#How to Pass Jamb

[naijabullet]

WAEC Syllabus for Mathematics Exam 2024/2025

If you are a science student preparing for this year’s WAEC exam, then you need to have the WAEC Syllabus for Mathematics to help guide you in your studies. It’s not enough to study your notes and textbooks, if you don’t have an area of concentration, then you’ll possibly miss vital information during your study. That is what the WAEC Syllabus does for you; it helps you study the right topics…

[sugarwarachan]

driving you crazy

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader andy's notes: yall wanted a part 2 and here is probably the dirtiest thing i've written in a hot minute. here's part 1 if you're new. summary: being in the same phd program as tsukishima kei was already the worst, and that was before you and the snarky bastard were tasked to teach the same class together. after a late-night run-in at the library leaves you breathless, what will happen when you attend the same conference together? content warnings: SMUT, degradation, name kink, impact play, orgasm denial, brat reader, dom!tsukki word count: 2.5k art credit: @Freaka_LoonyZ on x

Neither of you mention the library. 

In fact, two entire months pass by without a word uttered about the incident, and a part of you wonders if you imagined it all along.

The only difference is that Tsukishima is now disarmingly polite; curt in his civility, even, where before he would tease, annoy, and complain to you. Now you have no one in the program to really talk to at all.

Which makes attending this stupid fucking conference with him nightmarish beyond belief. 

You hate being forced to attend events just to network; neither of you are even presenting papers. It's so infuriating that all you can think to do is excuse yourself early for the evening and return to your room.

Because the other thing that sucks about attending this conference with him? 

You’re so horny you can barely think straight. 

An hour later, you're punching pillows in frustration and throwing your vibrator across the bed.

“Fucking seriously?!?” you shriek into the pillow, kicking your feet up and down like a toddler. You feel entitled to it, honestly; not even porn helped this time, and you’re laying in the dark, unable to cum, because of one fucking make-out session in the library.

Sighing, you swing out of bed and pad into the hallway. Cleaning a sex toy is a better use of your time than lamenting the loss of your orgasm.

The bathroom door creaks open. 

Tsukishima, clad in low-slung pajama bottoms and a thin cotton shirt, steps out.

“Oh. Y/n.” His gaze drops to the rose. 

And just - stays there. 

Mortification creeps up your neck. This is hell, you decide. No one could have designed a more appropriate way to torture you.

“Are you just gonna fucking stare at me?" You inject as much casual bravado as you can into your voice. "I masturbate. Big deal.”

“Did it work?”

“Excuse me?”

He takes a step forward. It’s so reminiscent of the library that you nearly fall into the same pattern of stepping away. This time, you stand your ground.

“Did you cum?”

Oh.

You weren’t expecting that.

Heat skitters over your skin. You look up at him,  the gold of his eyes overwhelmed by the black of his pupils.

“No.”

Tsukishima smiles. “Good.”

And then his mouth slants over yours.

You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling into his hair and scraping his scalp. He cups your cheek and trails a hand down your back to press you closer. 

“Go back to your room,” he says into your mouth before pulling away completely. “I’ll be there soon.”

You wobble back to your room on shaky legs and immediately sink onto the bed. 

You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that it’s been weeks since he’s even talked to you like he used to, and now he’s kissing you like a man going off to war. 

The soft snick of the door jamb opening and closing sounds off like a bullet in the silence of your room. 

Tsukishima is always an overwhelming presence, but he takes up so much of the door frame that you can’t quite think of anything else. 

He’s so big, you think, a little stupidly, as if you’ve never noticed—and actively appreciated—how he fills out those stupid sweaters he’s always wearing. 

His eyes rake over your tank top in a way that makes your nipples tighten.

“Hi,” you say. 

“Hi yourself.”

You weren’t expecting him to move so fast, but he’s suddenly on top of you, kissing you with a burning mixture of finesse and care as his hips press you down. The hard outline of his cock bumps against your pussy, and fuck, you’re already wet, just from this. 

