hello, Emmrich," she said, feeling a little stupid. She had her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels as she spoke. "I was just...popping by. I discovered something, here in the Lighthouse, a hidden room. It belonged to Solas. It's filled with a bunch of notebooks. Diaries and things. Records, lots of them dated back to when he was in the Inquisition. I was going to go through them on my own, see if we could learn anything, but I suddenly felt the urge for company. I thought you might find it all interesting, as an expert on the Fade. You know, like he is."

Emmrich considered. Rook had long, dark hair, which she sometimes wore in a loose braid over her shoulder, but that night, it just fell to the small of her back, like a curtain. Her eyes were light as candles, and he liked her. Something about her forward nature truly intrigued him, and though he did not entirely understand what she might see in him, she came by often, looking for wisdom. She was young, and he could tell that she felt...out of place in all this. In any case, she had never come to him so late at night before. This was new. The promise of what lie ahead, it was very tempting, despite his prevailing sense of discipline and stoicism. He said to her, "I believe I would find that interesting. Thank you, Rook, for thinking of me. Please, come in. Just let me grab some things, and let's be on our way."

As she stood there, demurely, taking stock of Emmrich's vast and detailed inventory, the books and the skulls and the bizarre crystals, she felt excited, happy for the first time since all this began. It was a pretty picture, this place, so strange and haunted, and yet the whimsy, it was like wrapping herself in a warm scarf. Rook was not a mage, and she had not grown up with such displays of magical possibility. Magic was utilitarian where she was from, or else it was devious. But Emmrich, in all of his sparkling oddity, could make even the littlest, most mundane things feel new and awake. Rook often tried to remind herself that, no matter how bad things get, it's the little things in life that truly set you free.

In the music room, Emmrich was delighted by the presence of a piano in the Lighthouse. He honed through a couple of chords, but it sounded like the gloomier depths of the Necropolis. "It's woefully out of tune," he said. "I can come back in the morning, perhaps, make it sing once more."

"You play the piano?" said Rook, feeling wistful. She had picked the lid up off a wooden box, which she had stacked earlier near the high window. Light seemed to flood in, even though it was after ten.

"My skills are a bit lapsed," said Emmrich. "But I trained for many years in my youth. Music is a language all its own. I've found that certain spirits communicate more readily through the wonders of melody."

"Perhaps that's why Solas plays?"

He smiled. "Perhaps."

Rook sat down on a dusty old hope chest. It seemed made of both wood and gold at the same time, and this weirdness with textiles was something that Solas seemed drawn to. Metals that looked like wood, woods that looked like metal. She watched the little particles floating around in the bars of light from the window as she gathered a stack of leather bound notebooks. There were many books and records and things that looked sort of official, like things you might need at some sort of tribunal, but these ones were filled, front to back with what seemed like poetry, math, journal entries, all in Solas's handwriting. It was elegant but rushed. "Some of these notebooks are just filled with what look like complicated arithmetic."

"May I?" said Emmrich. He pulled up the bench from the piano, sat beside Rook at the window. Rook handed him a notebook. He studied the markings, which were strange, but some oddly familiar. "As the maker of the Veil, it would make sense for Solas to be adept at theoretical and applied physics. Some of these formulas are familiar to me and my studies. Others are...well. They are like nothing I've ever seen before."

"He doodles a lot. See?" She showed him the pages of another notebook. This one was more of a sketchbook, she gathered. There were a great many drawings. Mostly faces and animals, sketched out in pencil, loose with an absentminded touch. "This one is cute. Look. A nug."

"That is very amusing."

"If we don't find anything good here, we can always go back to the office," she said. "It's through the door, but it's sort of gloomy. I just brought some of the boxes out here so that we could sit in the light."

"Yes, the light," said Emmrich, studying the windows. "I wonder if the enchantment lives inside, outside, or in the glass itself?"

"In any case, it's pretty," said Rook.

"I agree."

She showed him another sketch, this one more detailed than the others. "Look at this one. Do you recognize this place?" 

It was a castle, or a fortress, misty, and planted deep in a glorious mountain scape. Emmrich studied it closely. He did recognize it, but he was having a difficult time placing it in his memory. "It says right here, Terasylan'Telas. Do you speak elven, Rook?"

"Nope," she said. "My knowledge ends at Andaran Atishan. Mostly."

"Hmm. You know, now that I think of it, I believe this might be Skyhold," he said. 

"Skyhold?"

"The legendary fortress of the Inquisition. It's located somewhere in the Frostback Mountain range, which forms the natural border between the southern Kingdoms of Ferelden and Orlais."

"Ferelden and Orlais," said Rook. "Geez. That's far. Have you ever been?"

"Never," he said. "Until I met you, I never once left Nevarra. Now, here I am, living in an ancient elven sanctuary in the Fade. Such intrigue you bring to my life, Rook."

She blushed a little, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "He seems attached to this place," said Rook, turning the pages of the notebook, slowly. There were several more sketches of the castle, from multiple angles, the insides and outsides. "He seems to know it well." 

"Who is this?" said Emmrich. He pointed to a figure, sketched out in the doorway to what appeared to be some sort of rotunda. The form was female, somewhat tall, created with great care, but it was unfinished.

"Who knows," said Rook. "A mystery woman? After this, it's just tons and tons of butterfly sketches. All kinds of them. Guess he's a fan of bugs."

"Let's delegate a little," he said. "Hand me one of those notebooks, if you please."

She obliged. He straightened up and opened the notebook in his lap. "You continue with the sketchbook, and I will investigate this here."

"What is that one?"

"It looks to be some sort of diary," said Emmrich. "Entries, with dates from twelve years back. I'll let you know if I find anything of interest."

"Same here."

They sat for a while, reading. At some point, Rook got antsy and scooched off the hope chest to sit on the floor. She flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, taken with the minute and lovely details of Solas's drawings. After the butterflies, the pages began to fill with the shapes of people, actual people with detailed, unique faces and expressions, which led Rook to believe that they were real. His friends, perhaps? There was a study of a young man with an enormous hat, a tall elven woman with short hair eating a cookie, a human shield maiden reading a book beneath a tree, and a great, Qunari warrior playing chess. At some point, she came across somebody familiar, but the hair had changed. She recognized him from Minrathous. It was Dorian Pavus, holding a skull near a candle. This awakened something strange inside her, like an eclipse. Late in the book, there was a sketch of Varric, situated from the side. He was holding a flagon, sitting in a tavern somewhere, and he looked pensive. Rook almost said something to Emmrich about it, but she kept it inside. She wasn't sure why. It just felt like opening a can of big, fat worms, which she wasn't ready to open yet.

But then. "Very interesting," said Emmrich. "Very interesting indeed."

"Did you find something?"

"I'm not entirely sure," said Emmrich. "There's a fair bit of elven in here, which I do not understand. But not all of it. This, here, it is written mostly in the common language. It appears to be a prose poem? A ballad of some sort."

"What's it about?"

"Well, as it is a ballad, which means it is about love."

"A love poem? By the Dread Wolf?"

"Come here, Rook. Have a look at this."

She got up from the hardwood floor and went and sat down next to Emmrich on the piano bench. He was big beside her, and she was temporarily taken by his scent. Like rosemary, subtle. His clothing was simple tonight, she thought, unadorned. Just a cream collared shirt, seemed made of cotton, very soft, well-tailored, and expensive. He opened the notebook between them, so that she could follow along. "Listen," he said. He pointed to the page in question and read aloud, solemnly and with great care. As he spoke, with such a soft gravitas, the world around her seemed to change:

Light gathers on the sea, where we sit on the pier. It approaches and folds beside you like an envelope. I do not know how it folds, but it seems to anyway.  It disregards me entirely. On this day in Val Royeaux, as we watch the seamen mooring their ships,  you whisper, "What is that, vhenan?" You speak of a white bird, which has landed on a barrel. "Some sort of egret," I say. I can tell that you already knew that. You just like to ask questions, and you think it's funny. The word "egret," you say, sounds funny in my mouth.  The light finds you here. It finds your eyes here. It disregards me entirely, The light. I could not have made it any more beautiful myself.  It has a mind of its own as it touches you. And you find me, ara avise'ain.

The room was silent, but for the tense ticking of a clock somewhere.

"What a wonderful, if not monumental relic," said Emmrich, his heart stayed. "I am taken aback by this. I should like to read it again and again. What do you think, Rook?"

Rook shook herself out of a deep but ethereal trance then. It felt like something was wrong with her. She realized right then that she had leaned in a little close, the whole time he'd been reading. Her cheek, it brushed against the soft fabric at his shoulder. He did not seem bothered. He seemed very comfortable there beside her.

