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italeean · 2 years ago

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Hello! I saw the event while scrolling and decided to give it a shot!

Description: I do have a semi-intimidating presence, but I'm honestly rather shy. I don't really talk with many people, but the ones that I'm close with, I just act cuddly and bubbly with. I like playing video games a lot, as well as giving compliments and affection to my besties. I don't like dealing with very loud noises (ex. screaming).

I am a switch leaning lee.

Fandom: Genshin Impact

With a female please!

Hello Glaciaaa how're you doing? Thank you for participating, and sorry for making you wait so long... with my birthday coming up and my attempts to restore my social life after 2 years of studying with no breaks, I haven't been really active here on tumblr. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and you're more than welcome to let me know if you do! ❤️🍡 *some dango for you while you read my work*

🔮 For this event, your pair is... YAE MIKO

🔮 Why did I choose her for you?

• So... just as you're cuddly with the ones close to you, Yae has a bubbly side as well behind her teasy personality! • When she first laid her eyes on you, she almost sweet-talked you into being a shrine maiden, but you miraculously managed to keep up your cold façade and turned her down • The Kitsune wasn't really used to not getting what she wanted, which made you even more interesting in her eyes... what she didn't expect was to eventually fall in love with you • You were pretty surprised when she asked you out... according to Miko, your ears were as pink as hers actually hehe • I'm pretty sure that the tickling started a little before you had started dating, since Yae is a huge tease. You have probably been mostly on the receiving end, and only after the two of you started hanging out alone you managed to get your revenge • I'm sure she would love to watch other people being intimidated by you while she knows how goofy you can be... it would be one of her sources of amusement, but never at your expenses • You're also one of the few people she shows her soft side to... once you start complimenting her, you might even be lucky enough to see her flustered • Yae doesn't like being ignored, which is why she does everything she can to distract you... and unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, tickles are one of her favorite distraction techniques~ • You probably found out Miko's most ticklish spot while cuddling with her. You gave her scritches on her back, but your hand got to the lower back, close to the point where the tail is attached • I see her taking you out on cute little dates, like the ones you see on romance novels. Managing a publishing house surely helps to find inspiration for date ideas • The teasy demeanor she has with everyone might make you feel insecure, but she would give you as much reassurance as you need. I see her as a tease, but she's also a caring soul in her own way • If you tell this to anyone, she's probably gonna murder you in cold blood (/jk), but she lets you cuddle her tails to sleep if you struggle with falling asleep, if you had a bad day, or if you're just in the mood. You knew she really loved and trusted you when she gave you the honor of seeing her tails~

🔮 Tickle scenario

Normal days... waking up, getting ready for work, going back home, enjoying free time... You stopped having them when you started going out with Yae Miko.

She always added spice to your days, finding new ways to tease you every time. Sometimes you wondered how she was able to come up with certain lines, or to know which nerves to strike, or which buttons to push... it was like a gift, a quirk, a power given by Celestia... you weren't completely sure, but the only clear fact is that she got you every time, and no matter how much you tried to deny it, you loved it every single time.

Although there were times where you wanted to kick her pretty butt, like this one, for example.

"No. Absolutely not. No way!" You stomped your foot and crossed your arms, which made her chuckle with her usual teasy and smug-yet graceful demeanor. "Why not? We'd both benefit from this, and everyone would be enthusiastic to see a new face~" You glared at her and breathed sharply, "There's no way I'm impersonating Mrs Hina's best friend!!"

Yes, she was really asking you that. Mrs Hina's column and events were reaching extraordinary numbers of audience, so the Kitsune wanted to take advantage of that moment of glory and take more out of that business. Poor Gorou, you thought.

The banter went on until you stormed away completely embarrassed and even a little angry, and in that moment Miko understood that she had crossed the line. She noticed that many people were eavesdropping your conversation, and she understood why you seemed angry.

You were reading a book (better yet, you were pretending to read a book) when she came in. She seemed unbothered as always, but your keen eye could tell that her ears were hanging slightly lower than usual. You knew she was feeling bad, so you put your book away and waited for her to start talking.

"I may have exaggerated with the persuasion today..." She started, realizing how hard it was to apologize sometimes, "but I'm sorry for embarrassing you so much, this time I failed to see the line. Can you forgive me?" She sounded a little formal, but you knew she was sincere.

"No." You smirked; it was true that you could perceive her sincerity, but you still wanted to see her struggle just a little for once.

"Oh really now? Are you denying me my forgiveness?~"

Uh oh... you hadn't predicted this reaction from her, but you couldn't back down now. "Exactly. I'm denying your forgiveness." You replied with your best poker face, which wasn't that good actually.

You watched her approach you, with her proud bearing, her ominous smirk and her ears even more raised than ever. She swiftly pinned you to the bed, clearly indulging in her fox instincts for a second, and pulled up your shirt just enough to reveal your belly.

"Yae! What do you think you're doing??" You scoffed, making your best effort to suffocate the butterflies in your stomach and keep up your cold demeanor, but your struggle intensified when a single fingernail started drawings all kinds of shapes on your bare tummy.

"I think you know what I'm doing..." The pink-haired woman replied smugly, "since you don't wanna forgive me, I need a little persuasion." She stated with her usual mellifluous tone, then she leaned closer to your right ear and whispered "And I know this is your favorite method."

She chuckled at how you scrunched your shoulder and resumed her light, almost lazy tracing, enjoying how such a light touch made you struggle. However, you were a tough nut to crack and the ticklish feeling wasn't enough to win over your stubbornness.

But Yae knew that very well. In that moment, she lifted her hand and made a claw with it, then she held it right above your most sensitive spot. "Yae... YAE! Wait... w-we can talk about this... y-you don't need t- AAAAAHH NAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEAHASEEE"

She attacked without even the slightest warning, making you squeal, scream and squirm like you'd never done. She knew how to tickle you in the best way thanks to her wide experience in teasing you... she was genuinely curious to see how long you'd manage to resist.

You lasted five minutes, much more than usual, before finally giving in and forgiving her, and as much as she loved hearing you beg, she understood it was time to let you breathe.

When you recovered, she revealed her tails and gestured toward you to invite you to snuggle with them. You promptly accepted and threw yourself in that wonderful world of pink fluff.

"By the way," You said after a few minutes of cuddling, "if you want someone to be Mrs Hina's best friend, why don't you do it yourself? You surely are cute enough..." you smirked.

"My my... someone clearly didn't have enough tickles to stop being cheeky, huh?" At those words, you grabbed her hands at lightning speed, but her grin made you gulp.

Were you missing something?

In that moment, you felt something fluffy caressing your neck... and you remembered that you were surrounding by the Kitsune's tails.

"YAHAHAHAE NOHOHOHOOOO"

#350/400 followers event #tickle matchup event #genshin tickle #genshin impact tickle #genshin impact tickling #lee!reader #ler!reader #switch!reader #lee!yae #ler!yae #switch!yae

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sadprosed · 4 years ago

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𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬ OF FAIRYTALES, FOLKLORE AND FAEKIND.

scenarios inspired by various settings, encounters & magic tucked between pages, fashioned by the author.

+ feel free to change pronouns / roles !

FAIRYTALES.

‘ let me guess, you thought a true love’s kiss would help you. ’

‘ you will always follow the trail in the wood, and it will guide you on the same path, to the same cottage, the same witch. it will always be your undoing. ’

‘ i have never seen a more tragic creature. how might i help you ? ’

‘ you must take this knife and plunge it into his / her / their heart. ’

‘ forget yourself. that is how you break your curse. ’

‘ remove this thorn from my hand, and you will be rewarded. ’

‘ i’m tired of being a prince. i think i would actually enjoy being a frog. ’

‘ tell me of the beast, and i will hunt it for you. ’

‘ mice are never just mice, and pumpkins are rarely just pumpkins. ’

‘ i don’t think breaking a spell should be this simple. ’

‘ i never thought i’d return here, to the site where it all began. ’

‘ are you an orphan ? it’s just that they’re always finding themselves in magical predicaments. ’

‘ the mirror speaks falsely in your ear. it is your true curse. ’

‘ my heart feels uneasy, although i am free. is it supposed to ? ’

‘ i’m sorry, it’s just that i thought this is the part of the quest where the animals ought to start talking to me. ’

‘ of course i plan on going to the ball. why wouldn’t i ? ’

‘ jealousy has made more witches out of women than adam’s rib. ’

‘ where has choosing goodheartedness and having golden hair ever gotten you ? ’

‘ are you a helpful wizard, or the kind that sits in a tower reading moldy books ? ’

‘ i’m dreadfully bored. who knew waiting for a prince was so strenuous ? ’

‘ we all have towers we must leave, and magic that will try to thwart us. ’

‘ i’m afraid for the clock to strike. the hour will ring in the place of my heartbeat when we must be parted. ’

‘ i had no idea carpets could fly. or pigs for that matter. ’

‘ what would happen if the knight did not arrive to the castle, and the dragon made a den of it and a hoard of its people and prize of its princess ? ’

‘ i sometimes think i was switched out at birth, like a lizard in a bird’s nest. i belong somewhere else. ’

‘ in another kingdom exists a throne and a crown that is mine by right. ’

‘ if i did not wake up one day, i would still be waiting on a spinning wheel, dutifully bored. ’

‘ something in me knows you are here for my heart. ’

FOLKLORE.

‘ in all the myths i’ve heard, it’s never been worthwhile to approach strange sights. it’s best to turn around and pretend you never saw them. ’

‘ nothing is folklore until it exists longer than consciousness remembers, and lives in spite of it. ’

‘ i’ve heard your name before, in songs and lengthy ballads. ’

‘ whatever has led you here to me, there is destiny in its making. ’

‘ the beast returns every century or so, and tries to devour us. it will come again before long. ’

‘ a pretty face is not nothing. it earns you a hearth and a kind hand, after all. ’

‘ their lips are red as blood, and their teeth carve ruin into throats. ’

‘ aren’t dragons supposed to breathe fire and make a fuss about having their treasure found ? ’

‘ someday you will become a pilgrim, a saint, or a favored story, while i will be a voice on the wind. ’

‘ the stories say brides don’t live to the light before demons devour them. why should i become one ? ’

‘ there was another girl like you once, in a small town like this one. i can’t remember if she became the monster or died trying to escape it. ’

‘ remember to festoon the hearth with garlic, or rosemary, or one of those mundane herbs that keep evil out. ’

‘ that sounds like nothing but a tall tale, but i’m certain smaller minds would eat it up. ’

‘ to cross this bridge, you’ll have to pay a heavy toll. ’

‘ don’t stray too far from the path set before you, or something interesting might happen. ’

‘ i’ve passed that yard of crops a million times, but the crow never moved from its post until this morning. ’

‘ it is as though ancient fears are still in us like scars or stitches. ’

‘ graveyards aren’t where you find ghosts. look for them in places that feel like memories you shouldn’t have. ’

‘ stories reap princes from peasants as if their skins were crops in the ground. ’

‘ what form does your fear take ? surely not that of a bear or a lion. such things are too assuring. ’

‘ i found myself where everything was too familiar to be real. ’

‘ in safe beds on cold dark nights, we learn to face the monsters in our own minds. ’

FAEKIND.

‘ you’re not to partake in a fairy feast. don’t you know it’s the food that will devour you ? ’

‘ i’m sorry you did not read the eyes of the trees before finding yourself here. ’

‘ i wish to go back. i want to forget everything. ’

‘ you think that believing in us is enough to protect you ? that it will kill us if you forget, and we prey upon your unknowing ? ’

‘ step around the ring three times, like a backwards clock. that’s how you get to fairyland. ’

‘ i’ve never heard such sweet music before. ’

‘ where the trees begin to twist and groan in their roots, remember you must not make a right turn. ’

‘ i didn’t feel like i’d stepped into another world, but like it stepped into me. i knew i was there and forgot i’d left anything behind. ’

‘ how amusing. a human ! ’

‘ would you be my bride if i were to take you into the ground ? ’

‘ i know of tunnels you might take, the burrows of trolls and rabbits. ’

‘ don’t take anything from this realm, none of it is worth the price of keeping. ’

‘ there are courts by many titles in the lands beyond the veil, all of them other. ’

‘ names are not like currency here; they are more precious than diamonds and legacies. ’

‘ did you think all of us looked like goblins ? ’

‘ getting here is easy, but getting home is quite the trick. ’

‘ i shall give you a riddle, and it will puzzle you until you know the answer but forget your own soul. ’

‘ a bloodline is nothing when you’ve outlived civilizations. ’

‘ refusing my hospitality is like human sin, and it will bring worse upon you. ’

‘ everything here is and isn’t, and things are and aren’t. ’

‘ on lonely nights i stare into the trees, and a strange face leers back. ’

‘ the thrones here are made of bones and blood, and built upon decay. ’

‘ a third time is not a charm, but a bargain. it says that you want something enough to wager your sense. ’

‘ it is dangerous to think that magical beings do not have human intensities. ’

#rp memes #rp starters #dialogue prompts #dialogue meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #askbox meme #inbox meme #rp prompts #sentence prompts #fairytales #fairycore #folklore #faefolk #ask memes #rp ask meme #roleplay prompts #rp promp

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nikethestatue · 4 years ago

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Name Day

Thanks to @tswaney17 for the inspiration and the idea! Sometimes this is what happens one afternoon when we start thinking of Azriel’s and Elain’s baby’s names.

Her whimsical tale of Elain’s and Bryaxis’ friendship can be found here It’s a good prep for this story

This is the continuation of my Azriel and Elain’s baby story The Depth of Your Eyes which can be found here

No warnings. Fluff and babies.

Name Day

“Will you calm down?” Nesta asked. She was shaking her head, wearing nothing but a satin slip, as she was brushing her hair.

“I am down!” Cassian retorted, eyeing himself in the mirror, smoothing his hair.

“You’d think you are a maid on your first courting,” muttered Nesta, as she began to braid her hair slowly, amused by her mate, as he preened before the mirror.

“I want to look appropriate,” he explained. “We are Guardians. It’s an important position.”

“Yes, I know. But this is the fifth or sixth shirt that you’ve tried on. We are coordinating colours. Your outfit is all ready and waiting and I don’t understand why you are fussing so much,” she slid on the bed and cooed to the baby, who was observing all this commotion with quiet amusement.

“Gods, he is a puffball,” it was Cassian’s turn to shake his head, watching the baby in the reflection of the mirror.

“He is a little fatty,” Nesta agreed, “but he is already dressed and ready to go. While you…��

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian looked at the shirt that Nesta had selected and began re-dressing for the fifth time today. “Do we still not know the name?”

She shrugged. “No.”

He proposed, “what if it’s something really strange?”

Nesta rolled her eyes slightly, as she slipped into her powder-blue velvet and lace gown, and approached her mate, her bare back turned to him. He began buttoning her up, without her prompting, while kissing her neck gently.

“He is watching,” she reminded him, but her eyes closed and she stroked his cheek, as her head lay on his shoulder.

“He is a baby.”

“He is Azriel’s baby,” she noted. “He is always watching!”

Cassian huffed in agreement. Azriel’s baby did indeed watch everything and everyone with interest and calm assertion, as if planning a strategy in his head. He reclined in some bouncy contraption, his short arms thick with multiple folds, and resting contently on his round belly. For a month-old infant, he sure looked like he was about six months at least. And not only because of his impressive heft, but also his scrutinizing gaze, that floated from object to person, taking in every detail.

Cassian cupped Nesta’s bottom in his wide palm and squeezed lightly,

“You want to…” he murmured hotly in her ear and she screeched in response, “Noooo! Are you insane? We are not doing that in front of our baby nephew.”

“We can turn him around,” Cassian suggested, unrelenting.

“Get dressed!” she snapped.

Cassian offered a petulant sigh in response and she stepped out of his arms, while he began buttoning his own shirt.

“So, no name?”

“How complicated can it be?” she pondered, stretching on the bed, and offering a rattle to the baby, who wasn’t hugely entertained by it, but took it nevertheless. “He is Elain and Azriel’s son. They are not…They are not you,” she added at last.

“What about me?”

“Well, they are not going to name him Stormwind Lightning Strike Archeron. Or Fireheart Blazing Ruby Archeron,”

“Both,” he interrupted her quickly, snapping his fingers, “are excellent names! I am putting them on the list.”

“No list!”

“Yes, they go on the list,” he insisted.

“You know,” she stroked her nephew’s soft black curl on top of his round head, “it will be something elegant and simple. Oren. Lorien. Rivendell… Something like that.”

“Boring,” huffed Cassian, finally slipping into his trousers.

At first, he wanted to go to the ceremony in full armour, to bring his nephew into the ‘warrior spirit’ right away, according to him. Elain gently suggested that perhaps, that’s a little much for a baby naming ceremony.

The door to Nesta’s River Manor opened quietly and Azriel slipped in.

“What’s boring?” he asked with a smile. Especially when his baby boy almost leapt from his bouncy seat at the sight of him. “Hello, my love,” he whispered, sitting on the bed and immediately kissing the baby’s little fist. “I’ve missed you already…Mama is still getting dressed. And she is going to be the most beautiful mama in the world,” he glanced at Nesta, “well, I mean,”

Nesta smiled and waved her hand dismissively, “She will be. Besides, I am not a mama,”

“Not yet,” piped Cassian quickly.

“Not yet a mama,” she agreed peacefully, “so Elain can claim the title.”

She observed the normally cool, composed, detached shadowsinger absolutely disintegrate in front of his son into a puddle of loving coos, belly rubs and kisses. She’d seen him soft and loving and gentle with Elain, which was an unusual sight in itself, but this was something else entirely.

“So, what’s boring?” Azriel remembered, as he rocked the baby against his chest.

“The name…Are we ever going to find out?” Cassian inquired, tightening his belt and looking at Azriel. “As Guardians, don’t you think we should know?”

“Oh, and you think my baby’s name will be boring?” Azriel cocked his brow.

“Well, it’s not going to be Thunderheart Powerwarrior,” muttered Nesta under her breath.

“I didn’t say that,” Cassian argued quickly.

Azriel gave him a measured look and then offered a resigned sigh, “I suppose you should know,”

“What is it?” exclaimed Cassian eagerly, rubbing his hands. Nesta perked up as well, “Yes, what is it?”

“Bryaxis,” said Azriel calmly, kissing his son’s cheek.

Cassian paled.

Nesta blanched.

“Are you fucking nuts?” groaned Cassian, a terrified expression on his face.

Nesta, who stood near him, elbowed him, muttering, “stop cursing in front of an infant!”

“An infant that these deranged parents want to name Bryaxis!” bellowed Cassian.

Then, Cassian stepped forwards and extended his arms, “No. No. Give me the baby!”

“Why?” Azriel pressed his son a little closer.

“No. You cannot be trusted with a child!” growled Cassian, his eyes blazing, “Absolutely not! Pfff,” he huffed loudly, “Bryaxis! Bryaxis!”

He was then almost speechless, just shaking his head silently, giving Nesta wild looks.

“Umm,” she interjected quietly, “are you sure?” she looked imploringly at Azriel. This was a shock indeed. What in the seven hells were they thinking?

“You know Bryaxis is Elain’s friend,” reminded them Azriel, a smile playing on his lips. “So, we thought,”

“No,” snarled Cassian. “Give me the kid! Right now,”

“Are you going to run away with him?” inquired Azriel.

“If I have to. If I must save him and keep him away from you two crazies, then yes!”

“He is still my son,”

“Not anymore. Not when you decided to name him Bryaxis!”

“But Bryaxis is a,”

“Shut up, Az,” Cassian visibly shuddered at the memory.

He never did accept Elain’s friendship with the monster that was Fear itself. Never understood how she willingly went to the depths of Library to chat with the Darkness and allowed it to roam the gardens of her villa. Thankfully, it was secluded enough not to have Bryaxis terrify everyone in sight.

“He is your neighbour,” reminded him Azriel with a chuckle. “He actually lives in your house!”

“Hey, it’s not because I invited him!” argued Cassian. “If you want it, you can have it, and it can live in your house! Since your wife is such good friends with it.”

The door was thrown open after a sharp knock and Mor appeared on the doorstep, “What is the delay?!!” she demanded by way of her greeting.

Before anyone could respond, she ordered, “Come on! Let’s go! Everyone is waiting,”

Azriel handed the baby to Nesta, and whispered something in her ear.

“Please don’t run away with my child,” he begged his brother.

Cassian begged, “Please don’t name your child Bryaxis! Az, ple-“

But Azriel disappeared in a swirl of his shadows.

It was a lovely, sunny morning. The emerald green lawn of the River Estate was set up with benches and chairs, which were decorated with ribbons and the colours of the Night Court and Azriel’s cobalt blue.

The small group of guests were seated, informally, around a gazebo that was made of branches and decorated with garlands of blue flowers of every colour and hue. Azriel and Elain stood there, hand in hand, waiting for the Guardians to bring the baby forth.

At last, Cassian and Nesta appeared, Cassian holding an Illyrian shield, which was draped in Azriel’s baby blanket. Somehow, Azriel’s mother kept the simple, worn thing all these years, patching it over the centuries, to keep it presentable just for this occasion. Upon the shield, the baby lay, tugging on his feet, trying to roll over the edge, and being barely contained by his nervous aunt.

At last, Cassian and Nesta stopped under the gazebo. Cassian’s eyes were pleading with a silent lament, looking at his brother.

He didn’t hear half of what Rhys was saying. The baby was being welcomed into the fold of its people, as a citizen and son of the Night Court, as an Illyrian warrior, and as a son and protector of his people. Nesta finally grabbed the future ‘protector of his people’ off the damn shield, before he could tumble onto the grass below.