Why is it so good?

“I don’t know,” Tsukishima’s saying into your neck, and fuck, you hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. “You drive me fucking crazy, and yet you’re the only person I think about.”

He sucks at your pulse point and rolls his hips. You fist handfuls of his hair, tugging and scratching, anything to get him closer to you. He hisses between his teeth.

“You’re always so impatient, you know that?” He taps the waistband of your sleep shorts. “Let me take these off, y/n.”

He hooks your ankles over his shoulders and lifts up your hips, coaxing your shorts off.

He smirks. “Knew you’d be naked under these.” 

“Did the failed masturbation give it away?”

He yanks you up and settles you into his lap, clothed cock slotting in between your folds. You stifle your whimper just in time.

“Just let me make you feel good, for fuck’s sake.” He grinds you down onto him, and this time the whimper falls from your lips unguarded. “Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

Your arms tighten around his neck, breath shuddering into the hollow of his throat. His hands tighten on your waist.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

He spreads your folds with his fingers.

“You don’t know?” Tsukishima lightly traces your clit. The word more is blurry in your head and before you know it, you’re saying it out loud, the ache in your pussy overwhelming, desperate to be filled.

“Please, Tsukki. Stop fucking teasing me.”

He laughs against your hair. “I’m the tease? Not the woman walking down the hallway in the tiniest pajamas I’ve ever seen holding a sex toy and telling me she hasn’t cum?”

The arm at your back tightens around your neck.

“If you don’t know why you’re being stubborn, then maybe you don’t deserve to cum, sweetheart.” He says the pet name all sickly-sweet, like he’s delivering bad news to an enemy. 

You wish it didn’t make your stomach swoop.

You wish it didn’t make you talk back against your better judgment, either.

You grip his shirt in your hands and pull his face close.

“I’m being stubborn because the last person I want to want is you, but here we are. Happy now?”

He grins. “Immensely.”

He pulls his shirt off his head and pushes you down in the same go, positioning himself in between your legs.

“Never thought I’d get you to admit that,” he says, biting the inside of your thigh. “Guess you get your reward after all.”

You’ve always noticed Tsukki’s fingers. Calloused and long, the number of times you thought they would curl into you just right bordered on the criminal. But nothing could have prepared you for how well his fingers actually spread you apart.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he breathes out, sinking two fingers into your core with ease. His other hand holds your hips down, the possessive splay over your lower belly shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. “Anyone else ever get you like this?”

You grab his wrist, pressing your hips against the heel of his palm. “You really want to talk about my other sexual partners right now?” 

“If I’m better than them, then yes,” he says, fingers moving agonizingly slow. You glance down quickly enough to catch his self-satisfied smile. “I’m competitive.”

He rubs your g spot; you immediately clamp your thighs around his hand.

“Shouldn’t you be all the more desperate to get me off, then?”

The sigh that escapes him is total frustration. “This is what I mean about being stubborn, y/n.”

Before you have time to blink, he flips you over onto your stomach and pulls you flush against his hips.

He bends over you, mouth close to your ear. “How about we strike a little bargain, huh? You say my name, and I’ll make you cum.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“Tsukishima—“

He grips your face and tilts your head back.

“Not that name, sweetheart.”

Oh the little fucker. 

“You wanna hear it so bad, make me say it.”

He lets out a low chuckle and drops your chin, palming the back of your head so you’re face-down in the mattress.

“Really?” he asks, fingers tracing along your slit. You’re embarrassingly wet, practically dripping down your thighs. His hand cracks across your ass. A moan rips through you; your hands scrabble at the sheets.

“You can never just obey, can you?”

He smacks you again, pain blossoming out from the impact and turning into pleasure.

“A simple direction, and you fight me on it. Do you get off on torturing me?”