"I think..." she said, trailing off. "I think...it's just...so erotic."

This seemed to intrigue him greatly. "Erotic?" he said. "Quite the interpretation, Rook. You speak of his use of light, perhaps?"

"Yeah," she said. "How it's always folding and...touching the water, touching her. The mention, too, of the word egret, and how it sounds in his mouth. It just calls to mind their...intimacy. Something was going on here."

"Very good," said Emmrich. "I do agree. It seems that perhaps the Dread Wolf may have taken a secret lover during his time with Inquisition."

"Perhaps the woman that he drew? The one in the doorway of the rotunda?"

"Perhaps."

"Ara avise'ain," she said. "Are there any other uses of this word?"

"Hmm," said Emmrich. He flipped forward a few pages. There was a great deal of elven here. It was sort of like fishing for diamonds through a deft and elegant swamp. But he caught on something, quickly, then studied. He gave her the notebook. "Here. Read this, Rook."

She stared at the poem. She tried to concentrate, but then, she felt him nudge her gently in the shoulder with his own.

She sort of jumped. "What's wrong?" 

"Read it aloud, if you please," he said, softly. "I'd like to hear it in your voice. It is so much more meaningful that way."

"Oh," she said. "Sure. Here goes." She cleared her throat.

I knocked, wondering if you had forgotten. You had not. You were braiding your hair. You said, "I was worried." Vhenan, who worries. Sometimes I feel like a star, which has already died. You say to me, "Sleep here." You invite me inside.  Where it is safe. A nest. Maybe here? You bring me in with both hands. I take off your dress. Why can't I go home, avise'ain? Where the candles flicker to death, withholding, and there are only teeth. 

"Shit," said Rook.

"I echo the sentiment," said Emmrich.

"This is really...wow. I wasn't expecting this," she said. "Only teeth? Fuck."

"I am concerned about the metaphor," said Emmrich. "It does not bode well for the Dread Wolf."

"I wish I knew what that word meant," she said. " Avise'ain. I know what vhenan means. It's like, an elven term of endearment. It means my heart. Or something."

"I wonder if, perhaps, Bellara, or Davrin could help us with the elven."

"That's a good idea," she said. "But Bellara's asleep. She was up late last night, tweaking the eluvian. Told me she wanted to turn in early."

"Then Davrin it is," said Emmrich. They set off.

When they found Davrin, he was lying flat on his back, on the hardwood floor, staring up at the ceiling while Assan, confused, licked his palm.

"Davrin?" 

"Hello, Rook."

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

He turned his head to see them. They stood just inside the entryway. There were stacks of old books on the table, the wooden carvings lined up. Davrin kept a very nice space. He was neat and discerning, but he was not a minimalist.

"Emmrich?" he said. It was like a light turning on. "Wait. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine," reassured Emmrich. "But, we are wondering the same of you. Are you often taken with lying on the floor, Davrin?"

"Not at all," said Davrin. He got to his feet, slowly, like he was drunk. He wasn't drunk. He was just...exhausted? "Assan won't sleep. I thought, maybe if I lie here on the floor, he'd doze off next to me. But. No dice."

"Aw, poor Assan," said Rook, patting the sweet creature on his feathered head.

"Poor Assan?" said Davrin. "How about poor me?"

"Poor you," said Rook. 

He smiled. Assan squawked. "What are you guys doing here? Isn't it kind of late?"

"A little," said Rook.

"We require your assistance with the elven language. How are you with translation, Davrin?"

"Pretty good," he said. "What's going on?"

"We found some of Solas's old records, in a secret room, next to the library," Emmrich continued. "They are from his time with the Inquisition. It's quite interesting. A good deal of it is written in elven, however, and neither Rook nor I speak the language."

"Solas is an ancient elf," said Davrin. "I never really learned that dialect. I know a little, but it's rare."

"Can you try?" said Rook.

Davrin sighed. He scratched at the back of his head and then plopped down into the armchair by the fire. "Have a seat," he said. "Let me see."

Emmrich handed Davrin the open notebook, the one with the poetry, and then he and Rook sat down on the floor, like children. Assan watched the whole interaction, rapt and wide awake as Davrin took to studying the elven.

"These poems here are written in the common tongue," said Emmrich. "But there is an elven word used multiple times. Avise'ain. It perplexes us."

"Can you tell us what it means?" said Rook.

"Holy shit," said Davrin, reading the poem about the pier, and the egret. He read it multiple times. Then he looked at Rook, his face screwed up like he'd seen a ghost. "Do you know who he wrote this for?"

"No, we don't," said Rook.

He made a low whistle. "This shit is deep."

"What does it mean?" said Rook, urging him back to the task at hand. " Avise'ain?"

"Right," said Davrin. "Well, this word isn't something I've seen before. But it's not ancient elven. It's contemporary. See this? The suffix, -ain , is a diminutive. It means little, or petite. Avise is a form of the word ise, which means fire. Avise means flame. Avise'ain means—"

"Little flame," said Rook. "Like, a pet name maybe?"

"That's exactly what it is," said Davrin. "And see this here? Here, he uses the possessive, ara, which means my. My little flame. Whoever this was, they were definitely...well, I think you know."

"I believe the correct term is intimate, Davrin. No need to be coy."

Davrin almost started laughing. "Touche. Does seem a little strange though, speculating about the sex life of an ancient elven god."

"Solas didn't present himself as a god to the Inquisition," said Rook. "He didn't even tell them he was an ancient elf. According to Varric, he just presented as an apostate. He said he was a fade mage, same as you, Emmrich."

"That inspires my curiosity, to be sure," he said.

Davrin flipped through the book some more, studying the handwriting. "All this other stuff is ancient," said Davrin. "Except for this one word, avise'ain, which is in common elven. Why?"

"Perhaps the woman to whom he assigned his pet name is not an ancient elf," said Emmrich. "If she doesn't speak the dialect, it would make little sense for him to use it."

"So she's a regular elf? Or...a new elf? Like me and Davrin?" said Rook.

"Yes, and it's also likely that she speaks the common dialect."

"So, she's Dalish," said Davrin. 

"Are you sure you can't read any of this other stuff?" said Rook. "These poems and entries. You can't read the ancient elven? Even a little?"

Davrin squinted at the pages in deep concentration, which seemed to lure Assan closer to his side. He sidled up to Davrin's chair and placed his head in his lap. Davrin stroked the beast's neck absentmindedly, a darling display. "Hmm," he said.

"Hmm?" said Rook.

"I can't translate this word for word," he said. "That's for sure. I just don't know the vocabulary. But elven, it's more than just a language. It's like a feeling. If you're an elf, that is. Especially this old stuff. Shit, it's a little like music. Rook, even though you don't know how to speak it, I bet if you read this, and you focused really hard, like really hard, you would understand what I'm talking about."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"You can sense the story," he said. "Solas, in his words, is telling a story. I can see it in my mind's eye, like...ancestral memory."

"I don't know how I feel about sharing ancestral memories with Solas," said Rook.

"Well, I think we do. Whether we like it or not." He handed her the book. "Here. Just take a look."

She looked at Davrin, a little apprehensive. She had never been very elfy. Sort of like self-preservation in Tevinter. In fact, in her quotidian life, before all this, it was typical for her to simply forget what she was half the time. When it struck her, and she remembered, it was always in these horrible moments of existential unease. On the street corners. On the docks. She had considered leaving Minrathous thousands of times before her twenty-fifth birthday, for thousands of reasons. But she never had anywhere to go. Until now, of course.

Suddenly she felt Emmrich's hand, big and soft on her shoulder. He squeezed once, then lowered his mouth, close to her ear. He said, "You can do it, Rook. I believe in you. Just give it a whirl."

She felt very hot all of a sudden, in her cheeks, and it zinged straight back to her eartips. But still, it was comforting. He was such a comforting presence, calming all her stupid bullshit with one single, casual touch. She said, "Okay. I'll try."

She picked up the book. The words made little sense. As Davrin had said, even for elven, it was out of whack, bizarrely tuned, as if invented on the spot. But then, after a moment, she felt a kind of warm, snowy sensation in the back of her brain. It was like fuzz, and then it spread, and it came into focus. Like a crystal. It spun there, at the center of her brain. She looked up at Emmrich, and she said, "I felt something."

"Wonderful," said Emmrich. "What did you feel?"

"This is a story," she said, tapping her finger to the words. "It's about rooftops, am I right?" She looked to Davrin.

"Yes," he said. "Rooftops, mountains. Her hair, like, it's everywhere, right? Did you get that?"