Cassian mutely shook his head, giving Azriel a death stare.

Once a bit of honey was dabbed onto the baby’s lips—for a sweet life—Feyre asked,

“Who names this child?”

“We do,” said Elain and Azriel in unison.

“What name will the child carry?” asked the baby’s grandmother.

With a heavy sight, Cassian joined Nesta’s hand in covering the baby’s head and then,

“Elessar Ramiel,” said Nesta loudly.

Cassian’s eyes blew wide. He whipped his head to Azriel and Elain, who were trying to stifle their laughter, shaking soundlessly against each other, looking at him.

Under the shield, he flashed both of them a vulgar gesture.

Well, at least it wasn’t Lanthys.

“Elessar Ramiel Archeron,” Cassian then repeated loudly alongside Nesta.

#azriel #azriel and elain #elriel #elain #elain archeron #cassian #nesta #elriel fanfic #my writing #nessian fanfiction #nessian #cassian and nesta

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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Fame With No Shame | Part Three

A/N; I think at most there will be one more part to this series, and that will be the reveal of Luke and the readers relationship to the public. Thankyou for all of the requests for this series, please enjoy xx

Summary; in the midst of an interview, there is talk of (Y/N) dating a member. The interviewer is keen to find who is the lucky gentleman within their ranks, but can Luke remain steady though the enquiries about his girl?

Brushing his hands down his black clothed legs, Luke sat upon the seat, eyes interpreting his composure. His face was slightly flushed, aware that his hair was a bouquet of messy curls, the state of his redress had not gone unnoticed by the hostess nor his curious band members. All were wondering of whom he had hassled sexually with before this set, but nothing was mentioned, at least not yet.

A small part of him wanted to let the world know of his relationship status, and more importantly, whom he was entangled with. But it would all be released in due time, he would just have to remain both vigilant of letting anything slip and patient. The rumours could manage to infuriate and humour him all at once, so many fans had claimed to know the identity of the woman in his life.

There were many suspicions, although they were only proven by the hope and dedication of all kinds of people on sites such as tumblr and wattpad, that his lover that was concealed to their eyes was not a lady at all. It was perceived that it was a bandmate; a dear friend of his, that he was sleeping and taking midnight strolls with.

That of course was not the truth, the shipping had been dragging on for years, he sometimes wished that the guesses could be correct all by their own. (Y/N) however was amused by how much it infuriated him, and all of his frustrations would dissipate at the sound of her glorious laugh, and in the end, all that was left was for him to join in and relax.

Things between them were certainly going good, to say the least. He had never felt so elated to see someone pour themselves a mug of coffee, or tie their shoelaces. It wasn’t hard, and hadn’t been difficult for him to admit the facts – he was in love. If there was any evidence that they existed, he was sure that he had found his soulmate.

She understood not only his emotions, but his springs of motivation, the ideas that would creep in the middle of the night or whilst he was in the bathroom for songs. His process was normal to her, because she experienced the same waves of inspiration, the urge to write what flowed to mind and execute lyrics until they were sure enough ready and sounded right to be released to the rest of the world.

And together, that was like the universe had combined the two creators for a reason, to make a beautiful sound, an eternal symphony that would play on forever and a day. If people knew about them, it could disturb the state of their peace, the security that they found within their relationship. And that would be the most tragic and morbid interference that either of them could ever experience.

Hate online was strong, and (Y/N) suspected that neither of them were prepared to take the mixed responses to their newfound and blooming romance. Each of them individually received the expressions of resenting opinions, through messages, through posts, through the loop of the internet. It was never ending, the trolls were headstrong and stubborn, they didn’t want to be stopped, and any reply that they got in turn only made their day, encouraging them to cackle away at the fact that they drew a celebrity’s attention and time away from more important matters.

“And we’re live.” The hostess of the radio show confirmed, settling more comfortably into her plush, swivel seat, as she set her digging eyes into the men that were seated around the platform of a small, recorded station. “My name is Heidi, and we are here on HotRadio, with the one, the only, Five Seconds of Summer.”

Luke adjusted his headset, leaning closer to the microphone so that he was close enough to allow his reviews and answers be heard better than when he was reclined back, awaiting the start of the recording. “So now tell me boys, how was it working with (Y/N) (L/N) for your new single, Flashes.” He gulped at the mention of her name, this wasn’t the best situation, considering that he could accidentally allow some classified information slip, and spiral through the channels of the web.

“She was amazing!” Michael blazed in with his initial impression of her, a jolly grin spread across his lips and chin. “We’ve been fans of her work for so long, it was a dream to finally work with her.” His hands waved as he spoke, confirming his excitement, although working with (Y/N) had already been and gone.

“Yeah.” Ashton bobbed his head, agreeing with his friend. “She is such a talented woman, we don’t do many collaborations singing with other people, but all four of us can definitely admit that she was such a great sport. She put so much work into the song, from lyrics and notes, there is a bright future ahead of her.”

The boys speaking of her made Luke want to purposely trip in his secrecy, they had no expense from gushing over her in such an idealistic way. However if he were to join in, he’d risk the exposure of the relationship. (Y/N) would be mad at him if he were to do that, so he rubbed his chin, feeling the growing prickles of stubble against his guitar picked hands.

Heidi smiled, they were eager to tell her their what appeared to be honest opinion. Yet there were still more details that she and the fans sought; answers. There were so many questions that were lingering, waiting to be spoken aloud in the recorded air.

“Was there any romance sparked between one of you and (Y/N)? How about you Calum?” It was typical, the enquiries about the song itself, that was supposed to be the main attention of this interview , it wasn’t about love, or feelings or whatever.

The thought that Calum, out of all of them, was the one considered to have gained her affections made Luke bite the inside of his cheek. Sure, Calum was single, but so was he, or at least was in the media’s eyes, and before he met (Y/N).

Luke’s frown was subtle, but it was still there! And everyone was oblivious to his disconcerting expression, all because the spotlight shined on the bassist, and the idea that he, out of all them, was privileged enough to have possibly shared a bed or the exchange of numbers in the static noise of the track.

Cal cleared his throat, ruffling the collar of his shirt, as though there were a reason for him to be fanning himself. “I mean, I’m not one to disclose that personal information.” That son of a bitch, Luke thought. From his response, something had obviously occurred, it was too bland for an answer.

That was until said boy began to laugh, spewing a humoured chuckle from his mouth whilst looking Luke dead in the eyes. The opposing man could only frown, his face hardened by the strong crease that went down the centre of it.

“Too bad she already has a boyfriend.” Michael chipped in, the guitarist’s attitude and statement not only making Luke paranoid, but also worried. What if he were not the only one that had grabbed the affections of (Y/N)?

To begin with, it was clear that she was a bit of a player, and he had no problem with it, there was nothing wrong at all with a woman embracing her sexuality, it was even kind of sexy. But now they were partners in a relationship, and he could only trust her to be faithful.

Mikey’s words had not only drawn the intrigue of the lead singer, but also Heidi, who was leant forward in her seat, the dimples in her face prominent as she was presenting glee from hearing first time news, that was broadcasting on her radio channel.

“Are we permitted to be told who the lucky gentleman is?” How she hoped that the revelation would be unconcealed during this very interview, personally the woman was curious herself, but also the thought of the views skyrocketing encouraged her desperation for an answer.

Ash smirked, his eyes fluttering through his trio of bandmates, this was certainly entertaining for the rest of them also. Except one from the looks of it, Luke was gnawing on the outer portion of his lip. This was getting to him, just as they wanted. They knew, all along, what was occurring between Luke and the talented lady.

She had been a crush of his for a long time, and it seemed that she shared that affliction of interests, by being attracted to the natural blonde himself. It was noticeable to the boys from the first time that (Y/N) had entered the studio, their eyes navigated to the sight of the other, and their attention had to be drawn for the pair to look away from one another.

“One of us.” The eldest member replied, and Luke realised that in that moment, he had not been as discreet with the entire dating ordeal as he thought he had. They’d quickly realised that there were strings attached when Luke began to miss their nights out clubbing, and said he’d prefer to stay in and watch a movie – alone.

However, it was not a solitary activity, and binging television was not all that the promiscuous man was partaking in. The symptoms that brought light and revelation to Luke and (Y/N)’s involvement was matching marks of red suction bites around the circumferences of their throats, that eventually healed and could be concealed, however the boys could see right through their efforts.

And then there was the undebatable evidence of smeared lipstick scorned across their lips, a shade which consisted perfectly against one another, from nudes to striking reds, the pigment that streaked against Luke’s vigorously hungry lips consisted to be suspiciously similar to the original prominence that was lined and filled on (Y/N)’s own petalled mouth.

“Oh.” It appeared that the prying interviewer had not even put any efforts into hiding her pleasantly condemned grin, every detail that was slipping through the teeth of the men gave her some kind of joy.

She had somehow hit a gold mine with the answers that her pay check curiosity had earned her. There was so much going on behind the scenes that had never been revealed, and it seemed that all would be exposed, on HotRadio! “Are we granted to know which one of you is the lucky man?”

Luke shifted in his chair, gripping onto the arms with his painted nails. He was prepared to hit rock bottom in this deep deep ocean that he had swam himself into, yet a snicker left Cal, bringing all afraid and all too alert attention to him.

“I think not, we can keep a secret for a little longer.” His eyes paced slyly over to Luke, sending him an all knowing wink.

He sighed, he lived to fight another day.

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satuguro · 5 years ago

Text

connections | prologue

IN WHICH: zuko and azula are expected to gain the trust of an earth kingdom city governor. the mission seems easy enough, that is, until the governor’s daughter comes into play.

PAIRING: zuko x earthbender! reader

INSPIRED BY: soldier, poet, king — the oh hellos, ophelia — the lumineers

NOTES: i’m not too sure about this one, and i kind of wrote this in the middle of the night when a strike of inspiration hit. i mixed some japanese culture with some filipino culture (i am filipino, so i had to ). nonetheless, i hope you enjoy!

his father gave him specific instructions prior to his arrival to hanusaka, an earth kingdom city.

zuko was expected to gain the trust of the family that ruled over the city; the hisui family. at the time he was given his ‘mission,’ zuko was apprehensive. why would the family trust them? they practically destroyed every earth kingdom village in their path, they’ve massacred thousands, and they’ve burned everything to the ground. zuko never once voiced his thoughts — his scar was a reminder of what would happen if he argued — but in his mind, he reminded himself that it was for good reason. he had his honor. now he had to act upon it.

the kingdom of hanusaka was beautiful. it stayed true to its name; flowers flourished from every corner, and floral trees hung heavily over its inhabitants. their deep green clothes contrasted with the bright colors of the flowers around them. they looked happy and content with their lives.

zuko stood stiffly alongside azula, wary eyes watching the citizens dance in the town square. their danced were different compared to the fire nation’s. their dance incorporated two long pieces of bamboo that was held by a person on each end. the people holding the bamboo were beating, tapping, and sliding the bamboo to the beat of the music while people of all ages danced upon them. it was mesmerizing how their feet missed the bamboo as the sticks came together, and how the flower petals on the ground floated with each movement.

they stood in the sidelines, aware of the looks the other earth kingdom citizens gave them. they were looking at them with unreadable expressions on their faces, but said nothing about their fire nation clothes. all zuko knew was that they weren’t welcome.

“it’s disgusting,” azula commented, flicking a flower petal off of her clothes. they had been only observing for 15 minutes before her boredom got to her. “i don’t understand why we have to endure the presence of these... people,” she spat, “we should’ve just burned this place to the ground. it would be quicker.”

“father wanted us to do this,” zuko hissed, glaring at his sister. he could feel his anger rising at the mere mention of burning the town to the ground, and he returned his gaze to the dancing people. their clothes flowed freely in the wind, making the petals around them float up high above their heads. they looked so peaceful.

he watched, his interest peaking as a hooded figure appeared from the shadows opposite of him. your bow and arrows were on your back, your movements mysterious as you slowly made your way into the crowd. you were blind to his gaze as you pulled your hood down, revealing your gleaming green eyes. people cheered around you, and one woman even placed a crown of intricately bended bamboo atop your head. you gave her a hug and grabbed her hand to join the dance in front of you, jumping in as if it was second nature.

“prince zuko, princess azula.” one of their guards greeted behind them, making them turn around. he bowed quickly, fear striking his heart at their cold looks. “governor akio has agreed to meet with you.”

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

the hisui palace — though azula commented that it was barely a palace — was situated near the outskirts of the city, and was surrounded by deep forests that seemed to go on for miles. it stood tall, and would’ve sent a feeling of impending doom if it weren’t for the vines that climbed its walls, blooming various flowers.

“some palace,” azula snorted, crossing her arms and taking a second to star at the mansion as a whole. she raised her hand to catch a flower that had fallen from the trees above. her fingers were gentle agains the petals before she engulfed it in blue flames, letting the ashes float to the ground.

zuko rolled his eyes at her antics, choosing to walk ahead and into the mansion. the guards in front of the door looked at him with scowls, and a small prt of zuko wanted to call it quits and return home. they weren’t welcome here. they had caused these people so much pain; why would they ever take them in?

his guards marched up behind him, one of them stepping forward and conversing quietly with the earth kingdom guard. reluctantly, he opened the doors to the mansion.

the doors creaked as the guards opened them, revealing more guards that were standing in the halls. they were tense, ready for any battle that was coming along with the presence of the children of the firelord. zuko only kept his head up, hearing azula catch up with him and walk alongside him. the throne room was right in front of the entrance, and they walked confidently into it.

governor akio sat atop his throne, his strongest guards by his side as he stared down at the prince and princess. one smaller, empty throne stood next to his. it was a wonder that he agreed to meet them and take them in for a few months. it was upon the firelord’s request — of rather, demand — that they’d stay and create a connection between them and the fire nation. governor akio knew better than to argue.

“prince zuko, princess azula,” governor akio greeted, not moving from his seat on the throne. his eyes snapped to the empty throne beside him, expressionless face showing hints of anger that disappeared as soon as they showed.

zuko bowed, showing his respect, while azula simply stood in front of the king. her eyes glinted with something he couldn’t pinpoint, and she was looking him up and down as if sizing him up. zuko resisted the urge to hit her.

“father said we will be staying for three months,” zuko said, standing up straight as he stared at the governor. he was no king, but hanusaka was an influential city with history that tied all the way to the earth king. he knew his father had deeper plans for their stay. “to create a strong connection between hanusaka and the fire nation.”

“ah,” governor akio nodded, shoulders relaxed despite the obvious pressure on them. he showed no hesitancy; he was a wise man, for he knew that hesitancy would give the fire lord a reason to distrust him. “i’m sure you will enjoy your stay in hanusaka. my daughter...” his voice trailed off, his gaze suddenly pulled to the entrance of the throne room. governor akio’s lack of eye contact made the two teenagers turn around.

zuko recognized you.

you had been dancing in town square moments prior to this meeting. the crown of bamboo was still on your head, and you wore it proudly as you quickly detangled your hair from the flowers that were stuck in them. little flower petals followed you as you walked past zuko and azula, showing little care for their presence. your carelessness made azula curl her fingers into fists.

you were barefoot, but you still walked with poise as you led yourself to your throne. you removed your bow and arrows from your back, placing it on the side of your throne as you finally took a seat. you met your father’s angry glare, but you only managed a close lipped smile. “father,” you stated, before looking at the two teenagers in front of you.

azula was practically fuming at the uninterested look you gave them both, but her reactions only made your lips curl up into an amused smirk. “prince zuko and princess azula,” you drawled, leaning in and putting your elbows on your knees. “to what do we owe the pleasure?” you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“y/n,” governor akio scolded, and you rolled your eyes at his sternness. you knew that they were coming. he had told you when he first received the messenger hawk from the firelord, and you immediately told him it was a bad idea. there was something wrong.

“just asking questions,” you protested, raising your hands in playful surrender. your eyes lingered a little bit too long on prince zuko, your eyebrow raising as you got a good look at his scar. he only looked back at you with a cold expression. how ironic.

“this is my daughter,” governor akio sighed, motioning a hand towards you. “y/n.”

“nice to meet you, y/n,” azula spoke up, tone condescending as she sized up the girl. “such a bold choice for you to be barefoot. and to wear such a... homemade crown.”

zuko nudged his sister, but that didn’t deter her as she waited patiently for your reaction.

“my people made this crown, princess azula,” you replied, voice smooth like a stream of water. “as for my lack of shoes,” you glanced down at your feet, “it helps me with hunting. sometimes i like to do my own work instead of ordering people around. don’t you agree?”

your words made your father snap his head your way, brows furrowed to show his obvious disdain. “how many times must i tell you to not hunt?” he whispered harshly, before returning to the calm front he put up. “i apologize for my daughter’s words.”

your huffed in annoyance, putting your hands on the arms of your throne and standing up. “you know what? father, i’ll give them the tour of the house.” you grabbed your bow and arrow, sending your father a mischievous grin that made him let out a disappointed sigh. you made your way to the teens, oblivious to azula’s mad look as you motioned for them to follow you.

while zuko didn’t show it, he found you interesting. the way you walked around the mansion without a care, and how you greeted every single worker with a smile that they returned (that is, before they saw him and azula). you showed disrespect towards your father and azula, yet you treated everyone with kindness, no matter their place. it was odd.

it was nighttime when your tour reached its end. after you led azula to her room, it left you both alone. zuko hadn’t said a word throughout your ‘tour,’ unlike azula, who commented her dislike for everything.

“you’re real quiet,” you observed as you walked next to him. you had already labelled azula as the ‘crazy, angry sister,’ but you had yet to find anything for zuko. he was nothing but a peaceful shadow the entire time.

“you just talk a lot,” zuko couldn’t help but say, mentally hitting himself for his own words. but to his surprise, you only laughed.

“well, someone needs to keep the awkward silence away,” you said, walking backwards as you walked ahead of him. “i mean, would you rather have me give you a house tour without saying a word?”

zuko shook his head, the hair in front of his face swaying with his movements. “i suppose not,” he replied, making you nod your head.

“besides, you’re so quiet that someone has to keep the conversation flowing.” you came to a sudden stop, pausing in front of a large door. you quickly opened it, peering inside for a moment before opening it wider for zuko. “here’s your room.” you allowed him to walk inside, and you leaned against the doorway as you watched him inspect it.

the room had high ceilings, and vines that grew from a nearby plant scaled the walls all the way to the ceiling. the thick vines came down in a chandelier. zuko’s eyes looked up at it in wonder and awe. it wasn’t beautifully extravagant like the fire nation palace was. it had a certain enigma to it that made it beautiful, and zuko appreciated it more.

“my room is five doors down,” you said as you looked at your nails. “feel free to come over whenever you want someone to talk. just don’t burn me alive.” you pushed yourself off the doorway, sending him one last smile. this one was genuine, not like the smile you had given him and azula in the throne room. “good night, prince zuko.” with that, the door shut behind you.

zuko stared at where you once stood. “good night, y/n,” he said softly, before resorting to his bed.

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

NOTES: thank you for reading! btw, i’m trying to correspond eye color to the elements, so i’m sorry if your eye color isn’t the same! please say whether i should continue this as a series or not, your input means the world <3

buy me a coffee here! any likes, reblogs, or donations are appreciated :)

TAGLIST: @beifongsss @the-firebender-girl @astroninaaa @emberislandplayers @bubblebars

#zuko x reader #zuko smut #zuko imagines #zuko imagine #zuko #atla #atla imagine #avatar: the last airbender #azula

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beautiful-bau-beau · 5 years ago

Note

helloooo!! I have a Spencer request :) Could you write one where Spencer is injured (maybe like when he broke his leg or something like that) and he stays round yours and you look after him, help him shower, comfort him and stuff :)

Anonymous said to beautiful-bau-beau: could u do a soulmate au w spence where you feel the share pain with your soulmate, i think it would be interesting since spencer seems to be shot or nearly killed in almost every episode

Sticks and Stones

fem!reader/Spencer Reid

masterlist

[Set in season 5 when Spencer gets shot in the leg but makes references to Maeve]

----

To the average eye flowers are soft, simple little things. They spark romance in the hearts of budding couples, they aid the grieving widows, their beauty inspires the masses in forms such as poetry and art. For some, flowers only caused distress.

Few were "fortunate" in the world to have soulmates. Once twelve years of age, a soul bound to another would feel the pain, to a lesser extent, as well as receive a flower at the sight of the intrusion. Small purple blooms grew at bruises, at a cut, the flowers would mimic the length and size. Any other type of pain was indicated by large, red blossoms. As each wound healed, the flowers would wilt and die.

You were among the many to few flowers as flimsy nuisances, only serving as reminders of the pain you had to go through.

Before turning twelve you often wondered if you had a soulmate. You had spent many days vividly imagining who your soulmate was, what he looked like, what he did for a living, choosing to ignore that if you indeed had one, a lifetime of pain was sure to follow.

Lifetime of pain indeed.

Your soulmate must have been a stuntman, a police officer, hell- even a lion tamer with the amount of pain he seemed to put you through. The occasional bruise and scrape seemed to hit you up until your early twenties, that's when the real pain began.

Every other day it seemed that you were doubled over, screaming in agony. You were an ugly vision of purple and red, but hell, it seemed to strike up a conversation with you and your patients.

You served as a private duty nurse, taking care of patients in the safety of their own home. You enjoyed the one-on-one with your patients, and it was decidedly better than working in a crowded hospital with a difficult schedule.

You had just finished a job working with an elderly woman, as her granddaughter had recently decided to move in with her to take care of her. It was a sad departure, but the job had finished and it was now time for you to find another patient in need.