“You know I do,” you breathe out. You wish you could see him, watch his eyes as he pulls you apart like this. All you can hear is his breathing, erratic and strained.

“Guess it’s only fair I repay the favor.”

Another slap to your ass. He’s not gentle with it, and the blinding crack of pain makes your chest go hollow. You feel dizzy, out of control.

You feel wonderful.

One more smack resounds in the air. Unbidden, you thrust your hips back at him, each slice of pain he inflicts making your pussy throb. 

“The sounds you’re making, baby. Do you have any fucking idea what you do to me?”

I’m beginning to, you think. 

You reach for his hand, wanting his fingers back inside of you, anything to stop his teasing. He just slaps your hand away and pins it behind your back, leaning down to snatch up your other wrist. He cages your arms behind you and pulls you back up against his chest. 

One hand trails down your hip, a low laugh tickling your ear when your hips push forward. 

“Eager for it, are we?”

“Fuck you.”

“Always so antagonistic,” he says before kissing the side of your neck. He almost sounds fond. 

“Do you need me to beg?”

“I already told you what I want. You just insist on not giving it to me.” He nips your ear before traveling over the nape of your neck. A broad palm holds you in place.

He just holds you there, seconds ticking by. 

If you say his name, this might end. 

And if this ends, you have no fucking clue what you’ll do. 

Your body doesn’t care about your mental struggle. You try to shift your thighs together to relieve the ache; Tsukishima tuts. 

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating—”

“Please, Kei.”

Instantly, two of his fingers slide in, the stretch so full, so good, that you nearly buckle to the bed if not for his support. 

“Was that so hard?” he coos. 

A soft cry falls from your mouth while he strokes the inside of your pussy with his long fingers. 

“That's it, baby. Ride my fingers and keep making those pretty noises for me.”

Grinding your hips against the heel of his hand, he keeps curling his fingers just the way you like, the rhythm sure and slow. You’re panting, hips chasing his fingers every time he draws them back out. 

He bends you back down, pressing his chest to your back, hips flush with your ass. He’s straining against his pajama bottoms, dick jumping against you every single time you grind back on him. “God, you little fucking tease. Greedy pussy of yours needs more than just my fingers to cum this time, doesn’t she? Where’s your rose?”

“It’s in the nightstand drawer,” you manage. 

He fumbles for it in the dark and then hands you the vibrator. 

“Keep it on your clit while I take care of you.”

When you turn it on, you bury your face into the mattress to swallow the near pornographic whine that bursts from your mouth. Tsukishima’s fingers take up the slow, sure rhythm from before as the rose’s vibrations ratchet you higher and higher. 

“Push me down,” you say. He inhales sharply. One hand settles over your shoulder blades. “Push my hips down on the bed and make me take it.”

He makes a sound that is half growl, half frustrated grunt. He complies instantly, pressing you down and kicking your hips apart so your belly is flat against the bed, vibrator driving into your clit with every thrust of his fingers.

Your knees tremble, thighs shaking as the slow curl of your orgasm unfurls in your core. 

“There it is.” His voice is rough, possessive. You’ve never heard him sound like this. “Let me hear you, baby, tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

You’re not sure what he’s hearing apart from a garbled mixture of moaning and sobbing as you drool into the sheets. He fists your hair at the root and wraps it around his wrist, pulling your head back. 

He’s so rough with you it makes your head spin. 

His broad palm collars your throat. “Say my fucking name when you cum.” 

The growl in his voice, the grip on your neck; you’re cumming before you even have time to prepare.

“Kei kei kei kei,” you wail into the sheets, pleasure rocketing over your limbs. Your vision blacks out for a moment, heart pounding in your ears. 

You've never cum like that, not in your entire life.

Tsukishima kisses the back of your neck, softly sweeping the sweaty hair at the nape. The gesture is so unbearably intimate you nearly shy away from him, but the thought blinks bright in your brain: You don’t want a repeat of last time. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, and you just nod, too exhausted for much else. He pads into the bathroom. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, plotting what to say. 