"I did. Maybe that means it's windy?" 

"Good call. Also, there's a tear in the sky. He compares it to an eye, watching them. Like they're never alone. But he wants her. Bad. He wants to be free, to be with her."

"Emmrich," said Rook, serious now.

"Yes? I must say. This is quite entertaining, you two."

"You've read the Inquisition folklore. Are you sure you never saw any references to a romance?"

"I have only read the canonical texts," he said, "which, beyond names and basic formalities, in no way addresses any interpersonal aspect of the people involved. So, no."

"You should go talk to Harding," said Davrin. "She was in the Inquisition. She might know."

"Oh my gosh," said Rook. "You're right."

"You're also in luck," said Emmrich, voice low, his hands clasped in front of him, very debonair. He nodded toward Assan, who had fallen asleep, his head heavy in Davrin's lap, very still, eyes closed, breathing even. "It seems our discussion of ancient elven poetry lulled your young griffon here right to sleep."

Davrin surveyed the situation, dropped his head back and blinked up at the ceiling. "Guess I should get comfortable."

"We'll see you in the morning," said Rook, very eager. Emmrich had got to his feet first, extended a hand to her. She took it, stood tall, and dusted herself off. "Thank you for your help, Davrin. That was...interesting."

"Any time," he said.

As they crossed the great courtyard in the middle of the night, they both looked up to the deep, dark Fade sky at the same exact time. There was a shooting star, or, that's what it looked like. It was big and molten, like a long column of light which then simply disappeared from existence. This dazzled Rook, but it also unnerved her. She had never really been outside before when the Lighthouse went dark. She'd had no idea that there were stars here.

"This place shall never cease to amaze me," said Emmrich, in wonderment. "Stars and night. The chattering sounds of inexplicable nature. We are floating on a cloud, it seems, and yet, there are butterflies and opossums. I can sense them in the underbrush. Solas made this place comfortable many years ago. He wanted his people to feel at home here."

"When we first arrived," said Rook, "the place was falling apart. I think Solas was living here, before the ritual, but it feels like there are parts of the castle he never went to, like he lived in two, maybe three of the rooms tops. Everywhere else, he just left it sealed away. Like a tomb."

"The bachelor pad of a god is sad indeed," said Emmrich. "Particularly if he is on the wrong side of love. Let us continue our scavenger hunt, Rook. I am enjoying this evening immensely. Thank you for asking me to accompany you on your search tonight."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling like an idiot. He held out his arm to her then, an unexpected gesture, but she took it anyway. Even though she was not afraid of the dark, she was hesitant, walking through the Fade like this. She was not used to such big, cold, and cosmic magic. 

Emmrich sensed this, as he so often did. "Do not fear this place, dear Rook," he said. "Allow it to become familiar, and it will embrace you, as a home."

They started toward Harding's. They could see the light from her lantern, a long, golden bar at the bottom of the door. "Is that what you do?" said Rook.

"Yes, it is," he said. "Like a scent on the breeze. I will not forget it for all my years."

When they got to Harding's door, it was like she had seen them coming. She stayed up late.

"Rook?" she said. "Is that you?"

"It is," she said. "It's me, and Emmrich. Are you decent?"

"Sure am," said Lace. She opened the door, seeming delighted. She was wearing red pajamas with her hair in a braid and holding a cup of tea. "What brings you two around so late at night?"

Emmrich smiled, his face going a little crinkly. "We won't take up much of your time, Lace. We just have a few questions for you, concerning your time in the Inquisition. May we come in?"

"Definitely," she said, holding the door wide open and standing back to give them room. As she shut the door behind them, Rook noticed the remnants of some sort of art project. There were what appeared to be curtains, draped over a table, and several spools of colorful thread. Harding seemed to be practicing her embroidery.

"I love the curtains," said Rook.

"Oh, thank you. I'm just trying to make this place feel a little more like home. You know?" 

Emmrich glanced at Rook, very knowing.

"So," said Lace. "You guys wanna talk about the Inquisition? What did you wanna know?"

"We have been scouring some of Solas's old records," said Emmrich. "Rook found a secret room inside, near the library. It's full of old notebooks and things. Much of it dated back to Solas's time with the Inquisition."

"Interesting," said Harding. "Find anything good?"

"Yes," said Rook, a little anxious. "We found love poems."

"Love poems?" said Harding, sort of giggling. "Really? Wow. I mean, I knew Solas was an artist, but a writer, too? Wow."

"Wow, indeed," said Emmrich. "We came here tonight to ask whether you know anything about a woman that Solas might have been seeing at the time. Someone in the Inquisition, perhaps? She was likely a Dalish elf."

There was a long pause then, in which Lace stared at them both as if she thought they might be on drugs. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, we aren't," said Rook. "The stuff he wrote. It was really...passionate. Do you know anything about it?"

"Uh, yeah. I do," said Lace.

"Really?" said Emmrich. "Who was it? The woman, we mean?"

"Inquisitor Lavellan."

It was like a boulder, falling off a cliff.

"The Inquisitor?" said Rook. 

"Oh, my dear," said Emmrich. "This is a surprise."

Lace shrugged, like it was just any other factoid. "I'm surprised you guys don't know. I guess I just assumed that everybody did. It was all over the tabloids, at least down south. People can't get enough of that shit. Sene's love life has been under scrutiny for years. It really pisses her off, but I mean, what can you do? Idle minds, am I right?"

Rook opened the notebook, which she'd had tucked under her arm. She showed Lace the poems. She said, "He loved her. A lot. We're pretty sure that everything in here, at least in this notebook, is all about her. It's full of poems and stories. What happened between them?"

"Solas and Sene were crazy in love," said Lace, sipping her tea, reminiscing. "Like I said, it was no secret. They were great together. Inseparable. They used to have picnics on the battlements at Skyhold, talk for hours on the rooftops at Haven. He would braid her hair before they went out into the field. It was just...romantic. I used to talk to them all the time, when we would deploy to different regions, trying to bring people and their factions into the Inquisition. She would sit and watch him paint his frescoes, and he made her these butterflies out of his magic, like little presents. Hundreds of them, green and glowy, all the time. Everywhere. They would just fly around the rotunda, and the garden, like part of the decor. It was so dreamy and romantic."

"Green, glowy butterflies?" said Rook. "There's a bunch of them here, flitting about in the bushes. I've seen tons of them, flying around the Crossroads, too."

"Yup," said Lace. "Those are them. I'm not surprised that she's left her mark here. The way Solas looked at her, it was so...intense. I thought he was gonna ask her to marry him. It was really serious. And, like I said, everybody knew. They were just...Sene and Solas. Solas and Sene. The tabloids used to refer to Sene as the Tall Red Elf and Solas as the Tall Elven Warrior at her Side. Anyway, be careful, Rook. This is...kind of a long story, and Sene is a close friend of mine. She practically lived at my house for like a year once, down in the Hinterlands. I'll tell you stuff, but like, keep it clean. I'm not getting into the weeds here, okay?"

Rook fell silent. She did not really know much about Inquisitor Lavellan, or the Inquisition at all. It was not a common topic of discussion in Tevinter. And yet, even still, she was a bit of a celebrity, mainly with the Chantry, as the Herald of Andraste. They talked about her all the time in the holy newsletters and things like that. Debates over whether her claims to prophesy were legitimate, or whether she even believed them herself, seeing as she was an elf. Rook knew that she was Dalish, but she hadn't really put it together, until now.

"We promise to be civilized in our questioning," said Emmrich, taking over. "We will of course respect your loyalties to Inquisitor Lavellan. But please forgive me, as I must ask. You make it sound like he was over the moon for her, and yet, you said he left? Why?"

"At the time," she said, "Sene didn't know. None of us did. Nobody knew that he was the Dread Wolf. We just thought he was some really powerful apostate. After we killed Corypheus, he just...left. She was devastated, but at some point, she moved on. Or, she tried to. She was in another pretty serious relationship when Solas finally showed himself again two years later, during the Exalted Council in Halamshiral. He explained everything, that he was the Dread Wolf, that he wanted to bring down the Veil, that he still loved her, but that he had to go, and he would not take her with him. That was important. Anyway, based on what Sene told me, I think he originally intended to just use the Inquisition, like a pawn, to help him further his plans. But it didn't go so hot. He accidentally fell in love. He made friends, too. Kind of a huge, fantastic failure...I guess."

"So it was after the Exalted Council," said Rook. "That's when they last saw each other?

"In person, yeah," said Lace.

"What do you mean in person?" said Emmrich.