You were employed through a small local medical office and received career requests through their office website.

One particular request caught your eye that morning from a Ms. Penelope Garcia. A friend of hers had recently been shot in the leg and needed to quickly recover before returning to his job.

You eyed your own leg, sighing heavily. It still seemed to throb harshly every once in a while.

A week ago, out of nowhere, an extreme pain radiated through your leg, causing you to drop what you were doing and scream. Thankfully you hadn't been on the job but the look of pity your neighbors gave you the next day felt just as awful. Every time you glanced at the offending appendage you could swear you saw another blossom grow.

"You and me both, buddy." You mumbled, picking up your phone. The job seemed simple enough, and hopefully you would be able to bond with this new patient by shared leg pain.

"You ordered a nurse for me?" Spencer hissed into his cell, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can take care of myself!" He eyed your figure, currently unpacking a medical bag. You had entered his apartment mere minutes ago, not understanding his confusion.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" You asked, greeting his wheel-chair bound figure. "I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the nurse your girlfriend Penelope ordered." You were met with a blank stare. "Is she uh.. here?"

"I'm going to have to make a phone call." Spencer blurted, wheeling himself inside. He left the door open so you took it upon yourself to enter.

"Spencer, I love you but are you listening to yourself right now?" Penelope replied, twirling a pen around her fingers. "You were shot a week ago, you're in a wheelchair. How are you going to shower? Replace your bandages? Sweets, this nurse will help you. And before you even have to ask I already checked and your insurance covers this!"

"Garcia-"

"I won't hear anything more about it as I know I'm right! Goodbye, dear!" A heavy sigh came from the man, and he placed his cellphone back in his pocket. He turned to look at you again, wheeling his way over to you.

"I apologize for earlier. I wasn't exactly informed that you would be coming here." He placed his hands on his lap, awkwardly.

"That's alright!" You chirped. " You’re low-risk so I won’t invade your space too much by staying overnight with you. I'm here to help with personal medical care, bathing, trimming nails, and making you comfortable.... as well as urinary and colostomy care." His eyes widened and you simply waved him off. "I get it. It's weird. But from what I read through of your medical reports, the bullet went clear through and you'll need a crutch in two weeks! At least you're not hooked up to a catheter?" You tried to joke. You were met with another simple stare.

"Let's uh, change your bandages, shall we?"

It had been a few days since you started working with Spencer. He was a nice man, a little awkward, and seemed to be more of an introvert, so you respected his space. He seemed to take to staying in bed, simply asking for books every once and awhile.

"There's no way you're able to read all these so quickly. You'd have to be superhuman..." You teased, bringing him a stack of his latest requests.

"I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer replied, catching your eye. He flushed under your surprised glance. "...Not to brag."

"Well... that'll do it." You set each book in your arm down, one by one, a particular title catching your eye. "The Narrative of John Smith?"

"Have you read it?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. He hadn't originally pegged you for an Arthur Conan Doyle fan.

"Uh, no." You scratched behind your ear sheepishly. "But a few friends of mine have, they all highly recommend it. What do you think? Does it live up to all the hype?" Spencer opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, causing your brows to furrow.

"I can't tell you what to read... it's just a very special book to me."

"Did someone special give you the book? Penelope?" Spencer let out a chuckle, hissing as he adjusted himself on his bed.

"Garcia is just a friend but you're correct, someone special gave me the book."

"A soulmate?" You asked, immediately regretting your choice of words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I'm just the nosy nurse that asks too many questions." You knew it was a sensitive topic for some, with or without the soulmate.

"No, it wasn't from a soulmate... but I wish she was." Spencer's voice grew soft. You felt as if you had stepped too far, intruded upon a fond memory.

"I do have one though." He continued, noticing your unease. "Sometimes I worry I imagined her but every once and awhile, I'll notice some flowers by my legs, the likely result of a cut from shaving or bruises." You let out a laugh, leaning against his door frame.

"I would love a low-risk soulmate like that. He must jump through flaming hula-hoops or something. I could make a decent living as a florist." You murmured.

"That's got to be tough." Spencer observed, noticing no flowers on your arm.

"I guess he's a lot like you." You lifted up your pant leg, crimson petals on display. "His reason can't be nearly as heroic as yours, though." Spencer couldn't suppress the smile that grew from the compliment.

"Well I guess you'll have to find him and ask."

"Well you're in the FBI right? Let's formulate a profile and find him so I can give him a piece of my mind. You in?" You teased.

"Sounds like a worthy use of all my newfound time." He let out a small huff of amusement, eyeing your figure. He appreciated how lighthearted and casual you were. He noticed the space you gave him and your little efforts to make the apartment easier to maneuver around. Although he hadn't seemed motivated at first, something told him he should get to know you more.

"Y/n?" Spencer asked, drawing your attention away from one of the books you had borrowed from his shelf. "Is there any way we can wash my hair?" He had procrastinated in asking, too embarrassed for whatever your plan was for showering.

"Of course! I could cut it too if you'd like." You offered, standing to wheel him into the bathroom.

"Are you saying you don't like my hair?" He faked an offended tone which he knew would make you laugh.

"I think your hair is beautiful, right at that perfect length before it gets too weird for any man to wear." You snorted. You moved him to a stool, not too difficult a feat as he was able to support the majority of his weight on his good leg. "Alright, the shirt has got to come off."

"Isn't against a code to try and seduce your patients?" Spencer teased. Since your conversation the other day he had grown to feel more comfortable with you and a friendship ensued. You took care when treating him and told stories of past patients. It was clear you loved what you did and cared for the people even more.

"Oh please. If I was seducing you, which I'm not, you'd know." You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to lift his arms before peeling his shirt off of him. He leaned back, long tresses falling into a pool in the sink.

He was extremely handsome, you couldn't deny it. His sharp cheekbones and jawline, his full and enticing lips, the way his hand flexed as he read.... you didn't notice any of that. You especially didn't notice how wonderfully intelligent he was, or how kind. Not at all.

Besides, it would never work. You both had your respective soulmates and he seemed to still be carrying a torch for the past relationship he was in. Not to mention the most important factor of all, he was your patient.

You carefully stepped around him to grab a large and small towel, snickering as you found a familiar design on one.

"Star Trek fan?" You asked, hanging the fabric on the shower rail and turning the tap on to warm water.

"Typically I'm not one for fiction but surprisingly there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors, which make it so enjoyable to watch."

"Eh, I've only seen the film from 2009, and I was mostly paying attention to the deliciously handsome cast." You knew that would agitate him. "And not just for Chris Pine but Zachary Quinto as Spock? Oh, he is gorgeous, even if he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, and not that I had a chance with him anyway." You laughed.

"Y/n, I am not one to comment on the education of another but you are seriously missing out! Star Trek: The Next Generation is one of the most influential series of it's time. the new film doesn't even have Data! Data, y/n, Data!" He grumbled as you washed his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you're going to tell me that the 1996 Doctor Who movie is better than the series?" He opened his mouth when you raised your soapy hand. "Disregard that statement, I can't afford another argument, I'm already too emotional from our last one." You faked a sniffle.

"You know, most females I talk to don't watch Star Trek or Doctor Who."

"I'm just that amazing, I know." You sighed, moving to grab the washcloth and dousing it with water, handing it to Spencer so he could wash himself. You grabbed the Star Trek towel and started to dry Spencer's hair.

"You're something alright." He retorted, drawing a gasp from you.

"I could have let you sit with greasy hair, you know!" Just for extra measure you rubbed his head a little harsher than before but miscalculated your aim, accidentally hitting your wrist against the marble sink.

Spencer felt pain radiate through his wrist and time seemed to slow. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him all at once. You experienced constant pain, pain he gave you because he was often injured on the job. Not to mention his gunshot wound on your leg and now the purple blossoms forming on his wrist.

He wanted to shout, yell, jump up, wrap you in a hug. He had finally found his soulmate! However, he remained silent.

When you spoke about your soulmate the other day you seemed angry and forlorn at the amount of pain you had to endure. There was no doubt in his mind that if you knew he was your soulmate, you would walk right out of his life, but not before giving him a swift kick to the ass.

So he stayed quiet.

You weren’t sure what changed between you and Spencer. After the shower he mentioned he didn’t feel too well so you guided him to bed. Since then he stayed in his room, barely calling you to his side.

It was weird. If it was any other patient you would have paid no mind and kept to yourself but you thought you had made a connection with Spencer. You enjoyed the banter between you both and finding out your shared interests. It must have all been in your head. You brought yourself out of your thoughts to prepare Spencer’s tea.

“Here you are!” You called, stepping into his room to hand him the mug. “I’m about to head out, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You stayed by the door, waiting to see if he would even spare you a glance. When he made no motion to move, you gave up, spinning on your heel to grab your purse and coat.

“Ah!” You heard Spencer hiss from the other room before feeling a sharp sting on your tongue. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, brows knitting together in confusion. Was he…? Did he…?

Spencer was your soulmate, he had to be. There was no possible way that him burning his mouth and your pain that followed were coincidences, right? Spencer was your soulmate! So why did you feel your heart drop into your stomach?

You shut the door, racing down the stairs and out of his apartment building, letting the cold air sweep over you.

There was nothing special about you. You were just a simple nurse and he was your patient. Besides, how were you deserving of Spencer? You weren’t.

He couldn’t find out, he just couldn’t.

You didn’t know if it was just because you knew that Spencer was your soulmate but the tension between the two of you was… palpable.

“Hey!” You popped your head into his room, his figure jumping in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” You exclaimed.

“Hi?” He greeted, trying to seem calm. You were leaving tomorrow and he was panicking. The past few hours were spent debating about whether he should tell you that he was your soulmate. Could he really just let this opportunity pass by?

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything? I figured you probably ran out of books by now. Everytime I think you’ve reread all the books in your library I keep finding new ones.” You tried to joke.

“I… Yes. Yes, please.” He mumbled, hiding his gaze. You sighed, wondering for the millionth time what you had done wrong to make him so distant and reclusive.

“Alright, I’ll take the stack.” You bit your lip to keep from sighing once more, groaning as you picked up the books littered around the room. “God these are heavy.” You whispered under your breath, trying to waddle into the other room as you quickly realized you were losing your grip. It seemed as if it was too late, the pounds of literature falling on your feet.

Both you and Spencer let out a groan, heads snapping towards each other in surprise.

“Did you- did you feel that?” You asked, even if you knew the answer.

“I did.” Spencer’s voice seemed small. “Y/n, I am so sorry.” You were taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” You questioned, pain forgotten as shame radiated through you. “Am I that bad of a soulmate?” You whispered, clenching your fist to keep tears from pricking your eyes.

“No! No, no, no!” He tried to sit up as straight as he could, internally cursing at how hurt you looked. “I only apologized because… I can’t help but feel like I disappointed you! I am an FBI agent, I’m always going to be in danger therefore putting you in danger. When you first mentioned your soulmate you seemed so… upset. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to make you happy.” He admitted, the tips of his ears turning red as his gaze fell to his lap.

“Disappointed? Past-tense?” You cried. “Did you know about this?” He didn’t move.

“Well… I guess I can’t be angry with that.” You sighed. “I knew too. I just thought that… you wouldn’t want me. You still seemed so in love with whatever woman gave you that book. And out of my league. And my patient.” You let out a wry laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Are you kidding me? You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. You make me laugh and you are so kind and caring. I am proud to be your soulmate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Spencer you are selfless. You dedicate your life every day to helping others. You are handsome, sweet, and hilarious.” You reached for his hand. “And I am so happy you turned out to be my soulmate.”

Your eyes finally met and before you knew it, your lips smashed against his.

“I don’t know if you know this… but I happen to get injured on a lot of missions.” He uttered as you pulled apart. “So I have a feeling that I’ll need you around more often.”

“Well Doctor, I think you just might be right.” You giggled, drawing him in for another kiss.

-----

Feedback is always appreciated!

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jaskierek · 5 years ago

Text

Temporary

Summary:

Everyone's always left Jaskier, he's come to expect it. After all, he was temporary, forgettable. Until Geralt comes back. Until Geralt seems bent on proving him wrong.

-----------------------------------

Julian and his parents were never that close.

They weren’t really invested in him if he was being honest.

Well, maybe they were. They were invested in his academic grades and his ‘upbringing’, which for them consisted of learning how to hunt pheasants and which fork to use.

Other than that, Julian was pretty much left alone with no one but his nanny to keep him company. He liked her. She’d sing for him and tuck him in at night with a kiss.

When he was 7 he figured out that she was being paid to care for him so he closed himself off even to her, hiding behind his blinding smiles.

His father wasn’t gentle with him and Julian tended to get in trouble. How else would an ignored child get any sort of attention? Turns out that the Earl of Lettenhove was more invested in the dignity of the Lettenhove name than he was in ignoring his son. So Julian got what he wanted…in a way. It’s sickeningly clichéd, isn’t it?

Eventually his parents didn’t know what to do with him so they sent him off to boarding school.

Julian learned how to be charismatic, how to become popular among his peers and earn ‘friends’. All fleeting relationships, never lasting long, never slipping past his mask of smiles. Unfortunately, that did not stop him from getting into trouble, nor did it keep him interested in his studies.

He remembered one particular professor. He was a wizard with a cane. He knew exactly where to strike to make it the most painful. “No tears.” He used to say and Julian was forced to swallow them down. After a while he learned how to be an academic.

His love for poetry came as a surprise. He’d only started liking it when he was 19. It was also when he’d met the Countess de Stael. Once she’d stepped into his life, poetry had poured out of him. He’d forgo sleep in favour of letting the words slip onto the pages before him. She loved it at the time.

And then she left.

And so Julian had carried on with his studies, allowing his broken heart to write the most beautiful sonnets and ballads.

And then Julian had left. And he’d changed his name. He changed it to Jaskier. Buttercup. Beautiful, bright and yellow. Small, delicate and smooth to the touch.

Buttercup. A weed.

Loosen the soil, yank at its base and pull it out. More room for better things now.

He’d fallen into many beds during his travels. Men, women, neither. Sometimes it was the Countess de Stael herself. He remembered most of their names. And when he didn’t, it was because he’d been blackout drunk. And even then, he’d remember things like the touch of their skin or the colour of their hair.

None lasted long. Many didn’t care to learn his name. He wasn’t hurt. He hadn’t expected anything more.

He wrote beautiful songs. People didn’t care to listen. So he wrote what was popular. He wrote of monsters and heroes and kings. He knew nothing of monsters and heroes and kings. His songs were bad. He wasn’t paid much.

Then he’d met Geralt of Rivia. Witcher. Monster Hunter. Emotionally constipated. Self loathing. Kind. Generous. Asshole. Utter and absolute asshole.

The love of Jaskier’s life.

Geralt had never shown Jaskier much outward affection. Jaskier had hoped that he cared though. He’d hoped that he wasn’t dispensable, forgettable. The Witcher, for all of his grumpiness, had provided food, had let the bard sleep in occasionally, had let him talk for hours on end, had made sure he was always safe and healthy. He had once even nursed Jaskier back to health after a particularly malicious cold that had left him numb and with a raging fever. Jaskier could even make out the faint whisper of worry in the Witcher’s golden eyes.

Geralt had also inspired him to write in a way he hadn’t known possible. Suddenly, the lyrics and notes were pouring out of him again. His pockets filled with coin. His stomach filled with food. His fame spread. His music was respected. People’s desire for him had grown. He was wanted. But never in the way that he needed.

People ignored him when he was with Geralt, their gaze slipping over him like water. He understood. It was hard to focus on a simple bard when a Witcher stood right beside him. And not just any Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. A mass of muscles and sharp swords and white hair and amber eyes and gods, did Jaskier understand. He often found himself struggling to look away. And besides, he was used to not being seen, at least not being seen truly and wholly.

Then came the golden dragon and the witch and the mountain and -

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

It seemed to be a common wish for anyone who’d met him.

Some of his relationships lasted a night, maybe a week, a month, maybe a little more.

With Geralt it had been 20 years. He’d cleaned his wounds, he’d bathed him, he’d learned to understand his grunts and the minute twists of his lips, he’d loved him with all that he had. 20 years. He still wasn’t enough. Jaskier wished he could blame the Witcher. But he’d seen him be kind, he’d seen him be gentle, he’d seen him be careful with his words. Perhaps Jaskier simply wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t enough to warrant care.

Dispensable, forgettable, temporary. Fun while it lasted but not enough to love.

While Jaskier was an idealist, he’d always considered himself to be realistic about his own assets. He was attractive, he had great eyes and a great smile, he was a good dancer, he could write a hell of a song.

There was not much else.

He was annoying, too excitable, too greedy, he was interesting up to a point. He talked too much. He was too cocky. He was useless in a fight. He had a tendency to fool around with married people. He was unlovable.

Ah, yes, and he was dramatic. Overly dramatic.

Jaskier looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, big and bright.

Buttercup.

Weed.

Temporary.

“If life could give me one blessing -”

The smile didn’t waver.

Geralt had found him half a year later performing at a rather respectable inn. He had been singing one of his new songs. It wasn’t about Geralt. None of his new songs were. Not for lack of material though, he found he could write about the Witcher endlessly. Jaskier had believed himself adept at swallowing down pain. He was proven wrong.

“What can I do for you, Witcher?” He’d asked with a grin, hoping Geralt wouldn’t see through it.

“Nothing, Jaskier. I want nothing from you.” He’d responded and the bard felt his chest clench at that. Perhaps this meeting had simply been an accident. Geralt didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have been used to it.

“Ah, well then,” Jaskier said, turning around, finding he couldn’t stand to look into those amber eyes any longer, “see you around, Geralt.”

“No - Jaskier, please, wait,” the bard had ground to a halt at that, looking over his shoulder to see a pained expression on that beautiful face, “I - I’ve been looking for you.”

So, yes, Geralt had found him and not accidentally. He had been looking for him.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with that information.

“I want to apologise.”

The smile finally slipped.

“You…you want to apologise?”

“Yes.” Came the response. Short. Fast. Without any room for doubt.

“Why?”

Geralt looked almost incredulous, almost confused. “Because I said terrible things to you.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows.

“So?” He couldn’t help but ask, not maliciously but entirely curiously.

“‘So?’ What do you mean ‘so’? Jaskier, I said things to you that I didn’t mean, things that I couldn’t stand you believing. I - Jaskier, you - you were there and I was angry and I lashed out.”

A beat of silence.

“After the mountain, I - I tried to be alone and I couldn’t stand it. Even…even before - we’d spend weeks apart but I still never felt as alone as I did after I said…what I said and I - I didn’t mean it and then I went to find Yennefer,”

Ah, Jaskier was an idiot. Add that to the list of flaws. Of course he wasn’t the first one to be sought out by the Witcher. Why would he be?

“Must have been a fun reunion.” Jaskier said, trying to inject some genuine sounding mirth into his voice and the smile that had reappeared. Geralt looked away.

“It wasn’t like that. Although we care for each other, we realised that that wasn’t what we wanted.”

Despite himself, Jaskier’s chest still tightened painfully. Hearing - hell, even seeing - how truly and deeply they cared for each other… His smile didn’t waver.

“Sorry about that.” Was all he could think to say.

“Stop it.”

Jaskier blinked.

“Stop what?”

“That smile. That smile you do when you don’t really want to be smiling. I’ve known you for 20 years, bard, I know which smiles are genuine.” Geralt sounded frustrated. Almost pained.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier. I know I fucked up. I know I did and you deserve to be angry at me but don’t give me that smile. I hate it. I hate that smile.” The Witcher took a step closer and the bard finally let his smile slip. It wasn’t his only mask. Geralt seemed to realise this too, still looking displeased.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, the amusement gone from his voice, but he managed to keep it levelled, not betraying the tiredness behind it.

“I don’t want anything from you, Jaskier,” he paused for a moment. “What I wanted to say was that I talked to Yennefer and she helped me realise that I don’t want a life without you.”

It would’ve sounded romantic if Jaskier wasn’t certain that Geralt would never think of him like that.

“So you do want something from me. You want me to travel with you again.”

Geralt winced and after a moment said, “yes”.

“You hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m - I’m trying to make up for it.”

Jaskier was weak. Add that to the list. He was so fucking weak.

“Okay.”

After that, Geralt would eye the bard warily for a while, as if expecting him to reveal himself as some sort of shapeshifter, a doppler maybe. But Jaskier knew that the Witcher would smell anything like that a mile away so he didn’t really know why he kept glancing at him over the campfire.

Other than that, it seemed like things were back to normal.

Everything forgiven, nothing forgotten. Unfortunately.

Jaskier pushed that out of his mind and returned to his rambles and Witcher-themed ballads. After all, Geralt had said he’d missed him. Surely that had meant the whole ‘Jaskier experience’, prattling and all.

The bard still didn’t know how to comprehend that information. No one had ever missed him in his life. At least, not that he knew of. Maybe they missed how he made them feel, like when the Countess would moan “gods, I missed this,” as he’d trail kisses up her thighs. So no, he didn’t know what Geralt wanted but it was strange. The Witcher smiled at him more, talked to him more. Every time they separated for a time, Geralt would greet him with a small smile. It made the bard’s heart do things and it wasn’t fair.

Perhaps this was a punishment from some god or another, maybe destiny herself or karma. Maybe it was Jaskier’s punishment to have to endure a love for a man who would never reciprocate it, all the while being subjected to that same man openly stating that, yes, he wanted Jaskier around.

A few months later, Geralt had kissed him.