The bed dips when he returns. He hands you a washcloth, brow raised. 

“I would help, but you seem to be against that most of the time.”

You suppress your retort. He’s right; you only hate that he’s right. 

“Did you?” You trail off, gesturing limply toward his lap where his cock tents the front of his pajamas. 

Holy fuck, he’s big. 

Tsukishima just looks at you blankly. 

“What happened wasn’t transactional, y/n. I don’t need something in exchange.”

God, why are you always fucking up with him like this?

Your whole body wobbles as you sit up, tank top askew. You forgot you still had it on. 

“But if I wanted to?”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re blown back by what you see. 

Vulnerability. 

He smiles. “Then I might just be honored.”

You press your lips to his, feather-light. Somehow, the enormity of this situation feels too fragile in your hands, like one wrong move will crush the both of you. His arms tighten around you. He lifts you into his lap, hands pressing into your waist, your hips, the undersides of your breasts. 

He tastes vaguely of you. You imagine him licking the cum off his hands as he cleaned up in the bathroom and you groan against him.

“I want to make you feel good, too. Will you let me?”

aaaayyyyooooooo - perhaps some tsukki pov next? 😏 masterlist here. reblogs and comments always appreciated!! <3

bby taglist <3 @tabi-kat, @localfandomjumper

[liminalmemories21]

This prompt list is great! I can see so many of them going in different directions. How about #90, “Why didn't you tell me?”

@cecilyv and I are working our way slowly down the list. All these prompts were great. Thank you to everyone!

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He finds out Eddie's moving back to LA, and that Evan is homeless, and that holy shit had he not needed to be jealous of Eddie, all within two minutes of gathering up the nerve to knock on Evan’s door. It's a lot to take in.

Tommy takes a deep breath, knocks on Evan’s door. Waits what feels like an interminable amount of time before the door creaks open and Chris' face appears in the crack. His suspicious look transforms into one of his giant grins, “Tommy!” The smile that creeps across his own face matches Chris’. 

He really had missed the kid but definitely hadn’t been expecting him.  “Uh.  Hi.”

Chris leans on the door jamb.  “Are you looking for Buck?”

He scratches his neck.  “Yes?”  Didn’t actually mean that to come out as a question, but –

Chris helps him out.  “Dad got his job at the 118 back.”  Adds unnecessarily.  “We moved back.”

He peers past Chris into the house, and it’s Eddie’s furniture, Eddie’s layout again.  “Right.  Makes sense.”  Except he knows Evan had given up the lease on this loft, so where– “Do you know where Evan is living now?”

Chris shakes his head.  “Not sure.”  Glances back into the house, and then leans in to say more quietly, like he doesn’t want Eddie to hear what he’s about to say, and Tommy has no idea what that means.  “He hasn’t been around much since we moved back.  I think maybe he and Dad had a fight?”  He looks at Tommy like he expects Tommy to know more, but he doesn’t.

He’s had the occasional text from Evan since the helicopter ride, since the funeral.  Had the feeling Evan was checking in on him, checking up on him, making sure he was okay.  Hadn’t really known how to respond, which was kind of why he was here now.  Figured that he might do better in person, or at least it would be harder to leave Evan on read if he was here, in front of him.

He shakes his head, and Chris looks disappointed in him, which thanks, he already kind of felt like a heel.  Has to shift his gaze upwards when Eddie appears behind Chris.

“Hey.  Chris was just telling me you moved back.”  Eddie makes a noise that approximates agreement.  “And you moved back in.”  It’s a statement, but also a question.

Eddie shrugs.  “Buck was just subletting.  House was set up for me and Chris.  Made sense.”

Right, except for the part where Evan gave up his loft to move here.  “Sure,” he says blandly.  “Any idea where Evan is now?”

Eddie shakes his head.  “I wasn’t invited to the housewarming.”