"Solas is a dreamer," said Lace, taken with the thought. "Rook knows. He can walk in peoples' dreams. As far as I know, he's visited her, quite a lot, over the past ten years. Where they stood at any given time, it was sort of on and off, but it was consistent, to some degree."

"Does he still love her?" said Emmrich, seeming desperately curious. Too tall, he was nearly hunched in half, trying to lean into their conversation. 

"Probably," said Lace, her voice soft all of a sudden. She became wistful. She looked away, toward the window. "They were special. They meant everything to one another. It was the kind of love that you aspire to, you know? And I mean, she still loves him. That, I know for sure. Sene went through a couple different men, trying to move on. But despite both of them being great guys, neither of them stuck, not like he did."

"Which men?"

Lace sighed, setting down her mug on the table next to the curtains. "This is where I call it a night. I'm not getting into all that. You're gonna have to read about it in the tabloids like everyone else."

Emmrich seemed to be thinking about this in a practical manner. "We can probably find them in the Magisterial Library of Minrathous. I'm sure they keep records of every tabloid and newspaper in Thedas, going back at least 100 years."

"Or, you know," said Lace. "I guess you could just ask Inquisitor Lavellan, herself. I'm sure you'll meet her. Soon."

"I will?" said Rook.

Lace shrugged again. She was doing that a lot. Like it was all just old hat to her. "Sene is close to Morrigan," she said. "And she also has Lady Nightingale, the best Spymaster in all of Thedas. I guarantee that she knows all about this by now, everything that's happened. And she'll also know, too, that you're the one leading the charge here, Rook. She'll know that Solas is trapped in the Fade, and that you're the only one who can talk to him. So, of course, she's gonna wanna meet you. Probably soon. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if, when you go to meet Morrigan at the Cobbled Swan in a couple days, she'll be there, too. Then again, who knows? She's got her hands full. Given everything my ma said in her last letter, the south is...under siege. There's a bad fight there, and lots of Blight. All hands on deck." Harding looked down into her tea, pensive, and then she looked at the floor. "I'm okay," she said, to no one. 

"Is your mother safe?" said Emmrich, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, like she was terribly relieved that he asked.

"I think so," she said. "She went to Skyhold, with a lot of other people. I'm pretty sure that's where Sene is. Or, she goes back and forth a lot, with her Commander. Cullen. It's become like, a sanctuary. Like what this place used to be."

"Harding," said Rook. "I'm sorry. I didn't...I should have asked you about this earlier."

"It's okay, Rook," she said, smiling once more. "I get it. We have our hands full up here, too."

Emmrich straightened up then, and something about his massive height seemed to change the atmosphere. He seemed to know it, too. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Well, we should take our leave. Thank you, Lace. This has been most educational."

"Now that you know," she said to Rook, "what will you do? Are you gonna mention it, next time you see Solas?"

Rook thought about it. She could not picture it. Whenever she thought about him, about Solas, her mind twisted into a riddle, and she could no longer tell what was real. She had only ever seen him from far away, up on a huge pedestal, or in the Fade, where everything was grim, and he was removed from her grasp, as cold and hard as steel. He was a total stranger, and yet, she relied on him. In this moment, she felt hugely young, raw, spilled open, her guts all over the floor. She did not want to hurt the Dread Wolf. He was like a music box, rusted shut, and there was just something so strange about it. So pretty, this idea that he held inside of him this intense history. Love, sex, all the things that made him a man and not a god. "I don't know," she said to Harding. "I need to think on it."

"Well, goodnight," said Lace. "See you in the morning. Lucanis is making breakfast so, don't miss it."

Outside, Rook and Emmrich stood at the center of the midnight courtyard and stared up at the enormous idol of Fen'Harel. Oddly now, standing here in front of this enormous statue, her thoughts turned away from Solas and instead settled with the man by her side. It was so strange, she thought. From the very first day she met him, he disarmed her. He took her guard completely down, and he told her to light brassieres and they fought demons, and they were talking to spirits. She said hello to a little wisp, and it had made her heart beat strangely. He told her he had never been out of Nevarra, and he seemed starved for adventure, and yet, it had been him who'd swept her off her feet, took her on a grand field trip through the Necropolis, this well of magic, everywhere, all the time, living and breathing with a mind of its own. He had opened her eyes that day.

He was older, but she didn't much care. He did not treat her like a child. Sometimes, he did treat her like a student. But he did that to everyone, and in any case, it was never condescending. It's just who he was. The professor. He was not steel, nor was he even terribly guarded. He did not give in to her easily though, that was for sure. He moved slowly, deliberately, all those times she would go to talk to him, ask him questions about what he thought about all of this, about the Veil. He kept his distance until it really mattered, as if every choice he made would determine who they were, together, and in this, she knew that she could trust him. 

"What do you think of all this, Rook?" he said then, smiling at her. "Have your opinions of Solas changed in any way?"

"A little," she said. "I need to sleep on it. I just...I realize that I don't know him at all. He barely even seems like a person sometimes, let alone a man who could...well, you know."

Emmrich held out his hand then, and from his palm, he snapped a little wisp, white and pure. It buzzed around her nose and landed in her hair like a bug, and she laughed. "Do you like it?" he said, very debonair.

"Yes," she said.

"You know, Inquisitor Lavellan is not a mage either," he said, growing pensive, his brow furrowed. "She was at the Conclave, sent as a representative for her clan, which, as I recall, is fairly important in the Free Marches. They own a great deal of land there. Even still, she was one lowly elf among an entire Chantry. She was certainly judged, and certainly alone. There are records, which state that, after the explosion at the temple, which resulted in the death of Divine Justinia, the Seekers of Truth wanted to arrest her for apostasy, for treason, for murder. You name it. She was ostracized far before she was ever beloved. And she was young when the Inquisition began, only twenty, if I recall from the literature, and the Chantry experts distrusted her immensely, even after she was named Inquisitor. Many were especially critical of her as the prophetic Herald of Andraste . But others believed, and among them, I imagine, Solas. He followed her. He loved her. Just like with this place, he desired to warm her heart, to make her feel comfortable, at home in an icy, mean, judgmental landscape. Perhaps because he understood what that meant? To be so ostracized, so fantastically alone. Part of that was the butterflies, I imagine, and that is why they linger still. That little wisp I just conjured up, you said you like it. Does it bring you warmth, Rook? Joy?"

Rook held it in her hand now, like a little poof of cool, calm energy. It seemed to vibrate with admiration, glowing up at her, like it was alive. "It does," she said. She set it free then, and it disappeared. "Thank you, Emmrich."

"Whatever the Dread Wolf is or isn't," he went on, "I think it is clear by now that he is, ultimately, just a man. He has desires, needs, and she fulfilled them, as he fulfilled hers. These were needs that had either not been fulfilled before, or not in some time. She thawed his heart, and he kept her safe, and they found a home in one another. Even if it was short-lived, it is more than most will possess in their lifetimes."

Rook felt impulsive then. She could hear the words that he was saying, and she knew that he was right, but she was lost in the feeling and the sound. She wanted to express herself. She wasn't shiny or particularly eloquent like he was. Definitely not a poet. She didn't have beautiful things to say or magical creatures she could conjure into the air. But she did have action. She had always been good at just...doing things. No fear. She slid her hand into his then. He looked down right away, at their fingers mingled together, like he was startled, and then he looked at her, laid bare. 

She said, "Is it okay? I don't know what to say. I just...I want to show you how I feel."

He was very soft then, his eyes dark and filled with a hidden sadness, which tempted her. What was it? Where did it live? What did it see? He picked up her hand, and he closed his eyes and brought her knuckles to his lips. It disarmed her and made her weak, and she sort of shivered. Their eyes met. He said, quietly, "Language can be superfluous in times like these, dear Rook. But, please, know that I feel it, too."

So, she kissed him, in front of the Dread Wolf statue at midnight, in the Fade. She had to stand on her tallest tiptoes to do it. At first, just like with the handhold, he was taken aback, but he quickly molded to her, his other hand on her jaw, as he touched her ear with tenderness. It was not devouring. It was pure. Tallest mage, so full of compassion. He seemed to unlock for her that night, a click and release.

Rook did not have much to hide. She didn't understand people who did. But she could try. That night, Emmrich walked her back to her room, and they shared one more kiss before parting until morning. She sat down on the couch in the blue, aqueous light of her quarters, vibrating and giddy, and watched the fish do their little immortal dancing. She thought about Inquisitor Lavellan, twenty years old, a Dalish elf in the Chantry, and how lonely that must have felt for her. How scary, how out of place she was and the deep, impending desire to return to the home that she knew, somehow, she would never really see again. Not as it once was, as a child. But then, there was a man who came along and made it feel okay to just be alive, no matter how you did it, or how new you were to the world. A man who seemed to know everything, who could stand so tall, and yet, who nursed inside of him a heart so true that it could not be contained. And so they were consumed by possession, discovery, desire. 