It was after a battle with a Leshy, half wildcat, half bear, with fangs and claws like knives, sharp and long enough to sever a man in half. Jaskier had gotten very close to being that man before Geralt had yanked it back by its tail, swinging his sword as it whirled around in fury. After the fight, the Witcher had surged over to Jaskier, arm bleeding and eyes searching.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice gruff. His hands were running over the bard’s body, checking for injuries.

“No.” Jaskier managed to choke out, trying to ignore the feeling of Geralt’s hands skimming over his hips. “But you are. Let me check that arm.” He said, reaching for the Witcher’s bleeding bicep. A hand snapped up and grabbed his wrist, bringing it back down to his side.

“You got too close.” He rumbled, taking a step closer so that he was practically pressing the bard up against the tree behind him. Jaskier swallowed.

“I know. Sorry.” He let out a shaky breath as he noticed those golden eyes sliding down to his lips. Geralt growled and pressed their lips together, one hand behind Jaskier’s head, the other still gripping his wrist. Jaskier was quick to reciprocate, tangling his fingers in the Witcher’s snowy hair and opening his mouth willingly.

Their kiss was all tongues and teeth and sucking and biting. Their sex was much the same. Jaskier knew it was adrenaline and he knew it was just physical, but he couldn’t stop from smiling the next morning, for once waking before the other man. Geralt’s injured arm was wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, the wound already mostly healed. The bard found himself tracing the outline of Geralt’s cheekbone, his jawline, his thumb running over his lips. He had never known the Witcher to sleep so deeply that a touch would not wake him.

He didn’t know whether this was a one time thing but he was grateful it had happened. Even if he only got to taste the man once, he would find a way to make it be enough.

After a while, Jaskier got up and wet a small rag, cleaning himself before rinsing it and beginning to clean the Witcher, it was nothing he hadn’t already seen, some of it he’d even helped wash before. They were still sticky from the night before and they were nowhere near any lakes or rivers. Geralt woke to Jaskier running the cloth across his thigh.

“Sorry, I thought it would be nice to wake up not so icky.” The bard said, pulling his hand away.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand, “I like it.”

Jaskier smiled and looked away, missing the way his favourite pair of golden eyes lit up at the sight.

“Well, I’m not about to miss my chance at touching that body again.” He said with a whistle. Geralt laughed at that and pulled the bard down, pressing a kiss to his lips that threatened to burst Jaskier’s chest with affection.

The Witcher’s gaze was soft for the rest of the morning.

They’d fall into bed multiple times again. Sometimes it was rough and fast and adrenaline-hazed. Sometimes it was soft and gentle and it left Jaskier feeling heady, his head filling with sweet honey as Geralt’s fingers worked wonders.

It was hard for him not to get attached even more. He knew he shouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that Geralt cared for him romantically. He wouldn’t put his heart through that. Still, it was hard.

So one evening, when a particularly brave woman had chosen to flirt with the Witcher, all but offering herself up on a platter, Geralt had looked to Jaskier with a look in his eye.

“It’s okay, Geralt.” He’d reassured him from the seat across the table, he smiled and Geralt frowned before rejecting the woman bluntly. Jaskier felt a sigh of relief building in his throat as the woman sauntered away.

“What did you mean ‘it’s okay’?” Geralt asked, turning to him with stiff shoulders. Jaskier froze. Was he really going to make him say it aloud?

“I - I mean, it’s okay if you want to sleep with other people, you don’t have to worry about me.” You don’t have to worry about me trying to stop you, about me being hurt.

“What - Jaskier -,” The Witcher struggled for a moment before taking a breath, “is this just about sex for you?”

Jaskier definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“I…is it for you?” He asked. It was a coward’s response. Had he already put that on the list? Add cowardly to the list. Geralt was quiet and Jaskier could feel his heart beating in his throat as those amber eyes searched his.

“No.”

He thinks he might have misheard.

“What?”

“It’s not just about sex for me and if it is for you then we should stop.”

Jaskier’s mouth was open, trying to find a response. He knew what he wanted to say but a declaration of love was probably not what the Witcher wanted.

“I love you, Jaskier.” Geralt said, his face pinched.

Huh.

“I know you don’t want me like that,” Geralt continued, his gaze still on Jaskier’s, “you of all people have seen the worst of me and I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to stomach romance with a Witcher,” the way he said that word made his chest clench, “but I can’t keep doing this, Jaskier.”

Since when had Geralt ever been more eloquent than his bard?

“You think I don’t love you?” Jaskier’s voice came out quiet, hesitant, incredulous. Geralt’s eyes looked wary.

“You -“

“Geralt, how can I not fucking love you? I’ve spent 20 years loving you. Fuck - it - it hurts how much I love you.”

Because it did. Every time Geralt smiled at him or teased him or tied his hair back in the morning, it was like a blow to Jaskier’s chest, but he’d gotten good at swallowing pain, swallowing tears.

He could tell Geralt was still disbelieving and fuck - he knew that the man’s self-loathing ran deep and he couldn’t help himself from saying; “Geralt, you are the best man I’ve ever known and it frustrates me to no end that you don’t see it.”

Geralt was watching him, scanning his face, his eyes, looking for something.

“Then why - why do you hide yourself from me?” He asked, frustrated, “You - you do this smile that - it’s not you, it’s not your smile. There’s this look in your eyes sometimes. It’s like a wall and I hate that you need to hide from me.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out to grab Geralt’s, trying to comfort him. The Witcher had never been big on affection in public but he let his hand be taken by the bard.

“It’s not you, Geralt, I don’t blame you. It’s - it’s not love…what you feel for me.” Jaskier smiled sadly, his years of practice swallowing down tears being put to use. “It’s not love. You’ll get bored of me soon. I’m not permanent. I’m - I’m a fleeting fancy. And that’s okay.”

“You - I - what?” Geralt asked, looking so completely confused that it was almost comical. “Fuck. We’re not talking about this here.” He said, standing up and dragging Jaskier up through the inn and into their shared room. “Now,” the Witcher growled, whirling on the bard and grabbing him by his shirt, “what the fuck did you just say.”

Geralt didn’t scare Jaskier. He could never scare him, but the bard’s eyes were wide as he looked at Geralt’s furious expression.

“I - I don’t know how to say it, Geralt, I - no one’s ever wanted me before, not in a way that matters.” He managed to choke out, his vision turning blurry. Fuck, he thought he’d gotten good at swallowing down tears but Geralt had yet again proven him wrong.

“Who told you that?” He asked furiously.

“No one,” Jaskier responded, pushing Geralt away and scrubbing at his cheeks fiercely, “no one had to. I know, okay? I know.” The Witcher snarled.

“You know nothing, bard, if you don’t know that I love you.”

“Stop it, Geralt.”

“No.”

“I can’t do this if you’re just going to leave me.”

Jaskier froze and a silence passed. His breath was shaking from barely restrained tears.

“I can’t do this, Geralt,” he continued in a quiet voice, “not if you find someone better and leave me. I - I don’t know what I’d do. Everyone I’ve ever known has either left me or grown tired of me. It’s not a pattern that’s going to end with you. I - I don’t think I could take it if you left me again.”

Geralt’s gaze was soft, pitying. Jaskier was pitiful, add that to the list.

“I’ve known you for over 20 years and I have not grown tired.”

“What is 20 years to a Witcher? And even so, you did, you did grow tired of me.”

‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’

“I didn’t grow tired of you. I grew tired of myself and my ability to fuck everything up.” Geralt said softly, “And I did, I fucked it up.”

“Geralt, it’s not love.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s not.”

Geralt snarled and pushed Jaskier up against the wall, leaning in close so that Jaskier had nowhere to look except for those golden eyes. Those disarmingly honest, golden eyes.

“Listen to me, Jaskier, I love you.”

Jaskier wouldn’t cry. He swallowed down a shaky breath.

“I’m irritating.”

“You are.”

“I talk too much.”

“You do. I like it.”

“I’m greedy.”

“You enjoy finery. It’s not the same.”

“I’m arrogant.”

“Clearly you’re not.”

“I can’t fight. I’m a coward.”

“You’re one of the bravest men I know. To the point of recklessness, it worries me.”

“It does?”

“It does.”

Geralt’s lips were grazing over his now, teasingly. Jaskier smiled, genuinely. Geralt smiled right back.

“You love me?” He asked, voice breaking.

“I do.”

And Jaskier cried, finally.

Jaskier cried and laughed and kissed Geralt. It was bad. It was wet and sloppy and he loved it. And Geralt loved it too. Because he loved him. Jaskier. He loved him.

Then Geralt had dragged him to bed, whispering praise into his skin as if hoping it would soak through him and settle in his bones. Jaskier had done the same because fuck, he was in love and it was dizzying.

“You know,” Jaskier began the next morning, earning a grunt from the Witcher laying under him, “I think last night was the longest I’ve ever heard you speak.” The chest beneath the bard’s head rumbled with a laugh.

“Fuck off.”

“I guess I just bring it out of you, Witcher.” Jaskier continued, grinning devilishly.

“I will kick you out of this bed, bard.”

“Please, I dare you to try and rip me off of you. I have melded my body onto yours.”

Geralt simply grumbled in response. It was a grumble of acceptance, Jaskier could tell. He could always tell.

They ran into Yennefer two months later and Jaskier found that he wasn’t concerned. He wasn’t worried Geralt would return to her. Partly because when she spotted them the first thing out of her mouth was;

“Finally. For Melitele’s sake, that took much too long.”

Geralt had looked at her with a pointedly unamused gaze which she’d returned with a wink.

Later, after they had helped her with a monster-slaying job so she could collect some sort of venom, the three had shared drinks.

“I take full credit for this, by the way.” She’d said, gesturing to the two of them and the arm wrapped around Jaskier’s waist.

“In what way is this your doing?” Jaskier had asked.

“I’m the one who told him to tell you how he felt.”

“Which he did months after he’d found me.”

“Is his lack of communication skills my fault?”

“If he didn’t do it when you told him to then it doesn’t count.”

“Fuck off, it counts.”

“It most certainly does not.”

Geralt took a sip of his ale as the two continued to bicker.

Not long after, Yennefer had decided to join them - “graced” them with her presence as she’d put it. Jaskier could tell that Geralt and the sorceress still cared for each other deeply. He couldn’t really talk though, he’d found himself caring for her as well. When she’d called him her “friend” he had practically glowed. Then Ciri had barrelled into their lives and their little circle had grown and gods, did he love that little girl.

“Where are your parents, Jaskier?” She had once asked as he was soothing her back to sleep after a nightmare. It was always Cintra burning, Jaskier ached for her. She was too young for all of this.

“I don’t know, honey, I haven’t spoken to them for years.”

“Why not?”

“We were never really a family.”

Ciri paused before smiling widely.

“But you have a family now.”

Jaskier smiled back, brushing the hair out of her face and listening to the sounds of Yennefer sleeping soundly and Geralt mumbling something to Roach.

“I do.”

#not sure im happy with this #my rambles #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfiction #angst #the witcher #the witcher fic #fanfic #fic written

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yeojaa · 5 years ago

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someone’s someone, i.

read part two! inspired by today’s weverse post (because omg???) and set in the angels & airwaves universe because these idiots are so special to me. a second part to this drabble will be forthcoming and it’ll be... even cuter? idk.

pairing. jjk x (named) f!reader. rating. general. tags. nothing inappropriate. just a lot of sweetness and silliness. wc. 1.1k.

JINNY’S APARTMENT Saturday, December 3, 2020. 12 AM.

You’re laughing at him. He’s really not sure why - only knows that you are from across the room with a towel wrapped snug around your body and your phone in your hand.

“W-what’s so funny?” The words round on their way out, tripping over themselves with the appearance of his occasional stutter. After a long day, he’s more tired than he expects. Less refined and more loosely-limbed - your favourite version of him.

(You remind him of it constantly, passing reassurances he never really realizes he needs.)

With your dark hair in a loose twist at your neck and your feet bare, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful. That is, until he’s on the receiving end of that stupid blinding smile of yours, singular dimple drawing his own forth. His favourite version of you.

You’re like mirror images - lovesick idiots who can’t take their eyes off each other.

“Taking selfies in my bed? Really?”

Jungkook blinks, gapes, tries to formulate an appropriate response. He settles for honesty, long fingers sweeping through his grown out fringe to push the strands behind his silver-lined ear. “You have good lighting.”

You laugh again - he never gets sick of it - and he watches as you cross to your closet, tossing your phone at him along the way. You’ve got terrible aim somehow, despite the many hours you log on the first-person shooter you both love. The glossy black iPhone narrowly misses his face, bouncing off the padded headboard and onto your side of the bed.

“You look cute when you’re in selfie mode.” It’s full of teasing yet wrapped up nicely and topped with a big red bow.

His face stares back at him from your screen.

“Okay, creep!” He doesn’t mean it and you don’t really care, though he gasps like he does and you throw a pair of bacon and egg patterned socks at him.

“You can take selfies but I can’t take photos of you taking selfies?”

It’s like the last brain cell shared between the two of you has gone out the proverbial window, thrown from the room by the ridiculous nature of your conversation. Neither of you mind. This is how you were - had been for the last year.

He wouldn’t trade it for a single thing.

“Are you sure you don’t secretly work for Dis—” The ceiling is an understanding audience member, meeting his stare until he swivels it to you - and nearly forgets what he was saying.

It’s hard for him to form any sort of articulate thought when his girlfriend’s standing six feet away wearing only his favourite pair of underwear: high-cut plain black cotton. Simple and yet so perfect.

“Work for who?” You echo, turning to him with an inquisitive raise of your brow and a smile that reads wicked.

“Huh?” It’s not uncommon that you reduce him to single syllables. It’s the byproduct of being stupidly head over heels in love, probably.

“Who do I work for, JK?”

“Me?” Now he’s just spewing nonsense, answering before he’s even given proper thought to the question. An overeager puppy who only knows treats come from sitting so he does it often and without thought.

Wait, did that make him Pavlov’s dog?

“I work for you?”

You’re a striking figure, dressed in spirals of ink and the sweetest smile. His heart skips a beat - a little one-two tap - when you draw close enough for him to reach for you.

“You could.” Truthfully, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying right now. Just feels the need to speak, to coax you closer whether by words or hands or any other method under the sun.

“I’m good,” you return with sugar on your tongue and hearts in your eyes.

“Okay,” he answers, probably a little dumbly. He’s suddenly far too interested in how you feel in his arms, your knees slotting wide on either side of his hips. You’re terribly soft and still shower-warm, radiating heat all the way through his black tee shirt and worn grey sweats. Broad palms traverse the shape of your bare waist before settling into their preferred spot with fingers interlaced. He holds you easily, comfortably, like he wouldn’t rather be anywhere in the world.

You unfurl your hands from around his shoulders, simultaneously pushing him back and seizing his discarded phone from beside yours. “Let me take one.”

“Take one?”

The exasperation is exaggerated, fitted into the conversation by a gentle palm against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath your palm - in sync with yours in a way that makes you bubble with pride. “A photo!”

“Okay,” he relents easily, sinking into the pillow that cradles his head. He peers up at you with those big doe eyes of his, galaxies caught in the unnerving darkness of his pupils and the pretty depths of his irises. He’s so utterly handsome you can’t help but take a few long moments to appreciate the angle of his nose, how the freckle right beneath his soft bottom lip winks up at you when he speaks. The attention isn’t anything new but it’s a little unnerving; a shadow of shyness passes, drowning out the sun in his smile. “What?”

“I love you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, nor is it the last (he hopes). Jungkook still folds it up and tucks it into the space behind his ribs for safekeeping.

“I love you, too.” He’s grinning when he says it and you snap the photo simultaneously, catching him off guard with a proud smirk. He’s heartbreakingly adorable, bunny-smiling and relaxed against the frame of grey sheets. You hum a noise of approval, shifting above him; his thumbs rub soothing circles over your hip bones as he waits patiently.

“You look good.”

“Post it.”

“Post it?”

“Did I stutter?”

You have half the mind to remind him how bad it sometimes gets, but you don’t. “You post it.”

The phone is back in his hands, digits tapping over the surface as he does exactly that. “There.” It comes with a great flourish - posted to Weverse with a line of purple hearts. “Lazy bones,” he grumbles, shooting you a look as he drops his phone and takes up something far more important in his hands - namely, your face, so he can kiss you all over your cheeks.

He does it sweetly, repeatedly, until you’re swatting at his wrists and demanding he stop. He only does because his phone starts blowing up, a barrage of notifications lighting up the screen.

If only either of you had noticed the purple in the posted photo, tips of your fingers just barely peeking into the frame.

His eyes meet yours - wide and alarmed and somehow, filled with amusement.

The same word in two voices and then all at once, colliding laughter. “Oops?”

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sometimesiwrite · 4 years ago

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Hooked on a Feeling

The Witcher: Modern Academia AU

Essi/Eskel

A/N: Inspired by this lovely art piece and my general ongoing obsession with Lit Prof Eskel, I bring you this—whatever this is. It came about largely because I want to explore Essi more thoroughly through different pairings, various different planes of existence, etc. The best way for me to think about and develop a character is to put them in with other characters and see what happens. This may or may not become a series, this also might stay where it is. I chose a modern AU because I wanted a challenge. I believe characters change with context, and this has been an interesting time spent with Eskel in this context as well. I’m not sure how I feel about him in this universe (aside from the love and affection I will likely always feel for that man); more specifically, I’m not sure I’ve done him justice, but I suppose I’ll let you decide for yourself. Feedback is usually helpful and always welcome. Cheers, friends!

Warnings: bit o’ smut, age gap, academic power structures, dialogue-heavy

MASTERLIST

Enjoy!

Strong hands held her steady, warm and luxurious through the cotton-poly-spandex of her skirt as it bunched around the tops of her thighs. A breathless roll of her hips left a spot blooming slippery dark on the red cotton of his boxer briefs, and a hungry moan escaped his throat as he explored the tender flesh and tendons of her neck. Papers crumpled under foot, previously housed on top of the desk, but now relegated to excess carpeting. Roget’s Thesaurus, Crabb’s English Synonyms, Shakespeare’s Lexicon, and other reference materials splayed open helplessly on the office floor as he toed off his shoes and sloughed off his pants.

She clutched him to her, feeling the shift and flex of his torso beneath her hands as she pressed her right cheek to his. She was overwhelmed with the urge to be closer, to know better, dig deeper into the possibilities of what they could mean to each other. But she could also feel the hesitation lingering between his fingers and her skin like a mirage over hot pavement, and the desire to ease and reassure took over. “You’re holding back,” she whispered, pausing their fervor. “Is this not what you wanted?”

Her hot breath against his ear sent a rushing tingle down his spine that made him falter, ever-so-briefly, before he regained his composure. He was breathing heavy against her, hair a mess, glasses askew, every muscle in his body quivering as he stood; caught between following the raw satisfaction of impulse, and listening to the unwelcome logic echoing loudly in his head that this was a bad idea. “No, no, believe me, this is very much what I want. I just—I need to make sure tha-ha-ha-haaaaa,” no one, not even him, got to know the end of that sentence as her palm dragged along the bulge in his briefs.

She blinked at him with certainty, pale cheeks blushing from her own boldness. But she wanted him to know that he was wanted: his mind, his body, his whatever-else-he-chose-to-give-her. Slender fingers nimbly worked the pearly buttons on his dress shirt. “You need to make sure that I don’t feel coerced by the difference in our ages or your institutional status.” She ran her hands over the crisp white cotton of his undershirt and smirked, “or your strength.”

Gods the way she talked sometimes, like her fucking soul belonged somewhere else, the way she just spoke words and meant them like it was the easiest thing in the world to be straightforward. It felt… safe. He could drift in the current of her transparency and never question whether she was holding something back or saying something merely for the sake of placating his insecurity. This woman had no subtext. It was liberating and, if he was perfectly honest, acutely arousing.

“Yes, of course I want to make sure,” he ran a hand through her hair, smelling sea salt and verbena. “And I want to make sure that you…”

She took his face in her hands and washed his honey-hazel eyes in her startling sea-glass-blue, “I want you.”

__________

Not even a third of the way through the semester, and Essi had already given up on the idea of making coffee and having a “pleasant wakeup” at home before class. It took no less time to roll out of bed and walk all the way to the cafeteria, but at least there was always a blueberry danish for her trouble, and the walk ensured she wouldn’t be tempted back into the warm bundle of blankets on her bed. She blinked heavily and shivered a little, her eyes still bleary from not-enough-sleep. She gripped her contigo travel mug and tried to remember the first two chapters of Gadamer that she’d half-read the night before (earlier that morning) as her eyes drifted closed.

...can I get for you?

Good morning… Miss?

The man in front of her gave a wry smile to the cashier, “Almost seems a shame to wake her up.” He gingerly reached out and nudged Essi’s elbow. She startled and her eyes—her two spectacularly blue eyes—blinked open. “Sorry,” the man said with an endeared smile, “You, uh… you alright?”

Essi blinked herself alert as a piece of strawberry blonde hair escaped a silver clip at the back of her head. She brushed the loose piece back behind her ear. “Yes. Sorry, just… uh, house blend in this, please. Double-double. And a blueberry danish.” She paid the cashier and stepped to the side to wait for her order. The man in front of her, she assumed, was also waiting on his. He leaned to the side, still facing forward.

“Long night?” he asked, clearly still mildly amused by the situation.