Ooookay then.  He’s not touching that one.  Backtracks to his truck.  Considers his options.  He could just call Evan.  That would be the sane and mature thing to do.  He calls Howie instead.

“So, Eddie’s back.”

There’s the sound of a fussy baby in the background, and Howie sounds frazzled.  “Yeah.  Couple weeks now.”

“Any idea where I can find Evan?  Since apparently Eddie kicked him out when he moved back?”

That brings Howie up short, and he’d apologize, except for how he kind of doesn’t want to.  There’s a pause.  “I’m not actually sure,” is what he finally says, and Tommy wants to grind his teeth.  “Hang on, Maddie will know.”

Maddie does not in fact know.  He’s going to give her – and maybe Howie by extension – a pass if only because they have a newborn at home.  

Calls Hen and gets the same pause, and then admission that she doesn’t know.  His dentist is going to have words with him the next time he goes in for a cleaning, but he can’t unclench his jaw. .

Doesn’t actually have Ravi’s number, which means he has to put on his big boy pants and actually call Evan.  Who picks up on the first ring.  “Tommy?”

He’d told Evan, ‘you call, I’ll always pick up;’ hadn’t been sure it would work the other way around.  Had never tested the theory until now.  And he’s been silent too long because Evan sounds a little worried when he says, “Tommy?” again.  “You okay?”

He should say something normal.  Instead he says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s a pause, and then a cautious.  “Tell you what?”

“That you’re homeless.”

There’s another pause.  “I’m not?  Homeless?  Or well, I guess technically I am kind of.  But, I’m not like living out of my car.”  Gives a half laugh.  “I think I’m too old to do that again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again.

There’s a silence long enough that he doesn’t think Evan is going to answer.  Then, “Everyone’s got their own shit going on. They didn’t need my drama too.”  Tommy opens his mouth, to interrupt, to tell him that he does, but Evan plows on, doing that half laugh that’s definitely false. “You didn’t either. You-- You’re not signed up for that anymore.” He huffs, Tommy can picture him waving his hand to dismiss the idea that it’s important. “ It’s not even interesting drama.  Nobody wants to hear about apartment hunting in LA.”

“I do,” he says promptly.

“Oh,” Evan says softly, like Tommy’s surprised him.  “Uh, really?”

“Really,” he says firmly.  Bites down on saying, ‘I always want to talk to you, I miss listening to you talk about whatever you’ve been reading.  I miss you.’

“Oh,” Evan says again, and still sounds surprised.  “Umm.  I was actually going to look at an apartment this afternoon – I think my realtor hates me, I keep not liking anything she shows me.”  There’s a pause and Tommy’s not sure what’s coming next.  Waits.  Tries not to feel too eager.  “Would you, uh, want to come with me?”

He says yes before Evan can hedge the question, or take it back, or say something that will make Tommy feel slightly homicidal towards Evan’s friends and family.

“That eager to see my apartment drama first hand?” Evan says, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice now.

“Yes,” he says dryly.  “I cannot wait to witness the battle between millennial gray and boomer beige.”  He’s not even really joking, but it feels like a win when Evan laughs.

[vigilante-3073]

How about an imagine in which reader and house are together established long term or married doesn’t matter, recently house has been thinking about taking the next step and starting a family. At the same time reader (who is also a doctor) is taking care of a little baby or toddler and maybe their family left them or died or whatever and reader falls in love with the baby and begs house to adopt them. And later when they finally finish all the legal stuff and the baby is officially theirs, they find out they’re also pregnant

I’m a sucker for house with a happy family

Baby Fever

Gregory House x Psychiatrist Female Wife Reader

Summary: Doctor House is suffering from an illness that desperately needs to be cured.

TW: Mentions of death/adoption/sex, babies.

A/N: Love this request so much!

C/N: Cousin's name D/N: Daughter's name

Doctor House had baby fever.