*This story, though it stands alone, is also a part of my Solavellan fic Riptide.

[firecrackerroot]

My hand slipped, a little bit. In fairness, Agatha had bought that specific gift more so for her own enjoyment than the comfort of her child. Would she ever admit such a thing aloud? Probably not. However, as soon as Rio destroyed the wrapping paper and stared at the box, she knew exactly what had gone through Agatha’s mind. Biting her lower lip, Agatha shrugged any remaining guilt away and Rio chuckled.

“Is this how you want to see me?” Rio asked and Agatha’s smile only widened, kissing the top of young Nicholas' head while holding their son tighter. “I think it’s kind of cool, actually.”

“Put it on, then.” The tone of Agatha’s voice probably shouldn’t have been as coarse but then again, it was just them in the room. Everyone else had already left to let the baby rest after a very festive first Christmas.

“It says in the box he’s too young for this kind of fun, Agatha.”

“Okay, so? He’ll grow into it by next summer.” With a wave, Agatha pushed a little more. “Now put it on, let me see it in you.”

“Fine, fine.” Shaking her head in disbelief, Rio took off her jacket and opened the box. After adjusting the straps in what seemed to be the right measure for her figure, she gave Agatha one more look. “Anything for you, mama.”

“Oh.” Agatha pursed her lips, emotions were still running all over the place and that simple word always got her feeling a certain way. “Just do it.”

Leaving her wife and son in the living room, Rio found the nearest mirror in the house and put the baby carrier on. Taking a moment to inspect herself on each side, ensuring everything was in place, she returned to their family space and picked up the first pillow from the couch, shoving it inside.

“Would you look at that?” Chuckling, Agatha held her hand out for Rio to assist her in getting up from the couch and, carefully as to not startle baby Nicholas awake, she gave the stand-in pillow a squeeze. “He should fit here just fine.”

“And do I look fine?” Rio’s question got Agatha’s smile to turn into a smirk, rivaling the one from Cheshire’s Cat. “Because that’s why you got this, isn’t it?”

“You look like a dream come true, my love.”

Between kisses, months passed by and Nicholas, as predicted, grew into the carrier by the summer. At first Rio would barely move at all, afraid she’d disturb him, but over time she learnt that he enjoyed sharing activities with her. Months turned into a year, and then two, which was the age limit for that specific carrier if it wasn’t for the fact that they had used it so often Agatha decided to gift Rio with a new one. By that point in time, Nicky had already said his first words, one of them being “kango” or “rooroo”, which they soon learnt was short for kangaroo, the name of his carrier.

One day, after a long and nearly infernal day at work, Agatha returned home to find exactly what she’d always dreamt of seeing. In the kitchen, preparing dinner for the family, stood Rio, with her back turned to the door. She was humming a song, as per usual, and swaying in the way that meant she wasn’t alone. There was someone in the pouch, dancing and cooking with her. After doing a half twirl, to reach the kitchen island and pick up the tray for the pancakes, Agatha saw Rio in her full splendor: lazy shorts and tshirt, kangaroo carrier and Nicky, holding a spatula for his mommy to use.

“Surprise!” Agatha said, making herself noticeable despite having already been caught staring by the door. “My lady.” She added, blowing a kiss to Rio before looking down at their smiling son. “My prince.”

“Mama!” Nicky giggled, waving the spatula up and down while kicking his little feet in excitement.

“Yes, buddy!” Picking up the spatula from his hand before it got sent flying across the room, Rio turned back to the stove. “We have to finish dinner first, remember?”

“Panpan!”

“Exactly.” Flipping the pancakes from the pan to the tray, Rio moved as quickly as possible. “Pancakes for three.” She continued, stacking them up.

“Breakfast for dinner, uh?” Agatha asked, placing a hand on Rio’s shoulder and a kiss on top of Nicky’s head.

“You said you had a bad day,” Turning around just enough to face Agatha, the two shared a quick kiss. “Figured this would lift your spirits.”

“Everything about this,” Agatha gestured with both hands, over the pancakes and her wife carrying their son in her kangaroo. “Is enough to make anything bad go away. Works like a charm.”

“Just like magic.”

“Just like magic.” Smiling from ear to ear, Agatha placed a tender kiss on Rio’s cheek. “I love you.” She whispered.

“Love you more.”

read THIS immediately for agathario tooth rotting fluff

[whatspastisprologue-blr]

I stayed up far too late last night to watch S1E1 of The Newsreader on AMC+ because I'm making it my mission to watch other things IWTV actors have done and...

I love it! I was so disappointed there was only one episode so far because I NEED MORE! I think I went through the full range of human emotion at least once in that single episode. I was laughing, cheering, yelling profanity and creative threats at some of the characters, hugging my pillow, collapsing sideways onto the couch. My heart broke. I kept pausing it to appreciate a detail I'd noticed. I was a mess!

Like, the show is set in the 80s but the show itself has a very 80s vibe, so I was just taking in the costuming and set design. These characters go through, or watch, very real things (like the Challenger explosion) and then go report on it, proud they've done a good job doing so (which, yeah, it's their job; I just found it jarring). The old has-been reporter complaining about glamor in the news to the old boss guy while Helen's absence from the screen results in a severe ratings drop. The has-been reporter dude's wife so far seeming like a "pick me" and so far not getting any praise for it. Modernizing the way the news is presented and the folks holding it back. Helen is amazing.

But Dale.... Like, Dale and Lestat are played by the same person, so of course there's going to be similarities in appearance. There were definitely a few expressions I noticed that were the same. And while I'm keeping in mind keeping in mind that we've barely seen the real Lestat, I had fun seeing all the differences as well as the things that could be shared. At first, I just really wanted to know what made the IWTV casting director look at him, playing this awkward dork with questionable singing ability, and say, "Ah, yes, this guy should be the Vampire Lestat. The vampire. The one who becomes a rock star."

And then I realized that he spent a good chunk of the episode's start running around on the verge of a panic attack, he cried multiple times, and he just has major heart eyes for Helen, who I assume is his love interest. Like, I think he'd do whatever she told him (at least for now). And suddenly things began to click into place.

I just remember sitting there listening to Dale sing in the car and being impressed that the same actor, a few years later, would do, "Long Face".

Anyway, that's my rambling for now. Can't wait for more episodes!

Oh, actually, one more thing, because I'm curious. Is anyone else ever surprised by how deep Sam's voice is? It's happened to me a few times when I've done IWTV rewatches: I get caught off guard because his voice is always deeper than I expected. And then it happened again with S1E1 of The Newsreader. And it's not that I expect him to have a high pitched voice or anything; I just forget it's *that deep*. I don't know why. Is it just me?

[eternalera]

megumi birthday headcannons <333

He hates his birthday, despises it with a passion, this is mainly because of Gojo and just stemming from the fact that he never really cared about the day that he was born in the first place. After all he didn't really know when it was until Gojo showed up and insisted that he knew. The man then did some digging into his birth records and... yeah it was soon found out

Tsumiki always made a big deal of his birthday to try and 'cheer him up a bit' and since he always prepared well for her birthday's she wanted to prepare something amazing for his. Which usually consisted of a trip to the park to watch the animals, and some sweets (which Megumi barely ate and then when Gojo came... I'm sure you can figure it out)

He doesn't really care too much about presents unless they're really thoughtful or they're something that he really wants (which he doesn't want a lot and good job trying to get it out of him)

He's just the type of person to say 'i dont want anything' whenever you ask him what he want's as a gift

Gojo always bought him the most expensive shit for his birthday, toys and stuff like that but once he saw that Megumi didn't really care for stuff like that he started giving him more practical (yet still silly) shirts and clothing for him to wear and whenever he sees him wearing it he teases him

Tsumiki and Gojo plan surprise parties for Megumi on his birthday so often that it's not really a surprise anymore

Once Tsumiki fell into a coma though those surprise parties turned more into Gojo just trying to get Megumi to do anything for his birthday

This is because Gojo and Tsumiki basically made a pact a while back to cheer Megumi up and always make him have fun at no matter the cost and thats kinda why they threw the surprise parties and it's why Gojo continues doing it now

Once Yuuji and Nobara came along Megumi did not tell them when his birthday was

They found out from Gojo who came into class one day with a plethora of birthday stuff and began singing happy birthday to Megumi

Megumi was not amused

Nobara and Yuuji then proceeded to harass a poor Megumi for an extremely long amount of time before Nobara just went 'ah well guess i dont have to get you a gift now'

Meanwhile Yuuji went 'I DIDNT GET YOU ANYTHING IM SUCH A BAD FRIEND NOOOOO'

They went shopping for Megumi and halfway through they lost Nobara (she began shopping for herself)

Megumi and Yuuji were left alone and both wondering that if this was technically a date

It practically was

BACK TO GENERAL HEADCANNONS

Megumi still tells no one when his birthday is so Yuuji and Nobara plan parties for him all of the time

When Megumi and Yuuji started dating Yuuji began panicking whenever Megumi's birthday would come up because he didn't know what to get him and that made him a 'bad boyfriend who didnt deserve megumi'

Nobara is practically Yuuji's therapist during such trying times

Nobara gets Megumi random shit, like literally whatever vaguely reminds her of him or something that she thinks that he might like, although sometimes she'll shop for herself, give Megumi something and if he doesn't like it then she'll take it

Yuuji planned a date for Megumi's birthday one time and everyone followed them around the whole time (Megumi knew, Yuuji didn't)

anywaysss HAPPY BIRTHDAY GUMI!!