She conducted a surreptitious survey of her chatty companion, “You could say that. Philosophy reading got away from me this week.” A keycard was clipped to his breast pocket: Dept. English, E. L. Varga, Ph.D. The lack of photo indicated it was at least a year old if not more—photo IDs had only just become mandatory with the rapid growth of the campus and certain programs. She reckoned he was maybe 37-ish, from the way his hazel eye crinkled a little at the corner and the few bright silver streaks in his dark auburn hair. He looked… distinguished, but without the stiffness of someone whose entire adult life had been fully committed to academia. Post-doc? Assistant Professor?

“Full day ahead?” Essi couldn’t help but think the world of radio was missing a key contributor, his voice was so striking—deep and rich, but without being flashy, an unassuming timbre that came from somewhere deep within and carried a vulnerability with it.

“Oh, a little. Philosophy seminar followed by Contemporary Poetry this afternoon.”

“Two on a Friday. That’s a bit unkind.”

“I like them both and the professors are very engaging, it’s just, well…”

“Abrupt end to the week.”

“Yes exactly…” This unexpected morning companion was an excellent conversationalist. So much so that Essi hardly noticed she’d only seen the left half of him the entire time they’d been standing in line. She didn’t have much time to ponder on it, though, as her travel mug appeared at the same time as Dr. Varga’s order (a coffee and a cream cheese bagel). She glanced at the time and hastily lidded her thermos, hoping to get a bit more reading done before class began.

“Oh look, we have the same one!” she said, pointing to the turquoise blue, double-walled, spill-proof (as if) container as she tightened the seal on her own. “Funny coincidence.”

“Or maybe,” he offered suspensefully, tucking his bagel into his shoulder bag and lidding his own, “it’s not.”

Essi offered a sleepy chuckle, “Divine intervention in the form of coffee?”

“You’re the philosopher,” he smiled warmly, and moved to face her fully but stopped himself, instead opting to stare at his hand where it rested on the lid of his thermos. His left eye caught Essi’s inquisitive head tilt as he cleared his throat, “Have a good day.” He pursed his lips in a halfhearted smile and turned away. No doubt he has places to be, she concluded. But a small part of her couldn’t get over his sudden shift. He’d gone from being so open, so warm and charming to being—well, distant.

Essi’s musings about the mysterious E. L. Varga, Ph.D. were quickly dissolved by her professor’s introduction to Hermeneutics followed by a lively discussion about the nature and qualities of knowing. At the halfway point, the class dispersed for a ten minute break as they all stretched their legs and went to the bathroom. Essi gambled that her coffee would have cooled down to a drinkable temperature, and took a sip. What the—?

“Oh, damnit!”

“Hm? What’s the matter?” Julian asked, through a mouthful of pita and hummus.

“This isn’t mine,” she said, half-befuddled, half amused.

“How do you know they didn’t just get the order wrong? You’re telling me you took a stranger's coffee thermos which just happens to be identical to your own?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened,” Essi stated with certainty, staring into the middle distance. “I should find him after class and give it back.”

“Well, unless you can see through walls now, you’ll need to track down his office. Which,” Julian took another sizeable bite of pita, “I doubt you’ll be able to do without knowing his name, so I say just leave it and—“

“E. L. Varga, Ph. D., English department.”

Julian stared at his cousin, “You’re a little scary sometimes, you know that?”

________

Essi combed the halls of the English department after her seminar. Several times, she thought about going to the admin office to ask (it was the logical thing to do), but she felt suddenly shy about looking for him. Perhaps Julian was right, perhaps this was more trouble than it was worth. Her head was spinning with questions about whether she was imposing or perhaps impinging on his boundaries, disrespecting his privacy. Perhaps she should just leave the thermos with the Admin office and trust that it would get to him. She could just buy a new one for herself, no problem there. But then a part of her wanted to see him again, make a good impression. He intrigued her, and the small taste of conversation he’d given her that morning made her want to talk with him more about anything at all, no matter how trivial.

She wasn’t infatuated. Rather he’d made an impression, and something about him—the way he carried himself, presented his thoughts, his general affect—drew her to him in a way she couldn’t explain. Suddenly he mattered, and she was trawling the seemingly-endless network of almost-identical hallways in the hopes of returning what was his, and retrieving what was hers. She finally found the right office, impossibly small, and tucked away at the far end of a cul-de-sac. She knocked quietly.

“Come in?”

E. L. Varga, Ph.D. had his back to the door, ankles crossed on a corner of his desk with a stack of papers in his lap. “Just.. one second,” he finished underlining a scrawled turquoise notation in the margin and spun around to face the door, setting his papers down as he turned. “Yes, what can I do for—” he froze, coming face-to-face with dazzling blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a silver clip. “Ah.”

Essi tried hard to avoid the look of shock that rippled across her face and made her big blue eyes even bigger. Three jagged scars trailed angrily from the corner of his eye and past his mouth, coming to a final stop on the side of his chin. He cleared his throat and gave the same wry smile he’d parted with earlier that morning, adjusting his rectangular, wire-rimmed glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

“I imagine you’ve come for this,” he said, placing Essi’s thermos on the edge of the table.

“I—yes, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and, well,” she fished his out from her bag, “here.” She handed it to him and he accepted with a lighthearted raise of his eyebrows. She paused for a moment, meeting his eyes intensely. There was a sadness behind them that made her want to stay, made her want to ask questions, find out the source of his pain and eradicate it. Instead she smiled a little more stiffly than she meant to and lingered in the doorway.

E. L. Varga scratched at the lines in his cheek, “Was there, uh… something else?”

Essi shook her head pleasantly, “No. I suppose I’ll go now.”

Another pause, “Alright. Well. Enjoy your weeke—.”

“Why do you mark in blue?”

“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Varga blinked, nonplused.

“When I came in, before you turned around, I saw you leaving a comment on someone’s paper. I assume you were marking?” (he nodded), “You use turquoise. Most professors use red.”

He huffed a small laugh, spinning his marking pen in its cap, “I prefer to use a colour that’s a little less foreboding. It’s still bright and easy to notice, but it doesn’t mean instant panic for those students who, like me, have a Pavlovian panic response to red ink. That and red is my favourite colour, so the last thing I want is to associate it with constructive criticism and a never-ending trail of ‘see me’s.”

“That’s very generous of you. Most professors don’t think about it that hard.”

“The extent to which many professors don’t think is shocking, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’m glad for your students. They have a thoughtful instructor.”

Dr. Varga smiled warmly and removed his glasses, “Thank you. Was there something else?”

“You hid from me this morning,” Essi answered calmly, not knowing how else to bring up something like that—clumsily had been the only other option.

He answered slowly, “Yes. I did.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

There was a pause as Dr. Varga tried to wrap his head around what exactly was happening. Part of him was feeling exposed and a little too noticed for his own comfort. Another part of him, however, found this straightforwardness refreshing. Most people pretended to ignore the massive scars on the side of his face—which he always thought was a bit ridiculous and usually led to more awkwardness than if they just stared like he knew they wanted to. It wasn’t that she was staring, either, or asking unwelcome questions, but she wasn’t avoiding acknowledging the obvious. He liked that, he decided, even if it did make him feel a bit raw.

“It depends how you define ‘need’, doesn’t it?”

His averted glance was all Essi needed to realize it wasn’t her he had been trying to spare somehow; rather, he was trying to spare himself from her unpredictable reaction at 8:30 in the morning. A wave of sadness crested inside her at the thought of this warm and charismatic man having to strategically orient his face because he didn’t want a pleasant conversation suddenly filled with maneuvering and overcompensation. He’d just wanted a normal moment of small-talk to start his morning.

“I’m sorry,” Essi said. “Navigating others’ reactions must be exhausting. You deserve better.”

E. L. Varga shrugged and steered the subject to something a little less eat-pray-love. “Unexpected things surprise us. Like you, finding my secret gremlin office for the sake of two identical thermoses we could just as easily have dumped out and used as our own.”

“But I would have known it wasn’t mine,” Essi answered with an overly-earnest, wide-eyed expression.

He leaned back in his chair, hands folded contemplatively in his lap, ”Would that bother you?”

“Some of the colour has worn off the bottom rim on yours, probably from swirling it on your desk while you think. Whereas mine has a shallow dent in the side from when I dropped it last semester on my way to the library. Yours got the way it did because of you, just like mine did because of me. They both have stories connected to them. I can’t walk around carrying my coffee in someone else’s story. It wouldn’t feel right.”

Dr. Varga tilted his head, considering this shrewd young woman with seemingly no filter and unnecessary depth. It was a coffee thermos, for Christ’s sake. But she was genuine, poetic, and her eyes were the most alluring shade of blue he’d ever seen.

“Well,” he tapped his pen, “thank you for bringing it back to me safe and sound. Yours should still be drinkable if you unscrew the top. I only took one sip, but in case you’re afraid of cooties…”

“Same with yours, I’ll probably just rinse mine or…” she trailed off, realizing that saying ‘leave it’ would sound a bit strange. “So, Dr. E. L. Varga. Was it a coincidence after all?” Essi asked, a small enigmatic smile pulling at her lips.

“Eskel,” He said. “My name is Eskel.”

“Essi Daven. Until next time.”

With a little nod, she closed the door behind her, leaving Eskel to release the half-breath he’d been holding.

_______

The weekend passed all-too quickly. Essi and Julian played a double set at the campus bar—a standing invitation they never missed no matter how busy their schedules were. They both had double lectures on Friday, and nothing quite staved off the risk of burnout like good music and an enthusiastic audience. The rest of the weekend was spent more-or-less curled up in the livingroom with stacks of notebooks, JStor printouts, and dog-eared anthologies as they got to work on their readings for the coming week.

It was Wednesday by the time Essi made it back to the campus cafe, this time a good 45 minutes early and significantly better-rested than she’d been the previous Friday. Still, it didn’t stop her from nearly jumping out of her shoes when…

“Awake this morning, I see.”

She turned abruptly at the familiar voice to find Dr. Eskel L. Varga standing behind her, smiling welcomingly. She grasped the outside of his arm while she caught her breath, “Well, if I wasn’t awake before, I am now. Good morning!”

A rich chuckle came from the professor’s throat as he offered her elbow a brief touch of reassurance. “You know, most people do that after they’ve turned around.”

“You know, I’m not sure how to respond to that,” she answered lightly.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to. It was just—”

“That’s alright, I know what it was,” Essi blinked warmly up at him and Eskel got the distinct feeling she was checking him somehow, the way her eyes hovered and flickered between his own. Satisfied, she turned to the cashier and placed her usual order, stepping aside to wait with Eskel for his bagel.

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on the twins today,” he said, tucking his wallet into his pocket.

“I think any amount of attention from either of us will be enough to prevent another mishap. But, then again, it’s a shame we won’t have an excuse to distract ourselves with an early afternoon mystery.” Essi thanked the young man behind the counter as she accepted her thermos and blueberry danish.

“Hm, I imagine you’ll be glad not to have to find my office again, though. Cheers,” Eskel held up his own travel mug before taking a sip and lidding it. “I should be off. Busy day today. Good to see you, Essi.”

“I can walk with you if you like.”

Eskel slowed and turned tentatively back to her, “Sure, alright. If it won’t make you late.”

“No, no, I have time. My class doesn’t start until 9:30. That is, if you want company. You might… prefer to walk alone?”

Eskel smiled again, the friendly distanced smile of someone who wanted to avoid any and all misunderstandings. You see, there was something about Essi that set this post-doctorate professor on edge—not because she made him uncomfortable. On the contrary: she made him feel surprisingly comfortable. Comfortable in a way he was not accustomed to feeling around someone he’d only just met, and briefly at that. But even the brief few minutes they’d spent in each others’ company had been enough for Eskel to feel strangely drawn to her. There was an inherent intimacy in the way she interacted with him—with everyone, he assumed; the way her large blue eyes blinked slowly and inquisitively at him, the way they penetrated without piercing and lingered on his without darting away. It only served to enhance the subtle, self-possessed sensuality she exuded, and it made Eskel slightly-less-than-comfortable (insofar as he found it unavoidably appealing).

“I don’t mind a bit of company from time to time,” he offered, having opted for ‘Intriguing Conversation with Interesting Potential Future Student’ as his intention for this and all future encounters. They walked for about a minute in silence, neither quite knowing where to begin. Without the crutch of mistaken coffee-identity, the realm of conversational possibilities seemed a bit daunting. Eskel decided to ease the tension, “So, Essi. You know that I teach in the English department and where my office is. What’s your major? Or are you just doing general studies?”

“Well, I did do general studies my first year of undergrad,” a small piece of Eskel’s uneasiness eased. So she’s a grad student… “Now, I’m finishing off the first half of my Poetry MFA.”

Essi watched as his face immediately opened, eyes lighting up like a kid at DisneyLand, “Really? What’s your focus?” It was unbearably endearing.

“Affect and Poetic Performance. I’m examining the relationship between lyric and melody through the lens of Affect Theory.”

“Affect Theory…”

“It’s a way of talking about our ineffable responses to different environments. It’s all well and good to say, ‘well this or that has a certain vibe,’ or ‘something about that person feels off,’ when we’re speaking colloquially, but how do we talk about it in a broader, more objective way for the purposes of research? It’s a kind of philosophy of sensing if you think about it.”

Essi’s entire demeanor had changed on the turn of a dime. She was effusive, incisive, and talking a mile a minute, her gestures captivatingly eccentric as she spoke—Eskel thought it looked like her thoughts were physical things she was trying to pull out of her so she could arrange them properly. He wanted to see more of this side of her. Not just because he was amused and impressed, but because he was genuinely fascinated by where all this discussion of affect was going.

“And so affect itself is…”

“Affect is the thing that happens before emotion; a gut feeling or an intuition. It’s all those feelings we don’t have words for yet still sense acutely and precisely.” Her footsteps were becoming shorter, as though they were trying to keep pace with her thoughts, and her cheeks were starting to flush a pretty shade of pink beneath her light layer of foundation (or powder or whatever it was that made her shimmer slightly).

“This all sounds very elusive, Essi.”

“Exactly! It is! It’s incredibly elusive! And yet, what is it about a certain song that we can all agree sounds ‘melancholy’? How do we, as artists—poets, actors, sculptors, writers, musicians, gallerists, interior decorators—curate affect in a way that’s consistent and predictable?”

“Hm…” Eskel had forgotten about being charmed by his companion and was now fully invested in the inquiry at hand. He felt confident that he’d pieced it together so far. “So: how do lyrics and melody work together to form a cohesive, wide-reaching atmosphere...”

“—And how does the singer or musician facilitate that? Precisely.”

“It sounds like you’re digging into some interesting corners. Are you enjoying it?”

“I’m finding it invigorating,” the pink of her cheeks only served to intensify the blue of her irises as they flashed brightly up at him.

“I’m happy to hear that. It isn’t always the case,” Eskel stopped, having reached the top of the hallway leading to his office. “I should get to work, but. Thank you for the company. You’re thinking about a lot of interesting things.”

“A roundabout way of saying I’m interesting, perhaps.” There was no flirtation in her voice, no slyness on her face, but Eskel felt his face grow warm all the same. He couldn’t decide what was worse: that she wasn’t flirting but stating the obvious; or that her stating the obvious had the same effect as flirting.

“Yes, well. Duty calls,” he gave Essi a polite wave and turned towards his office.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

He stopped. “Sure” he replied stiffly, privately bracing himself for the inevitable question. Fine. Alright. It’s natural to be curious.

“What’s the L stand for?”

Eskel turned back to face her, eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion. “Sorry?”

“Eskel L. Varga. What’s the L for?”

“Oh! Sorry I thought…” he scratched gently at his right cheek and Essi’s heart sank. How many callous people had imposed their curiosity on him? A spark of protective anger shot up inside her as she watched his hand and she had an overwhelming urge to reach for him. “It’s, uh, it’s for Llewlyn.”

She swallowed heavily, restraining her hand as it twitched by her side, wanting to touch, to ease, to unburden. “You thought I was going to ask about something else that’s none of my business.”

Eskel rocked on his heels, examining the various dings and dents in the linoleum tiling, “Yes.”

“That’s none of my business.”

“Thank you,” he looked up, his free hand now in his pocket. “Most people don’t… I should go.”

“Have a good week, Eskel.”

“You, too.”

To say that Eskel retreated behind his office door would be a bit of an overstatement. But in the quiet solitude of his own private space, he had a moment to collect himself, to temper the intense vulnerability pressing on his chest. But there was another feeling, too, that felt more… elastic. A buoyancy driven by stimulating conversation and pleasant company; he was impressed, incredibly impressed; and despite his better judgement there was a part of him that hoped he would see her again on Friday morning.

Essi made her way to class with an indelible smile on her face as she struggled to convince herself that it was a professor’s job to listen to eager students and find their research topics interesting. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening. She didn’t know what, just yet, but it was something. Only time would tell.

______

@morethangeraskier @the-space-between-heartbeats @just-a-sad-donut @oxenfurt-archives @thirstyforred @titaniafire @belalugosisdead @lonelygayz @awkward-turtles-world @iloveyouyen @criminaly-supernatural@friendlybelladonna @enkelikauneus @sulkyshengshou

#Essi x Eskel #Essi Daven #Modern AU #Witcher AU #rarepair #Essi/Eskel #Profskel #The witcher #Eskel

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thenovelartist · 5 years ago

Text

His Greatest Gift - MLQC AU Headcanon

I was inspired by the “Double Seventh Time Travel” cards (and some other stories I’ve read.) After sitting on this for well over a month, I finally finished it.

Premise: The boys are given a gift; they just don’t expect that gift to be a person.

Gavin

For his acts of bravery on the battlefield, Gavin was promoted in his rank as well as endowed with a gift.

He insisted it was not necessary; Gavin never had need for material objects unless they assisted him in completing his mission.

However, he was told by his lord that it would be in his bedchamber come evening.

Gavin didn’t know what sort of gift to expect, but a girl sitting on the edge of his bed was definitely one possibility he never thought of.

People aren’t gifts, after all. They aren’t meant to be traded like some material object.

So, he sent the woman away.

However, what surprised him was her thankfulness of his action.

It was clear she hadn’t a choice in the matter. Which pissed him off even more.

When he told his lord that he could not accept a human as a gift but that no other gifts were necessary, his lord said he understood.

“Then I suppose I’ll take her as mine.”

Gavin quickly retracted his words, which only pleased his lord. It was clearly a purposeful trick, but Gavin wasn’t about to let her be taken advantage of, either.

He soon learned that she had been orphaned, her father having passed on before paying off a debt to their lord, meaning she was at his service until she paid it off.

Gavin didn’t want his lord to take further advantage of her, so she became a servant-slash-attendant to him of sorts.

He didn’t have a large dwelling, but she kept it clean as well as cooked for him when he was home off the battlefield.

And she sang.

It was accident he found that out, but the moment he heard her mellifluous voice ring through the air of his home, he knew he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

So while he didn’t ask for much of her—their agreement consisted of he gave her protection and a place to live while she kept his house and cooked so he wouldn’t have to (her cooking skills far outranked his, anyway)—he did shyly ask for her to sing more frequently.

And she happily complied.

He’d actually fallen asleep to her voice many times. It soothed and comforted him, particularly after a long day.

Her smile had a similar affect, he soon realized. The burdens of his heart would ease at the sight of her smile.

He didn’t quite understand it; the only other person who could accomplish that was his late mother.

No one other than his mother had cared for him beyond caring how useful of a pawn he could be.

But now, MC was the exception.

The amount she fussed when he came home with scars or bruises made him feel valued.

It also made his little heart go “pitter patter.”

He never thought that he would dread going out to battles or skirmishes. He just didn’t want to leave her.

But, the boy is dense and didn’t realize what that feeling was for months.

However, when he gets it, he doesn’t waste much time. (He does not count time spent weighing the potential negative effects of admitting to the woman who worked for him that he had feelings for her as ‘wasting time’.)

Any fears of his confession putting her in an awkward or uncomfortable position vanished the instant she admitted she’d also grown feelings for him.

Que walks together, shopping trips where he carried the purchases, or horseback rides where he carried her all around the territory.

But Gavin’s favorite thing was to spend any warm afternoon together in a field outside the city, where there was only the two of them resting in the golden fields that waved in the breeze. Sometimes they talked, sometimes one or both of them took a nap. It didn’t matter to Gavin.

With things going so well, it was only a matter of time before he married her.

Occasionally, he did think about how she had originally been a ‘gift’ to him, only for the purpose of warming is bed and entertaining him. How ironic that she’d become the greatest gift he’d ever received.

Kiro

He was a prince visiting a newly conquered territory.

He did hate the chaos and bloodshed of war, but he thought the cost worth it to liberate an oppressed territory.

And the people seemed to be thankful to be free of their ruthless dictator.

To show their thankfulness, they said they had prepared a gift for him.

Though he assured them it wasn’t necessary, he loved gifts and was always happy to accept.

However, he was less pleased to see that gift was a woman: the daughter of some noble family.

“She’s the finest lady in the land, your highness. For your harem.”

Except… he didn’t have a harem. And wasn’t looking to start one.

However, Savin, his advisor, accepted on the prince’s behalf.

He said something about ‘politics’ that basically meant ‘we’ll take her as a political tool.’

Kiro was not fond of it, but knew there wasn’t much that could be done.

So, he decided the only thing he could do was treat MC as well as he could.

However, she was not informed of his plan, nor was anyone else.

Which lead to MC ending up in his bedchambers that evening.

While…not where he wanted to have a conversation, he assured MC that he had no intention of using her in such a manner.

That resolve was fortified when he saw relieved tears come to her eyes.

He hated tears, so he did his best to cheer her back up and, thankfully, succeeded.