Y/N and House had been married for almost seven years, they had talked about the idea of having children before he proposed. Y/N had always wanted to have a baby, but the timing had never been right.

Y/N was a the head of the inpatient mental health department at Princeton-Plainsboro. She saw both adults and children while they were admitted to the mental health units. Y/N had always taken her job incredibly serious and felt awful when she took time off. The relationships that she created with her patients were vital and she was dedicated to ensuring that they could trust her.

House had to admit that Y/N was good at her job and he respected that, but as time passed, the idea of having children was put on the back burner.

Then there was an accident.

Y/N's cousin had gotten into a car accident on the highway, she and her husband both tragically passed away. They left behind a beautiful four month old baby girl that stole the hearts of anyone who saw her.

Y/N had always been close to her cousin, she was the maid of honor at their wedding and threw her a baby shower before D/N was born. House and Y/N had babysat for the couple on multiple occasions, which is actually how House wound up with baby fever in the first place.

D/N had been passed around to various close family relatives while things were being figured out, the will would be read soon and the couple's assets would be distributed.

Y/N had encouraged them to write a will before D/N was born, stating that they needed to decide what would happen if something ever happened to them. It was an unfortunate thing to be right about, but it was important.

Y/N offered to take D/N for a few days while the rest of the family gathered to read the will. Y/N was incredibly good with her and the little girl loved her. House watched Y/N bounce the baby in her arms, humming softly as she rocked her to sleep.

House leaned on the door jamb, a soft smile on his face as Y/N leaned over the crib and laid the sleeping infant down on the mattress. Y/N made sure the baby monitor was on before making her way over to her husband. The couple stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind themselves and walking out to the living room. House sat down on the couch and Y/N sat beside him, leaning into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Y/N leaned forward briefly to place the monitor on the table in front of them before settling into her husband's side. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, "You're really good with her," He said.

She smiled, "She's the sweetest little thing," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I've been thinking that maybe we could revisit the idea of having a baby," House said.

"House," Y/N started, already shaking her head.

"Just think about it for one second. We could have the cutest kid known to man and it would be brilliant," He said.

"A baby with your eyes would be pretty cute," She replied.

"You could work through your entire pregnancy and you could talk to your patients on video chat the whole time you're off," House offered.

"Who would look after them while we're at work?" Y/N asked.

"We'll get a nanny," House shrugged.

"And when you stay at work until four o'clock in the morning while on a case?" Y/N questioned.

"I can still have an epiphany while covered in baby barf," House said, Y/N smiled.

"I'll cut down my hours. Home by seven every night and have the team call if they need me," He added.

"Are you serious about this, House? This is a big decision," Y/N said.

"I've been sure for years. That cute little gremlin in the other room made me one hundred and fifty percent sure," He said, tilting his head in the direction of the guest bedroom where the baby was sleeping.

Y/N sighed, opening her mouth to respond before someone knocked on the door. The baby stirred in her crib and began to cry.

"I'll get her, you get the door," Y/N said, grabbing the monitor and making her way to the guest bedroom.

House stood up from the couch, making his way over to the door and opening it. Y/N's aunt and uncle stood on the doorstep, "Is Y/N here?" Her aunt questioned.

House nodded, stepping out of the way to allow them to enter the apartment, "She's in with D/N," House said.

The couple moved into the apartment and House closed the door behind them, "Want a drink?" He asked.

"Just a water, if possible, dear," Y/N's aunt said.

"I'm alright," Her uncle said, waving him off politely.

"Have a seat. Y/N will be out in a minute or two," House said, moving into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of ice water, passing it to Y/N's aunt.

"Thank you, Greg," She said, he nodded. Y/N's aunt and uncle settled on the loveseat, sitting close to one another.

House sat down on the couch, hand kneading the muscle of his thigh gently. Y/N made her way out into the living room, a look of surprise on her face when she saw her family members.