[undercoverdonderwolk]

Far be it for me to ever give Helmut credit, but I completely agree with your latest post on him looking to bring legitimacy back to the junior academy. I think one of the stupidest, most illogical things they did was ever signing Checo to begin with - a complete outsider, with (already then) a reputation as a pay driver and menial results. He had a good few drives/wins under his belt but he never (in my eyes) fit the Red Bull mythos no matter how hard they tried.

Grated I know Alex and Pierre hadn’t panned out for them, and is maybe they didn’t want to risk another junior against Max. But then, there was no reason to resign him in 2023, and doubly-stupid for giving him a contract all the way through to 2026! By that point, Daniel was back into the fold (a graduate or their academy himself and someone who embodied the rb brand and everything it used to represent). He was also regularly outqualifiying Checo in an AT. It makes me wonder how different it all could have been had he not broken his hand when he did.

I think though, Helmut would have never let him back into the seat. He was too bitter over daniel leaving them and I think it led to a “couldn’t see the forest for the trees” situation. Helmut was against Daniel coming back from the jump, and so all of the utility he would bring to the team (his partnership with max, his popularity/goodwill when RBR were kind of failing on that front, his technical feedback and ability to bring back a unified development direction) didn’t matter to him. It was Christian’s hubris that led to him being outplayed sure, but it was Marko’s bitterness and inability to see past it that truly sealed Daniel’s fate.

he wasn't against daniel from the jump though and i'm surprised at how common that line of thinking is in dirlie circles, when marko was the one who immediately got rid of nyck after daniel's test. fired him himself, three seconds after he got the intel about daniel's results. he also was v much in the camp of firing yuki over winter break, not daniel. i really don't think marko was bitter, or that it played a major role. maybe it shifted the odds a centimeter but mostly it was about marko wanting to protect the original red bull idea in the midst of horner trying to step away from the original red bull idea. daniel very quickly became a symbol for the direction horner wanted to go in, which was the opposite direction of what marko wanted and how red bull started in the first place, and that's why he went as hard against daniel as he did this year. but that wasn't the case last year. he was fine with daniel

[bloody-bee-tea]

24 Days of MHA 2024 Day 21 - Fucking bullshit

Shouta just bundled himself up in his sleeping bag, ready to sleep the break away, with Hizashi’s soft humming in his ear when it knocks on the door to the teacher’s lounge.

Shouta cracks one eye open because with his luck it’s going to be one of his problem children who started the apocalypse or something but he lets Hizashi get up to open the door.

He did not expect Shinsou to be on the other side.

“Hey, kiddo,” Hizashi greets him. “What’s up?”

Shouta watches how Shinsou wrings his hands in front of his chest, how his eyes dart all over the place and he starts extracting himself from the warm cocoon of his sleeping bag. This will not be over quick, even though he never expected Shinsou to be one of his problem kids.

He had hoped that starting out in Gen Ed saved the boy from that particular curse but clearly he was wrong.

“I need your help,” Shinsou finally mutters and Hizashi looks back at Shouta, who waves him in.

“Come here, kid. What is it?” Shouta says, his voice rougher than usual because he was just falling asleep but he’d never send one of his kids away and especially not Shinsou and most certainly not after he so plainly asked for help.

“I—” More hand-wringing, more eyes darting all over the place and Shouta wonders what the kid could have possibly done to be this worried. “I really need your help.”

“And you have it,” Hizashi reassures him because it’s not even a question that they are going to help with whatever it is.

But they need to know what it is, first.

“Tell us what’s going on,” Shouta encourages him and Shinsou takes a deep breath, which does clearly nothing to relax him.

“My foster mother, she’ll be going to the police later to accuse me of using my quirk against her husband. I really—with my quirk, it’s not going to go over well and I really need help.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that short explanation but for now Shouta and Hizashi only share a look before they nod.

“Of course,” Hizashi then says and pats Shinsou’s shoulder.

“Did you?” Shouta asks, because he has to and because the police will, too, but he can admit that the betrayed look Shinsou gives him hurts. “You will be asked that, a lot. So better get used to it now.”

“I didn’t,” Shinsou whispers out, because of course he didn’t, he would never, Shouta knows that but clearly the foster mother has it out for him if she’s going to accuse him of that.

“Why would she think you do?”

“My foster father’s started to act cagey around her so of course I’m the first to be blamed.”

That’s rather disturbing, really, if Shouta thinks too hard about that.

“Do you know why he’s acting like that?” Shouta doesn’t have much hope for an answer here but to his surprise Shinsou nods.

“He thinks I’m stupid and I’m not allowed to talk at home, so he isn’t as careful around me. He’s having an affair.”

More things Shouta files away to inspect at a later date, but it’s really not painting a good picture for Shinsou’s living situation.

“Oh, boy,” Hizashi sighs out. “And I’m guessing if you were to expose that then both of them would accuse you of using your quirk on him,” he mutters, and Shinsou nods.

“I just—when the police sees my quirk they’ll believe her. I know they will because—”

“It happened before,” Shouta finishes for him when Shinsou seems lost for words and he had always wondered about that smirch on his record.

But of course quirk discrimination is still rampant everywhere and Shinsou has already confided in them that he’s been called a villain most of his life. It’s not a stretch to believe the police wrote him off without a proper investigation and purely based on one statement.

“I’m going to call Tsukauchi,” Shouta decides and gets his phone out, trusting Hizashi to explain who that is to Shinsou as he presses the phone to his ear.

“Eraser, please, no more emergencies with your kids. I’m a detective, not a babysitter,” Tsukauchi greets him and Shouta snorts out a laugh.

“Yeah, welcome to my world. I need a favour.”

“Of course you do,” Tsukauchi sighs out. “What is it?”

Shouta briefly explains the situation to Tsukauchi who lets out another deep sigh.

“What’s his address? I’m guessing his mother went to the nearest police station.”

“Foster mother,” Shouta corrects him because no mother would ever do that and then he relays the question to Shinsou.

“I know someone at the station there,” Tsukauchi says once he has Shinsou’s answer. “Let me check with them real quick and I’ll call you back.”

“Tsukauchi, we need you on that case,” Shouta says because with his quirk it’s easy to prove that Shinsou didn’t do anything wrong.

“I know. I will be. I just need to see if the foster mother already stopped by and what exactly it is she’s accusing him of.” He doesn’t give Shouta time to say anything before he hangs up and Shouta doesn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes as he pockets his phone again.

“Tsukauchi is on it. You’ll be just fine, kid,” Shouta says, and Hizashi must have explained who Tsukauchi is because Shinsou bursts into tears.

“Thank you,” he gets out between his sobs and Shouta shuffles closer to awkwardly press his shoulder to Shinsou’s.

He’s not great with physical comfort but when Shinsou leans heavily into him, he guesses he must have done something right.

“I’ll make some tea,” Hizashi softly says and then signs to Shouta ‘And call CPS’.

Shouta nods, because that is not even a question. They will not allow Shinsou to stay with people who clearly have it out for him and what did they even get their foster licenses for if not this?

“You shouldn’t,” Shinsou mutters and Shouta frowns, because of course they need some tea in this situation but then Shinsou pushes away from him. “They will just move me to a group home because there’s no other family that will want to take me after this. I’d rather stay with them.”

Shouta and Hizashi share a surprised look before Hizashi signs ‘You understand sign?’