Later, she confessed to him that she’d been picked not because she was the prettiest girl in the land (her words, that Kiro strongly disagreed with; she was truly beautiful) but because her family was among the poorer of nobles, and she was not able to find a good match in time to avoid being given to the prince as a concubine.

Kiro was not happy to hear such a thing. Apparently, the nobles of this territory still needed close monitoring.

When they got back to his castle after leaving the one he’d acquired with the territory, Kiro was sure to treat her well, as well as ensuring that everything was up to her standards.

He had the ability to give her anything she wanted, but he soon discovered that material goods didn’t fascinate her as much as his kingdom itself.

So, Kiro designated a whole day to take her on a full tour of his castle and the city.

And seeing her eyes light up with wonder at their adventure was all that it took to get Kiro addicted to her smile.

From then on, he took her on any adventure he could think of. The pond behind the castle for a picnic? The kitchen for sweets? The town to escape Savin? They’ve been on all of them.

Kiro lives for these adventures. They seem to be better with her.

Her smile, her laughter, her expression of awe and wonderment… they did things to Kiro’s heart.

He’d do anything to get those little gifts from her.

Savin only gets mad when Kiro ditches his work for those adventures, which… is often.

As frustrating as it is, Savin is a little pleased to see Kiro so happy with a woman. It meant an heir might come sooner rather than later.

And when Savin voiced as such to Kiro, Kiro… couldn’t deny it.

He’d taken quite a liking to her. Her smile and laughter, how willing she was to go on adventures with him or just spend a quiet afternoon together. Don’t get him wrong, he loved it all, but it just didn’t seem like enough anymore.

The possibility of more… of taking her as his wife and having a family with her…

That was the end of Kiro’s heart. It had been stolen by a very beautiful thief.

So, with a new determination, he confessed.

His heart soared when she confessed back.

They didn’t date longer than a week before they started making plans for a wedding.

There really was no point in waiting any longer than that. Not when Kiro knew he wanted her to be his princess.

He wanted to bet that all the ladies back in from her territory were jealous now.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t realize just how precious of a gift she’d be to him back then, either. But he swore to never, ever take that for granted again.

Victor

As Emperor of his region, he knew marriage would be inevitable. He had an obligation to produce an heir.

He had plenty of women throwing themselves at him, practically begging for his attention.

And he found all of them severely lacking.

It exasperated Goldman, his right hand man.

At this point, the emperor’s court decided that it no longer mattered her status, if the emperor showed even the slightest interest in a woman, even if that was just the hint he didn’t hate her, they would make her his bride immediately.

So, a poor, unsuspecting MC arrived at the castle with a plea for her village for the emperor.

And her stubbornness, passion, and determination caught his attention.

Goldman about fainted when Victor smiled at her and answered that he would send his answer within the week.

A week later, Goldman was the one to deliver the supplies. However, unbeknownst to a certain emperor, he may have added a condition to her village receiving those supplies.

And that was how she became a bride presented to him by the court.

Victor was not amused. And he certainly was not amused that said presented bride had been coerced into his bed chambers that night.

But when he tried to send her back, she snapped. “You called me here as your bride in return for the supplies to my village, and then you have the audacity to turn me away?”

Victor’s brow furrowed as his face turned red in anger. “What do you mean ‘in return for supplies’? That was never part of the condition.”

Needless to say, a very pissed Victor had to refrain from sending people to execution right then and there.

After having rectified the situation in his court, the situation remaining was what to do with the girl.

He knew he couldn’t send her back because her village was waiting anxiously for her to become the new empress.

Which meant striking a deal with MC.

“We will keep up appearances. I will marry you in name only, but you must learn how to act like a true noble lady in order to act perfectly as my wife.”

Que lessons.

Victor supervised, AKA, micromanaged.

And MC was always fiery enough to shoot insults in retaliation.

Actually, it became the highlight of his day.

One day, Victor took over her lesson.

Oof, strict teacher.

But the pressure became too much, and MC finally snapped. “I’m doing everything I can! I can’t give you anything else. If you disliked me this much, you shouldn’t have agreed to marry me.”

Shocked at the tears in her eyes, Victor finally composed himself enough to swipe them away. “It’s not because I dislike you. It’s because I know that you’re strong enough to meet my challenge that I demand so much.”

A mutual understanding passed between the two of them then. Victor did his best to not be so strict, realizing too late that she was under so much pressure already that his strictness was not helping her.

He stopped interfering with her normal lessons, causing him to almost… miss her… a bit.

He decided to satisfy that longing by giving her quick, private lessons at the end of the day. She would show him what she learned, and he would gently correct anything he saw wrong.

And afterwards… they couldn’t bring themselves to part.

So, they would simply walk around the gardens and talk.

And soon, as a way of keeping her around even longer, Victor showed her his secret of actually enjoying using the kitchen.

While it originally surprised her, MC quickly became a more than willing taste tester.

Despite the increased amount of time together, Victor still hated parting with her.

Which was why Victor was very pleased at MC’s sudden new habit of bringing tea to his study when he was working.

It was both a blessing and a curse, because when she did, he got the honor of spending time with her, yet he also neglected his work in the process.

Eventually, Victor found that in the span of just a few months while a proper wedding ceremony was being put together, he’d come to regret the deal he made with MC for their marriage to be name only.

He… actually could see himself happy with her.

He debated telling her or not, and in the end, he was a man and confessed his feelings to her a few days before the wedding was set to take place.

He was surprised by her tears at his confession, only to be met with a confession of her own.

The deal was thrown out that night.

And on the wedding night, their marriage became one of not just name, but body and soul.

He would thank Goldman later because—while Victor still did not approve of Goldman’s methods—had it not been for his interference, Victor would not have such a precious gift in his arms now.

Lucien

He was part of a group of war lords aiming to increase their territory.

He’d conquered a large portion of territory, gaining an army that could then overthrow a comrade’s territory.

Lucien gladly did, taking on the man with no remorse or shame. In fact, he conquered with a smile.

“How dare you turn against me, Ares.”

“Forgive me, Hades,” he said, tone holding no remorse whatsoever. “But I grew tired of your… rather chaotic ambitions.”

Upon defeat, Hades was forced to surrender everything. Land, army, resources,

And a woman he kept very much hidden in his private castle.

Lucien remembered the fear in her eyes the first time they met. She was trapped in one of the rooms, and he’d caught her trying to break the lock on the window.

That fear didn’t dissipate even as a fire lit in her eyes. “I won’t cower to you!” she shouted, glaring at him even though she trembled.

In that moment, Lucien found her easily the most fascinating woman he’d ever seen. Was she driven by courage… or naïve hope?

Either way, it was clear Hades hadn’t broken her yet. Which Lucien was thankful for. She seemed far more interesting like this.

“You could waste time trying to break that lock before certainly injuring yourself in your escape from this third story room. Or, you could just let me show you the way out.”

She looked utterly shocked at that.

He chuckled. “Let’s just say your former master no longer has hold on you. Or anything, really.”

It took a moment for her to process those words. “Are you saying he’d dead?”

“No, not dead. But I do own everything he has as of now.”

“Including me?”

“Including you.”

The fire went out of her eyes a bit at that—what a shame, he quite liked it blazing so brightly—as she eventually followed him from the castle.

He did not dare stay in that castle. Frankly, burning it down would please him the most, which was what he did. He set free those who wanted to find work elsewhere and promised work at his own castle to those who wanted it.

Only a few stayed with him, most unwilling to work for a rogue warlord, but surprisingly, the girl was among them.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she admitted when asked. “If you’re promising work, I’ll take it.”

Lucien found himself very pleased at that. But at the resigned look on her face, he couldn’t help tease her a bit. “Even if I assign you the job of warming my bed?”

She froze, her eyes wide with shock before a fire sparked inside them again. He liked that fire quite a bit. “I tease,” he assured before promising legitimate work for her.

Even after that, she still followed him.

How fascinating a woman she was.

It took three months to learn just how fascinating she was.

He came home wounded after a scuffle on his border. He’d already seen a battlefield doctor to treat them. He would heal just fine.

He asked MC to bring him new bandages. She did so quite quickly, and then she offered to change them for him.

Curious, he accepted.

“Don’t you fear me?” he questioned.

“Why should I?”

“I am no better than your former master.”

“That’s not true!” she cried, looking at him. “You are ruthless, but fair. The people in your territory are able to thrive under your rule.”

He paused, surprised at her words. “And what do you think of me?”

“I think you are gentler and more trustworthy than you present yourself to be. I never worry about my safety or the safety of any other maids here in your home.”

That was all it took for new feelings to spark in Lucien’s chest. Feelings that were so foreign to him yet fascinating to explore.

And he started that exploration by calling on MC to keep him company frequently.

Those meetings varied from walks in his garden to keeping company over tea.

Over time, it became clear just what those feelings in his chest were.

One day, he called her to join him in the library, where they could talk privately.

He wouldn’t confess first. He would talk in a roundabout way that got MC to admit that maybe she felt similarly close to him before he would admit his feelings for her.

He wouldn’t trap her. He would ensure that she felt like she could leave without consequences. But he also knew that if she felt at all similarly, she wouldn’t leave.

And in the end of that conversation that made MC blush bright red and Lucien smirk triumphantly, she agreed to date him.

Which would result in marriage six months later.

Lucien easily felt like the luckiest man alive. He’d conquered many territories and accumulated wealth and riches, but he could say that the only true treasure he’d ever acquired from his efforts was her.

#mlqc #mlqc headcanon #headcanons #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien #au #historical au #fluff

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

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Fic: Beneath a Black Flag

Summary: Having turned to a life of piracy after being betrayed by the Amestrian navy, Captain Roy Mustang and Quartermaster Maes Hughes of the Phoenix are on a mission to find the wreck of the legendary treasure ship Xerxes, hoping to both strike rich and prevent the mythical Philosopher’s Stone from ending up in the navy’s clutches…

Written for the WriYe August Shorts Challenge, and very loosely inspired by Black Sails.

Rated: T

Beneath a Black Flag

Seeing the lights of Port Aerugo always felt like coming home. Even back when he’d been a legitimate navy captain, Roy had always felt more at ease in the rough and ready world of the southern port, with its bars and brothels and black market warehouses, than he had ever done in the more respectable places that his ships had docked in. The Amestrian navy had always adopted a laissez-faire attitude to the place: several attempts to ‘civilise’ it had fallen flat, ending in easy victory for the pirates who made it their base of operations, and humiliation for the navy.

The Phoenix dropped anchor in the bay and her crew started to disembark, eager for the pleasures of dry land after a long and difficult last haul. Still, the trip had been successful, which had raised people’s spirits no end.

“Roy? Were you intending on getting off this ship any time soon? Earth to Roy?”

Roy turned from his position gazing out over the Port Aerugo twilight and found Maes behind him, arms folded and an amused expression on his face.

“For someone who lives on the sea, you’re spending a worrying amount of time with your head in the clouds.” Maes came up beside him, leaning on the rail. “What’s eating you this time?”

Roy sighed. “I’m just thinking about the magnitude of what we’ve taken on. Do you ever look at what we’re doing and think ‘this is madness, I should pack it all in and become a tomato farmer instead’?”

“Yes. Frequently. But I know you’ve got a plan, however hare-brained it might be, so I trust you to navigate us through it. I’m not promising that I’m not going to force you into tomato farming as soon as it’s all over, though. You actually will give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Have I ever got us killed?”

“No,” Maes admitted, “but you can’t deny that we’ve had some very close calls.”

Roy grimaced. He definitely couldn’t deny it, and he would have to admit to being glad that their next sortie would hopefully provide the last piece of the puzzle that they had been chasing for so long and bring with it the reward they desperately sought. All they had to do now was to stay one step ahead of the navy, but that was proving easier said than done.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked Maes eventually.

“What, the navy?”

“Yes. Well, not the navy specifically. But the time before, when life was less complicated.”

“Was life really less complicated in the navy? It wasn’t as hard and it probably wasn’t quite as constantly dangerous, but complicated? Roy, you of all people know that it was infinitely more complicated back then.” He wrapped an arm around Roy’s shoulders and pulled him in close, pressing a kiss to his temple, and Roy had to smile. “Do you really want to go back to a time when we had to hide?”

In a way, piracy was nothing but hiding, always trying to outfox the navy, but ever since they had started sailing under a black flag, Roy and Maes had never had to hide their relationship or make out that they were something they weren’t. Snatched moments here and there and the ever-present threat of being found out and court-martialed for daring to fall in love had given way to easy acceptance and the closeness that they’d never been allowed before.

“No,” he agreed. “I’d rather have this.”

Maes gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go ashore. Everyone else has already left apart from the night watch. I’m beginning to forget what dry land looks like.”

Captain and quartermaster made their way towards the final longboat making preparations for its launch, and soon they were walking through the streets of Port Aerugo. It was a place that never slept, coming even more alive after dark when the drunks started carousing and the brothel girls started touting for business. Roy and Maes were well-known enough not to be bothered by the latter, who just gave them a cheerful wave as they went past and went to try their luck with the other, incredibly willing members of Phoenix’s crew.

As always, their path took them to Madam Christmas’s. Bar and brothel rolled into one, the place had always tried to maintain an air of elegance in an increasingly tawdry world, and above all its other attractions, it would always be a safe place for Roy.

Madam Christmas gave them a nod as they walked in, whisky ready on the counter for them. Roy knocked it back, savouring the burn.

“This is good stuff. Whose prize did you skim this off the top of?”

Madam Christmas laughed. “I got it from Armstrong. The cask was too bloody to be sold on through the warehouse so I took it off her hands for a very reasonable price.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. Oliver Armstrong was known for being absolutely terrifying, but in his experience her reputation preceded her so much that she never needed to resort to bloodshed. Crews saw the Briggs Fortress coming with its black flag flying and they just handed over their manifests with their hands up.

“It’s not like her to make a mess,” Maes commented. “She likes things quick and simple.”

“I’m sure that this one would have been quick and simple too if some idiot hadn’t signed his own death warrant by telling her she ought to be off having babies instead of captaining a pirate ship.

“Ah.” Maes and Roy looked at each other. “Yes, that would definitely do it.”

“I bet she and Riza had a great laugh about it afterwards. Anyway, enough of Armstrong. I take it that your voyage was successful?”

Roy nodded. “Yes. We’re ready to go as soon as Phoenix is prepared for the trip.”

Madam Christmas let out a low whistle. “You really think you’ve found it? I was beginning to believe the nay-sayers who maintain that the lost treasure of Xerxes is just a myth.”

There was a small part of Roy that would admit that he too was beginning to believe the same. The legendary treasure ship had wrecked somewhere in the southern seas decades ago, and so many stories had been built up around it over time that it was difficult to know what was real and what was embellishment, with all the accounts varying wildly.

Just one thread had remained constant throughout, and that was the thread that Roy had never stopped pulling on. Among the treasures on board the Xerxes was a Philosopher’s Stone.

All alchemists were familiar with the concept of Philosopher’s Stones and Roy was no exception. Rarer than the rubies they resembled, the navy had been trying to get their hands on one for as long as anyone could remember. Whilst Roy didn’t believe the stories of turning lead into gold or producing the elixir of life, he absolutely believed in the stone being used to bypass equivalent exchange and make alchemists’ raw power stronger by tenfold.

Which was why Roy was determined to stop the navy getting anywhere near one by any means necessary.

“Well.” Madam Christmas gave Roy an impressed look. “If you can track it down then more power to you. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’m well aware of your thoughts on the whole matter. Just as long as you give me a cut of the treasure for giving you bed and board all these years.”

Roy rolled his eyes but he couldn’t deny that it had been a blessing to have a home base that wasn’t floating. There was always a bed waiting for him at Madam Christmas’s, and finishing his second shot of Olivier Armstrong’s filched whisky, he decided it was high time that he made his way there. Maes followed him out of the bar. Tomorrow the real work would begin, prepping the Phoenix for her next and arguably most important journey and charting their course for the fabled location of the Xerxes wreck, but tonight could just be for them, and they could forget the trials they would soon be facing.

Roy never slept properly the first night back on dry land after a long voyage, missing the gentle - and sometimes not so gentle - rocking of the ship to lull him off to sleep. He envied Maes, who could drop off anywhere in any position and be completely dead to the world within five minutes.

He ran his fingertips over the scar on Maes’s chest, too close to his heart for comfort. All pirates had scars, most had many, and they were generally worn as badges of honour for battles survived. This one, though… This one was the reason they were here in the first place, the moment that had started this very long journey towards the Xerxes treasure.

“Stop thinking about it.” Maes caught his wandering hand, opening his eyes and looking up at Roy blearily. “I survived, that’s all that matters.”

Roy rolled over, looking up at the ceiling. He knew that Maes was right, of course, but he couldn’t help thinking about what might have been. It was something he dwelled on often.

Most pirates did not set out to become pirates and Roy was no exception. He had never had any desire to turn to a life of piracy in his younger days. His first interest had always been alchemy, and going into the military as a naval alchemist had seemed like a natural career progression. Every ship in the navy carried an alchemist as standard; it was almost guaranteed job security. Most pirate ships carried at least one as well - Roy had never known whether the navy’s alchemy programme was a response to the pirates or if it was the other way round, but the set up had been established for so long that no one really questioned it.

He had earned his alchemy license and graduated from the naval academy where he had met Maes and history had been made. They had joined a ship, and Roy was pretty sure that neither of them had intended to look back, despite the constant difficulty and secrecy that had to surround their relationship.

Life had never been anything close to perfect, but it was as good as Roy thought that they would ever get, and he had been content with it. It had all been going really well until the incident at the admiralty.

He was pulled out of his train of thought by Maes rolling over on top of him and leaning in for a long kiss.

“You worry too much,” he said softly once he finally let Roy up for air. “And you always seem to blame yourself for things that weren’t anything to do with you.”

“Maes…”

“Oh, shush.” He kissed him again and Roy surrendered into it, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Maes’s back to pull him in closer. It was easy to push the uneasy thoughts to the side when they were like this, Maes warm and solid and very alive in his arms reminding him that despite what might have happened, it did not actually happen, and the past wasn’t a place that it was healthy to stay in for too long.

After all, when it came down to it, they would never have found out about the navy’s plans for the Philosopher’s Stone if it hadn’t been for everything that had happened. They would all still be blissfully unaware and unwittingly assisting in potentially ending the world as everyone knew it. As it was, Maes had chased a loose thread that the navy had most definitely not wanted him to chase, and ended up with a bullet in his chest for the trouble.

Roy had cut all ties with the navy as soon as he had found Maes collapsed halfway down the street from the admiralty building, and whilst he might often look back and wonder what might have been after that moonlit flit to Port Aerugo, he could never bring himself to regret it doing what he had done and both of them ending up joining the life of piracy.

“Now…” Maes purred in his ear, making Roy’s stomach flip-flop. “For the love of God will you go to sleep.”

Roy couldn’t help laughing.

The weather was good for making repairs, bright sunshine and a cool breeze, but not enough wind to make working on the sails and rigging unwieldy and dangerous. A thorough assessment of the damage sustained on their last sortie had shown that the problems were largely superficial, and Phoenix should be fully ship-shape again within just a couple of days. Leaving the crew to tackle the repairs and Maes to supervise restocking for their next and most important voyage, Roy was gathering intelligence. It was all very well having worked out where the Xerxes had wrecked, but that wasn’t going to be of any use if the navy were swarming all over the area. Roy really didn’t want to have to shoot his way out. Or shoot his way in, for that matter.

“Mustang. It’s been a while.”

Grumman was in his usual haunt, sitting in one corner of the Armstrongs’ bar in the shadows with his hat pulled down over his eyes, trying to affect an air of mystery. Unfortunately, Roy had known him long enough to know that there was no mystery at all to him, he was simply a very shrewd man with a lot of contacts in strange places. Even those completely new to Port Aerugo tended to regard him with raised eyebrows rather than any kind of awe these days.

“It has, Grumman. Can I get you something?”

“That depends.” Grumman swung his feet down off the table and leaned in. “What do you want in return?”

“Information, Grumman, like always. Preferably useful information and preferably about naval movements in the coming weeks.”

“Well, I think I might be able to help you there. You know my usual.”

With alcohol procured, Mustang returned to Grumman’s information dispensary and settled in for one of the old man’s stories. He was surprised when he didn’t spin off into a tale about his granddaughter’s latest exploits.

“So, you’ve found it then?”

“Potentially. Either way, I’d rather not have the navy on my back when I go looking for it.”

“No, I can appreciate that. I’ll admit that I haven’t had any reports for a few days, but it’s not looking too bad out there, just the usual patrols, and they don’t normally go as far south as you’ll be heading. At least, I assume that you’ll be heading south?”

Roy made no indication either way. He considered Grumman to be a friend, but information was money in all businesses and he didn’t trust the old fox as far as he could throw him. He knew that he was not the only pirate in Port Aerugo who was on a quest for the Philosopher’s Stone, and he knew that not all of them had the same intentions as he did.

He hoped that familial loyalty would win out in the end when it came to Grumman, though. His daughter sailed with Armstrong - hence his permanent fixture in her family’s bar - and Armstrong’s opinion of the navy and the Philosopher’s Stone were well-known. Roy certainly wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her by assisting in anything other than the Stone’s ultimate destruction.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck in your endeavours,” Grumman said. “Of course, if you do find what you’re looking for then I’m sure that the residents of Port Aerugo will be expecting you to keep them in rum for a long time to come.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “If I do find what I’m looking for, Grumman, then Hughes and I will be retiring to the country and never setting foot on a ship again.”

Grumman just chuckled. “You’d never do that. You enjoy the call of the sea too much.”