"Sorry to barge in on you last minute, dear," Y/N's aunt said, standing to hug the young woman.

"It's good to see you," Y/N said, giving her aunt and uncle a quick hug before settling in beside her husband.

"Did everything go okay with the will read?" Y/N asked.

"That's actually what we wanted to talk to you about, dear. Your cousin wrote you into her will and I-," Her aunt paused, tears gathering in her eyes. Her husband settled his hand on her back, offering silent comfort to his wife.

"We don't have to do this now, it can wait," Y/N assured.

Her aunt shook her head quickly, "You need to know, honey... Your cousin wanted you to be D/N's guardian," She said shakily.

"What? Are you- Are you sure?" Y/N asked softly.

Her aunt reached over, pulling a yellow envelope from her purse and passing it to the young woman. Y/N took it from her hand, sliding the document out of the envelope and setting it in her lap as she read it over.

"All money made in the sale of the house will go into a trust for D/N to pay for her schooling. The rest of their assets will be liquidated, C/N wanted you to receive fifty percent of the funds while the rest is split evenly between us and his parents... She wanted you to be able to pay off your student loans," Y/N's aunt said softly, wiping her tears.

Y/N's eyes flickered over the pages, struggling to focus as tears clouded her vision.

"Why don't you let me take a look?" House asked, holding his hand out.

Y/N passed him the documents, allowing him to look over it.

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea," Y/N said shakily.

"No, honey, you have nothing to be sorry for. That baby loves you and she will have an amazing life with you, I just know it," Y/N's aunt assured.

"We know that you will honor her parents' memory and that is the most important thing. Just know that we still want to be a part of her life," Her uncle said.

Y/N nodded, "Of course. You're her grandparents and nothing can change that," She assured, wiping a tear with a sniffle. House rested his hand on her thigh and she quickly covered it with her own.

Y/N's aunt looked over at her husband with a watery smile, "Our girl is in good hands," She said.

"The best," House replied, eyes focused on his wife.

...

Y/N and House made their way into the hospital, D/N was settled comfortably in her stroller. Wilson was standing at the reception desk, talking to one of the nurses as he read through his messages.

"Wilson," House called.

The Oncologist looked up, a confused look settling on his face when he saw Y/N pushing a stroller.

"What's going on?" Wilson questioned, Y/N hesitated.

"We have a baby," House said.

Wilson's eyebrows almost shot up to his hairline as he turned his attention to Y/N, "Is he serious?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah, my cousin named me as her guardian," Y/N said.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," He said, stepping forward and giving her a quick hug.

"Thanks, I'm just trying to keep it together right now," She started.

"I can imagine," He nodded.

"There's a lot of stuff that I need to figure out so I'm going to talk to Cuddy and see if it's possible to take some time off," Y/N said.

"Let me know if you need anything. Absolutely anything, okay?" Wilson said.

"I will," Y/N smiled softly.

"Can I see her? Or is she asleep?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah, finally asking the questions you really wanted to ask," House teased, Wilson shot him a look.

"Not sleeping, just a really quiet baby," Y/N said, pushing back the cover.

D/N blinked up at Wilson, "She's gorgeous," He smiled.

"Wanna hold her?" House asked.

"I definitely wouldn't say no," Wilson said.

House hooked his cane on the handle of the stroller, reaching into the pram and lifting the baby into his arms. D/N smiled up at him, he smiled back before carefully passing her to his best friend.

House adjusted the bow around her head, making faces at her as Wilson held her. D/N giggled loudly, "She's adorable," Wilson grinned.

"How old is she?" He asked, finger being grasped by her tiny hand.

"Four months," Y/N replied, smiling as she watched House interact with the baby.

"You're gonna be great, I'm sure of it," Wilson assured.

"Thank you, that means a lot," Y/N said.