“I’ve been muzzled for most of my childhood. Had to learn to communicate somehow,” Shinsou says with a shrug as if that isn’t the most devastating news he could have delivered.

“Shinsou, if your foster mother really is going to accuse you of that, there’s no way we’re letting you go back there,” Shouta tries to explain, but all it serves to do is make Shinsou curl in on himself.

“Kiddo, we’re licensed foster parents,” Hizashi cuts in before Shouta can awkwardly fumble his way around anything else. “You’ll have to be moved after this and we just wanted to make sure you’ll be moved to us.”

“You—can do that?” Shinsou breathes out and Hizashi shrugs.

“We’re already pulling strings with Tsukauchi. What’s one more, right?”

Shinsou turns towards Shouta.

“And you’d—want to?”

“Of course we do, kid,” Shouta says and reaches out to ruffle Shinsou’s hair. “If we had known your situation was that bad we would have brought it up earlier, but we thought you were fine in your current home. We didn’t want to barge in where we’re not wanted.”

“I—nothing about that home is fine,” Shinsou mutters and Hizashi huffs out a breath.

“Yeah, we realise that. But no worries, we’ve got you. By the time this is over, you’ll be staying with us.”

Shouta nods but before he can say anything, his phone rings. Tsukauchi is calling back.

“She already came in and gave her statement. I need Shinsou here to take his statement.” Shouta really appreciates Tsukauchi’s brusque nature and he clasps Shinsou’s shoulder.

“We’ll be by in thirty.”

“You have classes,” Shinsou weakly protests but Shouta doesn’t pay him any mind.

“You or me?” he asks Hizashi who looks between Shinsou and Shouta for a moment.

“You,” he then decides and gives Shinsou a smile. “I’ll just make sure everyone knows not to expect either of you back today.” He gives them his horrendous finger guns but Shouta thinks he can excuse it this one time, because it makes Shinsou smile slightly.

“Alright, kid, off we go then,” Shouta says and pushes Shinsou out of the room.

The ride to the police station is silent, though Shouta spots Shinsou wringing his hands in his lap more than once and he wishes he could tell the kid to stop worrying but he knows that’s not in Shinsou’s nature.

He’s a natural worrier, Shouta came to learn that much during their training and he guesses with what he now knows of Shinsou’s living situation and his childhood it’s only understandable that he second guesses his every move.

When they finally arrive at the station, Tsukauchi is already waiting for them.

“Eraser, Shinsou,” he greets them and then leads them into a conference room almost immediately.

Shouta is thankful that it isn’t an interrogation room because that would have only spooked Shinsou more.

“Alright,” Tsukauchi starts once they are all seated. “Shinsou, your foster mother accused you of using your quirk against your foster father, making him change his behaviour around her. Now, I’ll ask you a bunch of questions and with my quirk Lie Detector we’ll quickly verify if any of that is true, alright?”

Shinsou nods, though he’s still tense and Shouta shuffles a bit closer.

If he can provide at least a little comfort like this, he’ll do it.

“I’ll need verbal answers from here on out, because otherwise my quirk doesn’t work, understood?”

“Yes,” Shinsou mutters and Tsukauchi gets out a dictation device.

“We’ll be recording everything and after every answer you give I’ll state if it’s true or not. Like that, there’s really nothing your foster mother can do and the charge against you will be dropped.”

Tsukauchi just rose several ranks higher in Shouta’s regard, because he doesn’t seem to believe that Shinsou did what his foster mother accused him of and for that Shouta is thankful.

“Okay,” Shinsou says and squares his shoulders as if he’s marching off into battle.

Shouta resigns himself for a passive role in this, because he’s here for moral support and nothing else. Hizashi might have been better for this, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.

“Your foster mother accused you of using your quirk against her husband. Are you aware of that?”

“Yes,” Shinsou gives back. “She told me she would this morning when he slipped out without even looking at her.”

“True. Told you?”

Shinsou winces and Shouta just hopes that Hizashi isn’t too busy with classes to call CPS.

“Screamed at me, more like. She threw a glass at me, too.”

“True. Did you get hurt?”

“Shallow cut on my shoulder.” Shinsou shrugs it off as if it doesn’t mean anything to him, as if that is just a normal occurrence and Shouta feels sick to his stomach to imagine a kid—and especially Shinsou who he may have grown more attached to than he should—in a situation like that.

He makes a mental note to check the kid over later, but he fears that he’s rather adept at first aid by now.

“True. Did you use your quirk on your foster father to make him behave in a certain way?”

Here, Shinsou hesitates and both Shouta and Tsukauchi note it with worry.

“I haven’t used my quirk on Yamamoto,” Shinsou finally says and Shouta holds his breath.

“True.” Tsukauchi hesitates. “Have you ever used your quirk on anyone who was in charge of taking care of you?” he then asks and Shouta feels his eyes flare because what the fuck does this have to do with anything?

“Tsukauchi,” Shouta warningly says but Tsukauchi doesn’t back down.

“I have to ask this.”

“Fucking bullshit,” Shouta spits out even as Shinsou shrinks deeper into his chair. “This has nothing to do with anything.”

“You know how this is going to look,” Tsukauchi gives back, just as heated. “We won’t be the only  ones who noticed this clarification. It’s not a good look and if this gets brought up later, someone can spin it around. Better to get it out now.”

Shouta hates that Tsukauchi has a point and it doesn’t help that Shinsou is deathly pale right now.

Shouta and Tsukauchi glare at each other for a moment before Shouta backs down, dragging his chair over to Shinsou’s until their shoulders touch.

“I’m on your side, kid, no matter what,” Shouta says because even if Shinsou used his quirk on anyone, with what he learned today about his childhood Shouta guesses he was more than justified, even if maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do.

“Shinsou, please answer the question. Have you ever used your quirk on anyone who was in charge of taking care of you?”

“Yes.” Shinsou’s voice is thin and shaky and Shouta startles when a trembling hand clutches his sleeve.

“True,” Tsukauchi says and he sounds decidedly unhappy about it.

“If you do not ask for his reason right now, I’m going to forget myself,” Shouta shortly says and now Tsukauchi looks about as unhappy as he sounds.

“Why did you use your quirk on anyone? To protect yourself?”

“No, I—” Shinsou takes a deep breath or at least tries to because it continues to come out rapid and short. “I never used it to protect myself.”

“True,” Tsukauchi says, now with a frown on his face but Shouta can already guess where this is going.

Of course Shinsou would never do it for himself; for someone else though—the kid wants to be a hero. Of course he’d try to protect someone else.

“What did you use your quirk for?”

Shinsou curls in on himself, and Shouta can’t help himself, he puts his arm around Shinsou and pulls him close.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Shinsou struggles to breathe for a moment before he basically slumps against Shouta.

“I—there was—in a previous family,” he haltingly starts. “The foster father there—he—” Shinsou cuts himself off and Shouta sees him gripping his own arm so tightly his fingers turn white. “I had a little sister there,” Shinsou finally gets out and Shouta goes cold with horror.

He’s worked enough years as an underground hero to understand where this is going and judging by Tsukauchi’s suddenly pale face he knows it, too.

“It—it took me a while to realise but once I did I—whenever he told us to go to sleep, I told him the same. It worked, for a while, until I fucked up and he realised. He kept me muzzled after that and—”

Shinsou breaks off with a sob and Shouta tightens his arm around him.

“True,” Tsukauchi finally says, because he has to, but Shouta still hates him for it. “How old were you? What was his name?”

It’s unthinkable, imagining what that guy could still be doing right now but Shinsou shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he gets out between his tears. “One night she—he’s paralyzed from the neck down and she’s dead.”

Shouta lets out his own shuddering breath and wonders if the kid ever went to therapy. With all the things Shouta learned today, he thinks it’s no longer optional, really.

“True,” Tsukauchi mutters and then stops the recording before he nods at Shouta and takes his leave with a muttered “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” Shouta says, because what else is there to say and Shinsou continues to cry, pressed close to Shouta.

“I just—I just wanted to protect her,” he eventually cries out and Shouta hums.

“I know. And you did the best you could,” he reassures him, because Shinsou did and he suffered for it, too.

Shinsou eventually calms down and once he does he seems worn out, completely drained of the little energy he usually has.

“What now?” he wants to ask and Shouta shrugs.

“Now I’m going to text Hizashi and then I’m going to take you home.”

“Home. Back to—them?”

“No,” Shouta denies immediately because there is no way he’s letting Shinsou back there. Who knows what that woman is going to do when she learns that her complaint has been brushed off. “I’m taking you home with me.”

Shouta trusts that Tsukauchi will have the necessary paperwork ready for him by the time they leave and Shouta gets his phone out to text Hizashi as well.