Roy left Grumman to it, paying for another drink for the old man and heading back towards the Phoenix. He didn’t really have any intention to retire on his potential gains from this journey, he was far too cynical to believe in such romantic notions, but he couldn’t deny that he often thought about a life without looking over his shoulder for the navy every five minutes. Perhaps he could be one step closer to that at least.

It was a cool and clear morning when they set sail in search of the goal that they had been chasing for so long, a strong wind blowing them steadily away from Port Aerugo and into the southern seas. It should have been the ideal conditions for starting a voyage, and indeed, most of the crew were in high spirits having had such a good beginning - hopes were high that they would ultimately succeed.

There was something in the air that made Roy uneasy though. He couldn’t really pinpoint what it was, putting it down to just an alchemist’s instinct.

“Hey. It’ll be ok. Whatever gets thrown at us, we can weather it.”

Roy laughed as Maes came up beside him. “I’ve never understood where you get your relentless optimism from.”

“Well, it’s certainly not from you. Being shot by your own side tends to put things in perspective and you learn that life’s too short to be morose. Just think of all the riches that are coming our way. I know, I know, that’s not the reason why you’re doing this, but stop thinking altruistically for a moment and bask in the glory of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination.”

“I suppose there’s something comforting in that,” Roy agreed. He looked out at the open sea in front of them again. It would take a few days of sailing before they came into sight of the supposed wreck site, and it didn’t seem like there would be anything getting in their way. Even with Grumman’s intelligence, though, the navy were never to be trusted not to put a spanner in the works. Sometimes Roy thought that they had some kind of sixth sense going on with their uncanny ability to be just where they weren’t wanted.

Someone hailed Maes and Roy was left alone with his thoughts. He turned back to survey the bustle of the ship’s normal operations. They had started life as a rather rag-tag bunch, many of them leaving the navy for various reasons that Roy had not inquired into, but over time they had come together into an efficient crew who worked well together. Breda was at the helm, keeping Phoenix steady as she cut through the sea, Havoc up in the crow’s nest keeping watch, Catalina and Fuery scampering over the rigging. Roy would trust this crew with his life, and when he thought about what was at stake for them on this latest outing, he knew he would far rather have these people by his side than any of the naval crews he had sailed with in his time.

All the same, he still couldn’t get that uneasy feeling to go away, despite the perfect conditions, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perfect conditions for them meant perfect conditions for every other ship that might be out here in the southern waters with potentially nefarious intent.

The other shoe dropped three days into their voyage when the wind began to pick up further.

“Sails!” Havoc yelled down from the crow’s nest.

“What? Shit.” Roy whirled around to look in the direction that Havoc was indicating, finding the bearing he was shouting and extending his telescope.

“Friendly or not?” Maes had jogged over to him and was leaning over the railing, squinting at the vague white shapes on the horizon.

“Likely not, looks like a navy flag.” Roy looked back at the helm. “Maintain present course and speed.”

Breda nodded, holding the helm steady as Roy continued to look at the ship that had joined them.

“Dammit, Grumman said that there weren’t any patrols in this area.”

“I know he’s usually pretty reliable but he’s been wrong before. Sometimes the navy just like to mess with us.”

“I swear they’re psychic,” Roy muttered. He held out the telescope to Maes.

“I don’t know why you’re giving it to me, I’ve got the worst eyesight on the ship.”

“Just take a look.”

Maes dutifully took a look. “I think you’re right. Definitely looks like a navy ship. She’s going at a hell of a lick as well, we’ll be able to see for ourselves shortly.”

“As long as she keeps coming straight and doesn’t turn.” Roy did not want to be broadsided by a full navy cannonade. They were going at a steady pace themselves and if they kept up this way then there was the slim chance that the two ships paths would not cross and the navy ship would end up behind them, playing catch-up and giving them the upper hand.

“I really don’t like this,” Maes said. “It’s too much of a coincidence for them to be in the same place as us.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret that we’ve been hunting the Xerxes all this time, but I thought that our main problem would be competition, not the navy. They must be getting desperate if they’re following up on gossip coming out of Port Aerugo. You’re right, though. I don’t like it at all.” He turned to the rest of the crew, all of whom were now watching the fast approaching sails. “Ready the cannons!”

The crew jumped to it, all those that could be spared racing down to the cannons and beginning to prepare them. Roy really hoped it would come to nothing, but as the navy ship kept bearing down towards them, he knew that it would be in vain.

“It had to be the Bradley, didn’t it? Of all the ships in the fleet, the one that came after us had to be the Bradley.”

The approaching ship was beginning to turn side-on to them. It was a double-edged sword; they had a larger target to hit with their own cannons, but they were now also a larger target for the navy’s.

The Phoenix had one thing that the navy didn’t, though. The Phoenix had Roy. Leaving Maes in charge on deck, he went below to the guns, checking the fuses as he pulled on his spark gloves. Flames on board a ship full of gunpowder were not normally a good idea, and his choice to learn flame alchemy as a potential alchemist afloat had raised more than a few eyebrows, but his years aboard Phoenix and the many tricky situations he had found himself in had honed his skills considerably.

The rest of the crew, having seen him in action many times before, dutifully stood back before he snapped, pinpoint flames igniting the fuses just at the precise moments that he needed them. The thunder of the cannon nearly deafened him, but he could see that at least some of the balls had hit their mark. Now it was time for the navy to return fire as they reloaded.

“Incoming!”

Roy heard the earsplitting crunch of a cannonball blasting the railings on deck above him and he grimaced. The ship’s master would not be happy about that one.

“Sails to starboard!”

Roy swore violently on hearing the exclamation being passed around the ship from the crow’s nest. Somehow they’d managed to get themselves into a trap. This was not how he had envisioned this trip going. They had done so well at avoiding the naval patrols.

The cannons reloaded, Roy set the fuses again before Maes stuck his head down onto the gun deck and hailed him.

“Captain, we’ve got a problem..”

“I heard. Any identification yet?”

Above them, the crew hit the deck as another volley of cannon fire from the Bradley soared over them. Most of the balls this time seemed to fall short; perhaps they’d overdone it on the powder the first time.

“No flags,” Maes said. “Wait…”

He vanished up onto the deck again as Breda called out to him, and Roy took advantage of the brief lull of reloading to peer out of one of the gun ports with his telescope. Another ship was indeed bearing down on them from the opposite side, this one fighting against the wind and creaking with the speed that it was putting on. There were no identifying flags on it, and it didn’t appear to be a typical naval ship.

“Captain, we’re being hailed.”

This time it was Fuery coming down onto the gun deck. Roy followed him back up, watching the little flashes of light from the approaching ship.

Need a hand Mustang?

Relief flooded through Roy’s veins as the newcomers unfurled a black flag and swung the ship around. Now that they were closer, he could recognise Briggs Fortress, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so pleased to see Olivier Armstrong in his life.

“Message from the Briggs, Captain. Armstrong and Hawkeye are coming over.”

As fearsome as the Bradley was, the pride of the Amestrian navy that struck annoyance if not fear into the hearts of pirates everywhere, it was no match for two ships working together to scupper it, and the Phoenix and the Briggs had left it floundering and unsteerable with most of its crew bobbing in the water behind them, sailing the same course together for a few miles until they were sure that they were out of harm’s way and could slow down to make any immediately needed repairs.

Fuery threw a line over the side as one of the Briggs’ longboats drew up alongside them, and a couple of minutes later, Olivier and Riza were on the deck.

“Well, that was bracing,” Olivier said grimly. “Honestly, Mustang, you should know better than to go after something as big as the Xerxes without a consort.”

Pirate ships usually worked alone, after all, there were a limited number of prizes on the seas and they were all in competition for their livelihoods, but it wasn’t unheard of for a couple of crews to team up and go after a particularly lucrative or well-guarded ship in return for sharing the profits. In the case of the Xerxes, Olivier did have a point, especially considering how much naval interest there was in locating the wreck, and the fact that the treasure wasn’t their main objective anyway.

“Mind you, this is you we’re talking about, and your capacity for idiocy is well-known, so I can’t say that I’m exactly surprised by this.”

Roy sighed but didn’t rise to the bait; he was too grateful for the help that the Briggs crew had provided to argue with Olivier now.

“I didn’t want to publicise things too much. Not everyone is as scrupulous as you and I when it comes to what’s at stake here.”

“Mustang, my thoughts on the navy, the Philosopher’s Stone, and alchemy in general are well known. As much as it pains me to say it, I’ll gladly work with you to keep the bloody thing out of the wrong hands. Anyway, I suppose we should explain our fortuitous presence here.”

“I was going to ask about that,” Maes said, eyeing the two women with equal parts respect and suspicion. “Has Grumman been spilling his secrets?”

“In a manner. When he received intelligence that the navy were on the move into the south, specifically where you were going and where he’d told you they weren’t likely to go, he felt it courteous to let you know, and since we were in the area, Riza persuaded me to take off on a mad goose chase after you.” Olivier shot a glance sideways at her lover. “The things I do for you. Anyway, it looks like it was lucky we arrived when we did.”

Roy nodded. “Thank you.”

The four of them moved into Roy’s cabin to discuss the route that they were taking and the approximate location of the treasure that they had finally found. It felt strange to be sharing it so openly having spent so many months trying to keep their research under wraps, but they were so close to the end of it all now. Roy really didn’t want to face another situation like the one they’d just narrowly escaped without being able to make repairs to the ship. They couldn’t afford to turn back towards Port Aerugo now, not with the navy on their tail already.

Riza looked over the maps, giving everything her expert navigator’s eye.

“I’ve no idea how you managed to piece it all together,” she said, “but it all looks watertight.”

“Well, in that case, shall we get going?” Maes asked. “This little skirmish has lost us some valuable time and we need to course correct. If the Bradley's out here then she won’t be alone, and I’d rather get as much of a head start as possible.”

“See, your quartermaster talks sense,” Olivier complained as she and Riza made their way back towards their longboat. “You should listen to him.”

“Yes, Roy. You should listen to me.”

Roy just smacked Maes in the arm.

“Ow! Man down! Man down!”

“It’ll be man overboard if you’re not careful,” Roy growled.

In the longboat, Riza rolled her eyes as she and Olivier began to row back to the Briggs.

“Sometimes I wonder how those two manage to get anything done.”

“Is this it? I have to say, Mustang, you’re not filling me with an awful lot of confidence here.”

They had reached the supposed site of the Xerxes wreck, the Briggs coming up alongside the Phoenix and dropping anchor as Olivier shouted across the prow. So far they had not come across any other navy vessels in the area, but the Bradley was the fastest in the fleet so it made sense that she would catch up to them first. Roy was already working out a more circuitous route back to Port Aerugo to try and avoid the other ships that had no doubt been sent after the advance guard.

On the face of it, he had to admit that Olivier had a point. The place that they had come to was little more than a large jagged rock sticking up out of the water, seemingly innocuous. It certainly wasn’t an island large enough to have treasure buried on it, but given some of the lethal-looking protrusions, he could well see why the Xerxes would have wrecked here on a dark and stormy night.

“According to all the research I’ve done, this is where she wrecked. The sea levels and tides have to be just right for the rock to be visible about the waterline.”

Riza leaned over the rail and peered down into the still waters below.

“I can’t see anything down there but then, we don’t know how deep it might go.”

“We’re not looking for the wreck itself anyway,” Roy pointed out. “It’ll be nothing more than rotten planks by now. We’re looking for what was on the wreck, and it should be on that rock.”

“For the love of God, Mustang, where?”

“You’ll see. Hughes, are you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Captain.” Maes followed him over to where Breda and Fuery were making a longboat ready to cast off, and soon they were rowing in towards the rock. It was a fraught journey, the waves lapping against the rock causing odd eddies that threatened to bash them against the side, and the ever present threat of being snuck up on by the navy was weighing heavy in the back of Roy’s mind all the time.

“You’re a sly one, Mustang.”

They had reached a fissure in the rock, invisible to them from the distance of the ships and only appearing once they were up close. If Roy’s theory proved true, then it was inside this fissure that the treasure of Xerxes would be found. With the fissure so well-hidden and the rock half-submerged most of the time, it would be the perfect resting place, and there was little wonder that no-one else had tracked it down before.

They tied up the boats and clambered awkwardly up onto the rock, lighting lanterns before edging their way into the fissure. It was tight going at first, but opened out after a few yards to give them more breathing space. Maes was leading the way, Riza bringing up the rear, leaving Roy with Olivier in the middle. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, and he was glad that the trip would hopefully be a short one. The tunnel angled down a steep incline and Roy could tell that they were below the waterline now. Hopefully they’d be able to get back up again.

“Captain.”

Maes stopped abruptly, causing Roy to nearly run into him, and he peered over his quartermaster’s shoulder, grinning.”

“Ye of little faith, Armstrong.”

It was not the massive haul that legend had built it up into, but Roy had been expecting that. With something like the Xerxes, everything about it had been blown so out of proportion that the tales had reached the stage of the thing being rumoured to have been carrying so much gold that any ordinary ship would have sunk under the sheer weight of it.

It was still a decent prize though; even after splitting with the crew of the Briggs it would be a hefty nest egg for them all.

“Enough to retire on, do you think?” Maes asked. “Get a little place in the country and live comfortably?”

“Potentially. We’ll have to get Falman and Fuery to make a proper account of it back in Aerugo.” They moved further into the small cavern where the treasure had been stored. The gold and jewels were not their main concern and all four of them knew it. Riza turned back to get help from the ships to shift the loot, and Olivier came into the cavern.

“Right, let’s find this blessed stone and get out of here before we’ve got the navy breathing down our necks again.”

Looking for a red stone in a chest full of jewels was never going to be the easiest of tasks, but the sooner they started sifting, the sooner they could be sure of making sure that the thing was lost forever. Roy really didn’t like the idea of having it hiding in plain sight on the Phoenix or the Briggs for any longer than necessary.

“Got it.” Maes held up a leather satchel unearthed from the bottom of one of the chests and rolled his eyes when Olivier and Roy both gave him incredulous looks. “Yes, I know it’s not the stone. Captain’s log. It might give us a clue where to look.”

He began filing through waterlogged pages as Olivier and Roy continued to work through separating out everything that remotely resembled a ruby until Riza returned with a few men from both ships, forming a chain to pass everything out of the cavern and along the fissure.

“We’ve got sails on the horizon,” she warned. “Miles reckons we’ve got just under three hours before they’re in firing range and they’re riding low, they’ve got the heavy guns.”

“All right, we can focus on finding objects of mass destruction later, let’s move on out.”

Both crews were used to clearing loot quickly; it never did to take your time grabbing merchandise off a boarded ship when the navy might pounce at any moment, and soon the cavern was cleaned out and the two ships were weighing anchor, moving away from the rock in convoy. The navy sails were still on their tail and the lookouts were keeping sharp eyes on them, but they were not yet in a position where it looked like they were gaining, and Roy was confident of his ability to lose them once they were back in more familiar waters. If necessary they could split up, each of them leading a navy ship away. Maes was still reading the captain’s log in a desperate search for something that could help them.

Roy watched the expressions that crossed over Maes’s face as he skimmed over the last couple of pages of text. He seemed to run the entire gamut from overjoyed to incredulous to angry and back again.

“Roy, take a look at this.” He came over, handing off a couple of damp sheets of parchment. The ink had run and the writing was barely legible, but Roy could still make out the captain of the Xerxes’s final message.

The rest of the treasure I shall leave in this rock. Those canny enough to find it are welcome to it. I myself have no further need of it. To those who come in search of the Philosopher’s Stone, I can offer only disappointment. There is no stone. There never was. It was a legend we concocted and fed to strike fear into the hearts of those who might set upon us for our cargo. Take the jewels and leave all foolish attempts of immortality and power beyond imagination behind.

May the wind always be at your back. VH. 1756

Roy had to read it three times before the message sank in. On the one hand, this entire outing had been for nothing. It meant that they had left the navy for nothing, Maes had been shot for nothing. On the other hand, they didn’t need to worry about the Philosopher’s Stone falling into the navy’s hands now, and they had a boatload of treasure to boot. It was all so unbelievably ludicrous that Roy couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Roy?” Maes was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Roy, are you ok?”

Roy nodded, pulling Maes in close out of sheer relief that it was all over. Maes’s arms came around him, the safe haven that he’d always been, and Roy sighed.

“We’re definitely retiring after this.”

“I’m already planning the tomato farm.”

They stayed in their embrace for a little while longer until Roy finally broke away.

“We should tell Armstrong that she can call off the search in her share of the loot.”

“I’ll get Fuery to send a message over. Honestly, trust us to go on a righteous mission to rid the world of a dangerous legendary artefact only to find that it never existed in the first place.”

It was an odd irony, but as they looked out over the open sea in front of them, Roy could not bring himself to care. All was well that ended well, and with the news from Havoc in the crow’s nest that they had lost the navy ships following them, all was definitely ending well and heading in the direction of a bright new beginning.

#FMA:Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Roy Mustang #Maes Hughes #MustangxHughes #Hyuroi #AU #Pirate AU #Pirates! In An Adventure With Alchemists!#Fic: Beneath a Black Flag

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anotherbeingsworld · 5 years ago

Text

Late Nights, New Beginnings.

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F!MC (Casey Valentine)

Word count: 2761

Summary: Bryce and Casey went out on a spontaneous night out to play bowling.

Disclaimer: All right goes to PB, I dont own anything except the storyline!

A/N: Hii! So, I am back with a new fic and I am pretty excited ! (Honestly, I said that for all my fics lol) This fic was inspired by @thundergom Open Heart AU! which all of you should check it out, IT IS AMAZING!!! The screenshot below was from one of the scenes in the AU, and they are kind enough to let me write a fic on this adorable scene of your MC (Camilla) and Bryce! I hope I did this fic justice, and I hope all of you enjoy reading it! I am a huge fan of bowling myself and, this has been a fun write! ENJOY! (CHECK IT OUT THEIR OH AU, COZ ITS SO GOOOOD!!!)

Tags: @bitchloveskcbaseball , @storyofmychoices , @jaxsmutsuo , @mvalentine , @princess-geek , @lahellacute , @kacie-0156 , @simp-for-villains , @annekebbphotography , @brycelahel , @mrsbhandari , @dcbbw , @choicessa , @choices-confessions , @aylamwrites , @fantasyoverreality98 , @drakewalker04 , @baltersome , @thecordoniandiaries , @thundergom

LINK TO MY MASTERLIST

A break-up. The major reason Casey is late for work the next day. Her hair was in a messy bun, as she didn’t have time to freshen up as she was late to arrive that day. She let out a groan as she changed into her scrubs, as the locker room was empty; a sign that she is in trouble.

After struggling with wearing her scrubs, she dashed her way through to where interns are gathered. She stood at the back with Jackie, who looks at her with amusement.

‘You had an long night, I presumed?’ She raised her eyebrows as Casey shook her head.

‘Zack and I are through, we broke up last night.’ I admitted as the others started walking forward. She is feeling grateful that her patients weren’t the first to be picked for rounds that day.

‘That’s sucks, I’m sorry Cas.’ Jackie places her hands on Casey’s shoulder as an attempt at comfort. She just shrugged as she proceeds on her work.

She went quiet for the rest of the day, as the break-up affected her work. She would often zone out, sometimes… she would get emotional over it. But she tries her very best to not cry it in front of her patients. One of her patients notice her expression and immediately asked if she was okay. Casey would just nod and brush the subject off, not wanting to get herself emotional; because once she gets into the story, the tears will never stop.

Somehow, seeing and treating patients helps distract her from the actual world. Seeing those hopeful looks in the patient eyes makes her smile even wider. It's equivalent to a child on Christmas morning, and the gifts are equivalent to the happiness they get as the patients got to live a happy and healthy life. Casey always liked to help people, ever since she was a kid; she loved to make people happy. She felt blessed to witness the happiness from a patient being cured and even the people she gets to meet along the way. It is an amazing career in her eyes.

But at this very moment… it exhausts her. After the break-up, she ended up hogging a whole tub of ice-cream before Sienna stops her. She didn’t get enough rest, as she spends the rest of the night bawling her eyes out, watching all the rom-coms as she yelled, ‘love isn’t real.’ She ended up passing out at five in the morning, making her late to work as she arrived later, which is unlikely for her.

------------

Zack and Casey have been together since high school, as they were known as the high school sweethearts of Arella High. They were the ‘it’ couple at the time, but… as high school ends. They have been quarrels here and there between them, as they would get into an argument a lot. But, their relationship survive until last night, as he had brought a girl to the small apartment they shared. They were getting on each other’s faces, as Casey witness them after a long day of work. She felt hurt, but… deep down, she knows it is bound to happen. After the unwanted visitor left, the truth finally comes out.

‘I have been seeing other people..’

Casey bits her lip. How long has he done this?

‘How long?’

‘It has been… a few months, actually.’ He lets out a laugh as the surrounding atmosphere thickens.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Casey felt her eyes started to tear up. She knows they have been little-in-love as before, but… the fact that he has already moved on. It was painful, as Casey keeps her head up, forcing herself to not cry in front of him.

‘I was… waiting for the right time…’ his voice was quiet, as the darkness is taking over the dimmed room.

‘Let me go, Zack.’ Casey said with a slow tone in her voice after what felt like an eternity of silence.

Zack’s eyes widen through the sentence, he turns to face her.

‘But..’ He stutters as Casey cuts him.

‘No, just… let me go. I don’t want to pretend anymore.’ Her voice is sharp as it cuts the tense atmosphere around them.