‘If the CPS gives you trouble burn it to the ground’ he types and immediately receives a thumb up emoji. ‘And ask Hound Dog if he has time to take on Shinsou or if he knows a therapist who could.’

‘That bad?’

‘Worse’, Shouta texts back and he will explain everything to Hizashi later but this is not something to be done over text. ‘I’m taking him home’.

‘You do that. Tell the little listener to get some rest’, Hizashi writes back and Shouta relays the message to Shinsou.

“I feel as if I could sleep for days now,” Shinsou admits and it must be a novel feeling for Shinsou, going by the eyebags.

“Then let’s do that,” Shouta decides and leads them out of the conference room.

Tsukauchi is waiting for them with the necessary paperwork that puts Shinsou in his preliminary care until the CPS can make it official and just like that they are out of the station and on their way home.

Shouta doubts that things will be easy and he is under no illusion that they only just scratched the surface of all the traumatic shit Shinsou went through until now, but he is safe with them now and Shouta and Hizashi will do their best to give Shinsou the loving home he deserves.

[wordingg]

I gave a shot at filling the "ball that's stuck in a loop" prompt. Sorry it's a bit short. I'm going to add on to it, so long as I have time. I've been on a big regency romance kick lately, so your first fic prompt felt like a perfect fit.

"What's that?" Charles asked as he watched Edwin's eyes scan over the card he had just opened for the third time.

Edwin looked up, a furrow between his thick brows that usually meant he was sincerely baffled.

"An invitation," he answered, "to a ball," he added with skepticism.

Charles popped up from his seat on the couch to take the card, which Edwin held out to him. The card was made of some kind of fancy heavy paper with a sort of textured surface. He scanned the short message.

Missus Agatha Green humbly requests the presence of Mister Edwin Payne and Mister Charles Rowland at his annual Yule Ball on December 25th, 8 o'clock Netherfield Park

Charles eyebrows were nearly at his hairline by the time he finished reading.

"Well," he said after a moment. "That something, isn't it?" he said as he handed the note back to Edwin. "Do we know a mister Henry Green?"

"Not to my knowledge," Edwin said slowly, still frowning down at the card.

"Should we go?" Charles asked.

Edwin's eyes shot to him in surprise. Charles grinned back at him.

"We got an invitation, didn't we? Why shouldn't we go?" he asked.

"For myriad reasons," Edwin said with a raised eyebrow. The furrow between his brows was gone, though, which Charles counted as a success. "For one, it may be an elaborate trap. For two, it may be an incredible bore," Edwin said with an acerbic look at the invitation itself, like he hoped whoever had sent it might have heard him.

"Come on! A ball sounds loads of fun. Never been to a ball before. Might be nice," Charles said with a wistful expression that he hoped Edwin didn't see through. Judging by the slightly flustered expression that fluttered across Edwin's features, he didn't. Charles suppressed a grin as Edwin sighed and rose from his chair behind the desk, tapping the edge of the card against the palm of his hand.

"I suppose it would be rude to decline. Seeing as we have no other plans for the date in question," Edwin said dismissively. Charles grinned at him until his mouth quirked up in the corner. They were going to a ball!

---

The evening of December 25th found Charles and Edwin both standing on the steps of Netherfield Hall in Hertfordshire at 8 pm sharp.

The building itself was a huge red brick construction. It was likely a country house of some well off lord in the century before Edwin was born. The building and grounds were well tended, the garden quaint and pretty even at night in the dead of winter. It had two rows of windows indicating at least two floors, plus windows in the roof, which likely meant the attic was furnished for servant housing, as was common in Edwin's time. Each window was glowing with a flickering candle flame even though the white lace curtains were pulled closed, an incredible fire hazard. Edwin assumed magic was at play to stop the entire place from going up in flames.

"Did we get the date wrong?" Charles asked hesitantly, pulling the invitation from his bag to double-check.

Edwin didn't bother to glance at the card, as he knew that the date and time were perfectly correct. Though he couldn't fault Charles for doubting himself. The garden and house seemed completely serene and motionless, after all. Not quite the sight one would expect at a ball just getting under way.

"Perhaps we should just head inside," Edwin sighed, already dreading whatever awaited them within. A trick or a trap seeming more likely all the time.

Whatever Edwin was expecting, it wasn't what they found.

The second that Edwin phased through the large front door, Charles right on his heel, he found himself in the midst of a festive event already underway.

The foyer of Netherfield Park was aglow with candlelight, tall delicate candles fitted into every wall sconce, chandelier and atop pine bough and holly centerpieces on the tables. Speaking of pine, boughs of pine and holly festooned the tops of all the windows, doors, and wound its way around the banister edging the staircase leading to the second floor, the holly berries glittering red in the warm glow of the candles. Then there were the people. There were tens of people in the foyer alone, all in period dress, all ignoring Edwin and Charles as they stood frozen in the doorway.

"Whoah, Edwin!" Charles exclaimed from behind Edwin's left shoulder, where he usually stationed himself. "Looking posh there, mate," Charles added, Edwin able to hear the grin in his voice.

Confused, Edwin looked down at himself. He expected to his everyday outfit of wool suit jacket with waistcoat over shirtsleeves with breeches and stockings and his great coat over all. What he saw instead was something that would have looked more common in his grandfather's closet than on his own person.

"What," Edwin spat, then ran out of words, something that didn't happen to him often.

Charles was snickering, so Edwin spared him a venomous look. But, then he was too busy staring to put much venom into it.

Charles was dressed much the same as Edwin, though he managed to make Edwin's grandfather's clothes look much nicer than he did himself.

Dressed in a glossy maroon tailcoat, with matching brocade waistcoat and shining brass buttons, Charles was looking very handsome indeed. He had a bright crimson cravat tied at his neck that surely Edwin's grandfather could have expounded on whatever complicated knot made it curl so appealingly against Charles' sharp chin. This was matched to a pair of tightly fit slate gray pantaloons tucked into shining black knee-high boots.

Edwin swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth. Certainly, men of George IV's time wouldn't have worn such sinfully tight pants. Certainly.

There was one thing that was wrong, though. Frowning, Edwin tapped his own ear for Charles. Eyes going big and round, Charles slapped his hand over his own corresponding ear and briefly looked shocked and upset.

"Oi!" he said loud enough to attract the attention of the various lords and ladies in the foyer. "Where's my earring!?"

"Whatever magic was used to change our appearance must have affected it, as well," Edwin said with a thoughtful frown. "Though, what sort of magic can force a ghost to appear in a way other than they intend, I do not know."

"Well, they can sod off. The earring is non-negotiable," Charles snapped, an unusual occurrence, but as it was not meant for him, Edwin took no offense.

Taking a deep breath, Charles closed his eyes. Edwin had seen him do so many times in the past to adjust his own appearance. Charles had a set of clothing and accessories he preferred, but those had shifted and changed subtly over the years. Edwin, being much more a creature of habit than Charles, had been fascinated by his constant shifts in their early years working together. By this time, he was quite used to Charles' expression when he was changing his appearance.

Edwin waited patiently and warily as Charles' expression steadily shifted from calm to frustrated. Still, his ear remained empty of his usual earring. Edwin's frown became more pronounced.

After almost a full minute of trying to no effect, Charles' hands had curled into fists and his brows had knotted in the center. Cautiously eying the other people in the room, Edwin pressed his hand over Charles'. It had the desired effect of pulling Charles out of his apparently fruitless attempt to summon his earring back. Unfortunately, it had the very much not desirable effect of drawing whispers and widened eyes from the various people still standing in the foyer.

Drat.

Charles, bless him, was oblivious to the little stir their brief but affectionate touch had elicited. "Still not there, eh?" he asked with a lop sided smile.

"I'm afraid not," Edwin answered with a sympathetic frown and a wary glance at their riveted audience. "Perhaps we ought to search out the host of this ball. She might have some answers."

Charles brightened at that suggestion. "Great idea! Lead on, then," he said with a rakish grin and a fanciful bow that would have been more at home in a French court than an English country ball.

The titters recommenced, but Charles took no notice, even as they rose the hairs on the back of Edwin's neck. This was all rather too familiar for him, and he wanted nothing more than to sink through the floor. Unfortunately, client or not, it seemed they had a case to solve.

So, Edwin spun on his heel, using sheer willpower and spite to make his spine straight as a ruler and his chin as and proud as he could manage, and strode through the doors to his left and on to the ballroom.

Here's my DBDA Gift Exchange Wishlist! ❄️

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[pwurrz]

he’s spitting mad facts