He nods slowly as Casey walks out of the door. Leaving him behind. Her heart is hurting since letting go was never easy. The feelings between them aren’t mutual anymore, but… seeing him already to moving on; her heart can't handle the pain. After leaving ‘their’ apartment, Casey crashes at her friend’s apartment, as she doesn’t have anywhere to sleep for the night. It was already late, as she occupied the empty room in the apartment. The room was furnished as Casey gets herself comfortable, as she ended up crying silently in the darkness, leaving nothing behind.

------------

The memory stings as the tears ended up appearing once more as she lay on one of the beds in the on-call room. Her pager was quiet today, which she is silently grateful for since she is a mess. The door opens as Casey frantically wiped her tears away.

‘Hey…’ His voice was heard, as her eyes perked up at the familiarity of the voice.

She looked up, and saw Bryce took a seat on the edge of the bed. His eyes look concerned. Casey sat beside him, as he took her hand in his, as he lets out a squeeze.

‘Sienna told me you had a bad night, you okay?’ his voice is a concern, as Casey is wiping her tears away.

‘I am okay now, it's just… one of those things you know.’ She tried to shrug it off as Bryce didn’t buy any of it.

Bryce leans forward as he wipes a few tears away that was visible. She felt her cheeks flustered by the action.

‘I know just the thing to cheer you up.’ His mischievous smile appears from out of the blue.

‘Hm?’ Casey is deeply interested in the ways to cure a broken heart after a break-up.

‘It’s a surprise. Get ready after your shift is done, meet me at the entrance!’ Bryce said with a wink without revealing the plan.

‘Fine, I will see you in approximately 7 hours at the entrance.’ Casey lets out a reply with a hint of sarcasm as Bryce lets out a chuckle.

He stood up to leave, as Casey took a hold of his wrist.

‘Thank you for stopping by.’ The smile on her face looked genuine, making him happy.

‘Anytime.’ He places a kiss on her knuckles before he left the room. A smile was present on her face, as she feels excited for what he has in mind.

------------------

After her shift is over, she changed into something more comfortable as she felt very excited about what Bryce has planned. As she was making her way to meet him, her mind wonders about him. He is Bryce Lahela, and he has been there for her since the very beginning. She never gets herself too close to people as she was with Zack at the moment, but… there is something about him that made her heart happy.

He has the looks, and the hair was a bonus. But his heart was something else. He often thought he would be another frat guy who needs his ego to be stroke every minute. He is different, a good type of different. She remembers the first time he comforted her as always, he has been there from the very beginning. His arms around her, comforting her and support, was something she never expected to see from him. The thought of him is giving her butterflies, as she tried to erase the feeling away. She just broke up. She wasn’t supposed to feel that way. But her inner self was telling her the opposite.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, waiting for her at the entrance. Casey quickens her steps as they leave the hospital, going to wherever Bryce had planned for them.

The walk was quick, as they stopped in front of a rusty old building making her question his intentions to butchered her in an abandoned warehouse as he passes her organs to the wolves. She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts as Bryce leads her inside. The neon lights took her breath away as the sound of pins falling brought her back to reality.

‘Where did you found this place?’ Casey said with awe as her eyes gaze upon the place. There were neon lights as far as she could go. The place is a neon wonderland for bowlers, as they made their way to the counter.

‘I heard some doctors have been talking about it, as they called it a ‘hip’ spots in Boston.’ Bryce replies happily as he paid for their shoes and games.

‘Let me pay for it, Bryce.’ She was about to take out her purse before he stops her.

‘It's okay, tonight is my treat. Consider it a gift.’ Bryce said with a sly smile on his face, as Casey gives in.

‘But, I’ll be buying the food.’ She pointed out as Bryce laughs away, nodding along.

‘Fine. Now, let’s bowl!’ They took their shoes with a full enthusiasm as they make their way to their lane.

They were at lane #7, Casey immediately changed into their specialized shoes as Bryce inputs their name into the system. After a few moments, it is done. They are ready to bowl.

The place was so beautiful that it distracts her from the game. Casey was about to bowl before Bryce called her,

‘I have an idea, the winner buys us a pizza?’ He smirked at the idea, as Casey smiled evilly.

‘You have come to the master territory, young child.’ Casey winks before she bowls, earning a perfect strike.

‘Holy sm-‘ He was cut off by a group of high school students looking at them with an eyebrow raised.

‘Is that all you got?’ The boy said as he observes Casey’s technique.

‘That was a lucky shot, girly. Here let me show you how it's done.’ A brunette stepped forward with a ball as she earned a strike.

Casey lets out a scoff,

‘That doesn’t mean its right for you to crash our game.’

They looked at her, and laugh with a mocking tone.

‘Listen, let's do this the right way, shall we? If we lose, you will never see us again… but if we win. You will pay for our food for tonight, because I think both of us wanted to have a huge celebratory feast when we win. Right Cas?’ He turns to her, as Casey nods with full determination.

The boy looks challenged as he and his friends get themselves ready to battle it out. Casey and Bryce look determined as they are ready to fight them.

------------------ ‘

It was their last game, as they were five points away from beating their opponents. It was 250 and 255 on the scoreboard as the boy is making his last throw. He manages to knock six out of the pins. Casey felt herself let out a small sigh of relief, but.. the nerves were still there. If they got a spare, their team would win. Casey is hoping silently, praying that they win.

The ball is slowly rolling down the lane, as time was drifting. The nerves inside of her are growing as the ball hits the pins, and….

IT’S A SPLIT.

Casey almost cheered as they saw their opponents final score to be 261. Bryce was smiling from ear-to-ear as they have a chance to win it all. It was Casey’s turn to bowl. She makes her way to her ball. Her hands were chilly from the nerves she was getting. She took a deep breath, as Bryce took a candid pic of her from behind before cheering her on. She lets the ball go, as both teams were focused on it.

Casey held her hand covering her eyes, as the ball rolls on the smooth tiles. It was until she heard the pins dropped as she opened her eyes.

Bryce coming from behind with enormous smiles as she scored a STRIKE! They heard the utter disappointment from the opposite team. But… none of it matters at the moment. Her eyes were gazing into his, as the world around them fades away. Casey felt herself feeling happy and free for the first time that day. She doesn’t know it is from the adrenaline or the happiness she felt with him.. but at that moment. Everything felt right as she leaned forward, as their lips meet.

Bryce returned the favor as they kissed for a few moments before letting go. Somehow, it felt like she was in a movie where they finally won the ultimate battle and it was the victory kiss where it was framed in those vintage portraits. After they pulled away, there was a bit of fear in her; the fear of not knowing what happens next. She looked at him with new happiness in her. As he returns the smile with a knowing smile of his own.

‘We win!’ Both of them cheered as their opponents who look sad, as both of them made their way to the group.

‘We will pay for your food, don’t worry!’ The boy said defensively, as he was about to make his way to the café.

Bryce looks at them with a sincere look on his face,

‘It’s okay kid, you don’t have to do it.’ He places his hands on the boy’s shoulder as the boy look at him in disbelief.

‘Are you sure?’

Bryce nods as he pats the kid on the back.

‘It’s okay, in fact; it’s on me tonight.’ He said as the cheers erupt from the back, as Casey looked at him with a smile on her face.

‘You are something else’ She said as she placed a kiss on his cheek before they order the food for their ‘so-called’ opponents.

‘Something good, I hope?’ He asked from the smiles , as she winks at him.

‘A woman never tells.’ Before they proceed on ordering the food.

----------------

They bought a huge order as the group ate happily. After the food is done, the boy from earlier approaches him.

Bryce raised an eyebrow at his presence,

‘I just want to say I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that…’ The boy said with a sad tone, as Bryce just nods accepting the apology.

‘It’s okay kid, I enjoyed the game.’

'Are you sure? I can be full of myself and... it’s a bad habit of mine; not wanting to see anybody is better than me. ' The boy explains as Bryce turns to face him.

'I am sure, but.... next time, try to tone it down okay? I think your parents won't appreciate that you have been disturbing their customers.' He raised an eyebrow as the boy looked down on his feet; regret was seen on his face. Bryce pats his back and said.

'Bad habits seem to follow us anywhere but with the good people in life; it can get better.' He spoke up as his eyes fall on Casey who is chatting it down with the others.

The boy followed his glance, and a smile appears on his face.

‘You love her, don’t you?’ He said as Bryce just laugh it off.

‘Love is a huge word kid, but… there is no other word that could explain how I feel about her.’ His eyes never leaving her.

‘Well, from the looks of it. She seems to be very lucky to have you.’ He said as he walks away to join the others.

A moment later, he came back holding a small Polaroid which made him crossed out the source from an unknown flash from somewhere. Bryce took it in his hands, of her and Casey’s moment a few minutes ago. A smile curled upon his lips at the sight of the memory.

‘My mom told me the reason they built this place is for people to make new memories, and I think this one is for you.’ The boy said happily as Bryce held it in his hands.

‘It’s the very first of many.’ He replied with hope in his voice for many adventures to come with the one Casey Valentine.

Her eyes caught his as she showcased an enormous grin on her face. At that moment, she was ready for new beginnings. The first of everything with one Bryce Lahela.

THE END.

A/N #2: Hii! Thank you so much for reading it and, I hope all of you enjoyed it! And, @thundergom I HOPE I DID JUSTICE TO YOUR AU!!! Have an awesome day/night everyone! 💖💖- A.

#bryce x mc #bryce lahela #open heart #casey valentine #bryce x casey #open heart fics #anotherbeingsworldwrites #fluff #bowling

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akakagachi · 4 years ago

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The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F by Mark Manson - thoughts

Well, this book caught my eye 2 years ago when I saw it at the bookstore, and now I’ve finally gotten my own copy and finished reading it

The first book that I’ve sat down, notebook in hand, to scribble any salient points that this book may offer. It does make for an interesting and mildly amusing read.

Yes, I already knew deep down that my desire to avoid rejection and inability to say no outright, not to deal with rejection, to take the blame for stuff I didn’t do, and yet not dare to admit when I royally F up, haha yeah I’m not good that way

Sometimes you gotta do something before you get the motivation and inspiration. If you’re always waiting for motivation and inspiration to strike, you may be waiting for a very long time.. yeah that’s me

I take rejection and criticism really badly. cannot really control my emotions and reactions. still a work in progress, time to search for safe platforms to fail

Asserting and recognising boundaries... this needs work too. lol what boundaries do I have, I’m generally a pushover except when I’m being a stubborn prick (who isn’t able to articulate and communicate their reason/intent behind their actions)

What are the things that I care about? it’s still fuzzy but here are some that I am more definite on: - being a decent person to my existing friends, - personal finance and giving some back to charity (even if I’m kind of motivated because of the tax benefits, better to give than not at all) - trying to read non-fiction and news headlines at least so I have surface knowledge of the happenings around me (rather than not at all) - spending time with family (even if it’s routine/superficial) like grocery shopping

#thoughts #ramblings

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hotforharrison · 6 years ago

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Heart’s Desires ch 1

Series Masterlist --> Chapter 2

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield/Reader

Summary: In a desperate moment, you make Harrison an offer he can’t refuse.

Word Count: 2,239

Warnings: Language and sexual content that is not actually smut.

A/N: It was supposed to be a oneshot, inspired by a dream I had. That obviously didn’t happen. It has been upgraded from oneshot to a mini-series.

Seeing the world had always been on your bucket list, but you’d never made it farther than a couple of states over. Time, and your youth, were passing by at an alarming rate. You knew your life needed to change, and soon, while you still had the chance to enjoy it.

You’d been browsing your options for a change online for a few months. Nothing struck you as something you could see yourself doing, temporarily or permanently. You toyed with the idea of teaching English internationally, but you didn’t want to be completely alone across the world from everything and everyone you knew.

When an online friend from London brought up that her company was opening a new location near her and hiring over 100 people in your field, you jumped at the chance to apply. You wouldn’t be alone, and you wouldn’t have to worry about not speaking the local language.

You assumed there would be thousands of more qualified, more local applicants and didn’t expect anything to come of it. However, after a lengthy interview process, they hired you with a start date in four months, after the facility was opened. You’d never been more excited, and simultaneously overwhelmed.

Your life quickly started to drastically change. A few very busy months later that included packing up what you could of your life and moving it across the Atlantic Ocean, you were settling into your new apartment with your online friend turned roommate. She was fortunately as lovely as she had been online, and it looked like she would be a great roommate.

You gave yourself two full weeks to relax and sightsee before you started your new job and day-to-day living in London. Things were definitely looking up for you.

London was really a beautiful city, and you thoroughly enjoyed exploring, both with your roommate and alone. After an enjoyable afternoon perusing the Camden Market by yourself, you were waiting in line at a Starbucks, mostly for the familiarity. There were no decisions there. You already knew your Starbucks order by heart.

The person standing behind you bumped into you hard, almost making you fall. You immediately turned around to see who it was, and if they were hurt, when you saw him. He looked exactly like Harrison Osterfield. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” he told you, looking at you with striking blue eyes.

He also sounded like Harrison, from his Instagram stories and YouTube videos. Your mouth dropped open, and you were having trouble forming words. Could it really be him? He did live in London after all.

“Everything alright?” he asked, concern evident across his face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I just… you look like someone,” you eventually said, rather than outright ask.

He seemed amused. “And who do I look like?”

“Uh, Harrison Osterfield? You’ve probably never heard of him. Sadly, most people haven’t, which is really a shame,” you responded.

“That might be because I am Harrison Osterfield,” he commented.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled. “This is probably, I mean I was wondering.” You paused and took a deep breath. “Would you like to hang out with me sometime? Don’t feel obligated or anything. I mean I’m some random girl from Starbucks who you know absolutely nothing about, and I, uh, yeah, I probably shouldn’t have opened my mouth, but I can’t take that back, and now here we are.”

“You mean like a date?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Yes? That is, if you’d be interested at all, and if you’re not seeing anyone. I wouldn’t want to step on any toes,” you quickly added, feeling your face blushing deeply. “God, I’m really bad at this.”

He chuckled. “I’m not seeing anyone, and don’t worry, it’s endearing. I don’t mind cute girls getting flustered over me. Anyway, I’m free for the rest of the day. You’re obviously not from around here. Have you been to the British Museum yet?”

You were surprised he said you were ‘cute,’ considering all the gorgeous girls he probably sees daily and has a chance with. You were completely shocked that he agreed to spend time with you, on an actual date, in his own words.

“You’re right. I’m definitely not from around here. I actually just moved to London a few days ago. The British Museum was on my sightseeing list before I start my new job,” you told him.

He smiled at you brightly. “Looks like we have a date, then!”

-----

You’d spent the last 45 minutes walking around the British Museum and looking at exhibits. It was a great museum. The exhibits were interesting, but Harrison was distracting you from fully appreciating them because you’d been crushing on him for ages, and you were actually on a date with him.

You occasionally chatted quietly with him between exhibits, which was pleasant enough. You would’ve liked to talk more, but you were feeling rather awkward. Regardless of the unbeatable company you were in, you were kind of bored and really wanted to be somewhere else with him. He seemed to be bored, too, but too nice to say anything.

You had a sinking feeling that your once in a lifetime date wasn’t going to end with plans for a repeat performance, or an invite back home for the night, and god, you wanted that invite, more than just about anything.

Since he hadn’t, you decided to bring it up. “I hate to ask, but are you having fun?”

He turned to look at you. “Honestly?”

You nodded.

“Not really. I’m sorry, love,” he told you, moving a hand to your arm to squeeze it comfortingly.

“Before you go, I very much don’t want this to be over yet, and, well...” You swallowed heavily and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “what if I told you after we leave here that you could do anything, and I mean anything, to me that your heart desires?”

“Really now?” He smirked. “My opinion could be swayed. You have absolutely no idea what you just agreed to.”

“But I take it I’m going to find out?” you guessed, hopeful that your time with him wasn’t coming to an end.

“Very soon.” His fingers trailed their way to your hand and ran across your palm teasingly, sending a wave of tingling down your arm and intensifying the dull ache that had been between your thighs since you met him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

You followed him silently, wondering what you’d gotten yourself into, simultaneously excited and nervous. Your mission was accomplished, though. Your date wasn’t over, hopefully not by a long shot, and you got that invite back home.

And, really, what could he be into that was that scary? Online he seemed to be nothing but a sweetheart, and there had been nothing in person that had indicated anything different.

----

Harrison took you to a large brownstone house well away from the hustle and bustle of downtown London. He descended the steps at the side of the house until he reached the entrance to what you assumed was a basement apartment. He fumbled through the keys on his keyring before he found the one he was looking for and unlocked the door, ushering you inside.

The apartment was rather barren and looked barely used. Maybe he was just away a lot? “Not to judge or anything, but I expected your place to be more...homey.”

“It is,” he said. “This isn’t where I live.”

“Oh, so you just take girls here...for privacy?” you guessed.

“Sort of. You’ll see.” He led you by the hand down a hallway to a room, opening the door and turning on the light.

The room was quite large and had a variety of furniture that you could place as something used in BDSM. It wasn’t anything you were familiar with. You hadn’t even read Fifty Shades of Grey or seen any of the movies when they came out. Now, you kind of wished you had.

The only thing you could definitely identify was a four-poster against the far wall, metal slats across the top and some restraints hanging on the side. It had no bedding, only a fitted sheet and pillows. The corners had restraints attached. That seemed pretty straightforward. The rest, not so much.

“Go ahead, look around,” he encouraged.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at, to be honest,” you told him.

“I can take you on a tour, and then you can let me know what you think. We’ll start with something basic.” He led you to a black padded bench that looked kind of like a saw horse with two small attachments for what you assumed were knees and arms. The top had a half circle shaped, more heavily padded neck rest. “That’s a bondage bench. I use it to position and restrain a sub for spanking, or fucking, or whatever else I’m in the mood for.”

“Okay,” you said quietly. That didn’t sound particularly terrifying. Not really anything you’d fantasized about in the past, but you weren’t opposed.

You glanced over at the second nearest piece of furniture. There was a swing hanging from the ceiling near it with a larger piece of leather, what looked to be support straps at its sides, and four cuffs attached by a chain at each corner.

“That’s a sex sling. It’s easier to move a sub around and eat her, or fuck her, or play with her mid-air,” he explained.

“Okay,” you repeated. That also didn’t sound scary, as long as the sling was securely attached to the ceiling, and it seemed to be.

“Anything you’re particularly curious about?” he asked.

You looked at a metal device that was I-shaped with a long bar coming from the front, ending in a circle. The other end had a shorter bar attached to a machine with a thin metal rod protruding from it. “What’s that?”

He chuckled. “That of all things? That’s the slave driver. It’s a fucking machine with restraints. Your neck goes there.” He pointed at the circle. “Your wrists and ankles are restrained at either end with cuffs. And a toy fitted for the machine attaches to this.” He gestured at the thin metal rod. “I can show you the attachments, if you like.”

That was more overwhelming, and sounded like it would be embarrassing, but it didn’t make you want to run away. You took that as a positive.

You followed him as he walked over to a set of drawers near the bed and opened a middle drawer, urging you to come closer. “There’s several different sizes of dildos, a couple of double penetrating dildos, and some plugs.”

You looked at them, some startlingly large. Your experience with sex toys was rather limited, but you weren’t turned off by it. You picked up the smallest dildo and ran your fingers over the soft silicone for a few moments, enjoying the feel of the material against your skin, then put it back in its place.

“So, after a small preview, are you scared?” he asked.

“I’m...nervous, but curious,” you replied, before adding, “and still really, really turned on. That might be more you than the things in this room, though.”

He chuckled. “So you’ve never done anything kinky before?”

You shook your head. “God, this is embarrassing, but I’ll be honest. I can count the number of sexual experiences I’ve had with other people on one hand, and the most adventurous out of all of them was trying to have sex in the backseat of a car. Keyword ‘trying.’ It didn’t really work.”

“Poor girl, so neglected. If you want, I can change that. I promise that I’d take such good care of you. Only the best for my subs,” he promised. “And don’t be embarrassed. I have an innocence kink, and you don’t even have to pretend to be innocent. Works out well for both of us.”

You swallowed heavily, not entirely sure what you were getting yourself into, but your arousal hadn’t ebbed the tiniest bit in the face of all the possibilities. “I think I’d like to at least try, but I’ll leave what I’m trying up to you.”

He grinned. “That’s the answer I was hoping for. I like options and giving them to my subs, or potential subs in the case of you. Would you like to jump right in and play in here right now, or get to know me a bit better and maybe try some tamer things first in the actual bedroom where I take my partners to sleep? With your lack of experience, it’d be less intimidating. I really don’t get off on making my subs afraid.”

You considered your options. “I think I’d like the actual bedroom first. It’s, well, it’s been a while, and I don’t want it to be too much, in the bad way.”

“We can do that. So, you want me to ease you in gently?” he asked.

“Please,” you confirmed.

He took your hand in his and squeezed it. “It will be my pleasure, pretty girl. Are you ready to go to the bedroom, or do you want to look around more in here?”

Your desperation for him made that easy. “Definitely the bedroom.”

The promise of what was to come sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

Tag list:

@bewitched-haz @adayasgeorgia @moorehollandplz @thollandss@dasexydevitt13 @imagine-lovebug @robbinholland @strang-ersclub @hollandisapuppy @goldenpeaxh @legendsofwholock @superheroesaremytea @tomblrholland @niiight-dreamerrrr @spidermanffh3000 @devildisguiseasangel @theyy-lovemo @eeyore101247 @angelhaz11 @i-love-scott-mccall @jinx4karma @definitely-not-black-cat @lizzyosterfield @screamsbytom

#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield reader #harrison osterfield reader insert #harrison osterfield you

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