"I should let you get to it. Again, feel free to let me know if you need anything, alright?" He said, Y/N nodded. Wilson passed her the baby, watching her carefully transfer the little girl into the pram.

"Wow, you're kind of a dad, huh?" Wilson questioned.

"Got the kid without having unprotected sex with my wife, what a shame," House muttered.

Y/N shook her head with a smile, "Careful, make any more jokes like that and you might just talk me out of making her a sibling," Y/N said.

"Consider the joke dead and buried," He said quickly, taking his cane from the handle of the stroller.

"See you later, Wilson," Y/N said, he nodded.

Y/N covered the pram with a blanket before making her way into the clinic. House followed closely behind her, opening the door to Cuddy's office and allowing her to step inside before following after her.

Cuddy looked up from her desk, hanging up the phone when she saw House and Y/N approaching her office. Cuddy stood up, rounding her desk as Y/N made her way through the door.

"Your cousin?" Cuddy asked.

"She named me as guardian in her will," Y/N said.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Cuddy said, pulling her friend into a tight hug, "I know you two were close," She said, pulling away from the embrace.

"We were and she'll be missed... I know this is short notice, but I was hoping to get some extra time off in order to get things figured out," Y/N said.

"Of course, take all the time you need... This is a whole other life that you have to prepare for. I'm sure your cousin and her husband had everything you're gonna need, but if you need anything else just know that I'm happy to join you for a shopping spree. Baby stuff is always fun to look at," Cuddy said.

"I'll let you know. I'm going to their place after we're done here, my aunt was kind enough to put together some boxes so I'll start there," Y/N said.

"That's a good plan... But how are you doing with all this? Really," Cuddy questioned.

"I don't really know, honestly. Everything just happened so fast, but I know that I'm going to do everything I can to give her the best life possible," Y/N said, looking down at the stroller.

"You're going to be a good mom. She's lucky to have ended up with you, these situations don't always work out so well," Cuddy said, Y/N nodded.

"Do you want to meet her?" Y/N asked.

"I don't want to hold you up," Cuddy said.

"You're not. House already decided that we're introducing her to his team too," Y/N said, folding the blanket back.

"Her kid needs to meet my kids," House shrugged.

Y/N leaned over and picked up the baby, bouncing on her feet lightly as she looked down at the little girl.

Cuddy smiled, eyes glossing over with happy tears as she held out her arms. Y/N carefully passed the baby to her friend, lightly brushing her thumb across the baby's cheek as she pulled away.

House stepped up beside Y/N, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"She's beautiful, Y/N," Cuddy smiled, rocking the baby gently.

"Has Wilson seen her yet?" Cuddy questioned.

"Uncle Wilson is already wrapped around our girl's little finger," House stated.

"I can see why," Cuddy chuckled, staring down at the baby.

She stepped over to the stroller, carefully laying the baby down and adjusting her blankets, "Your team is waiting for you upstairs. You have a case," Cuddy said.

"Shortest paternity leave known to man," House sighed.

...

House made his way into the conference room with Y/N following closely behind him. The team sat at the table, looking through the patient file and formulating theories in their heads.

"Got some news, kiddos. I'm a dad," House said.

Cameron's head shot up from her file, "What? Since when?" She asked.

"Since today," House stated.

"How?" Chase questioned.

"Her cousin died and made her guardian," House replied.

"Congrats," Foreman said hesitantly.

"Wanted to introduce you," House said, leaning his cane on the desk and lifting D/N out of the stroller.

Cameron stood up from her seat and made her way over, giving Y/N a quick hug, "I'm sorry for your loss... I sent flowers," She said.

"They were beautiful. Thank you," Y/N smiled.

Cameron stepped over to House, looking down at the sleeping baby wrapped in the soft pink blanket, "How old?" She questioned.

"Four months," House said.

"May I?" Cameron questioned. House transferred the infant into her arms, Foreman and Chase stood up from the table.

Chase made his way over to Y/N, giving her a gentle hug. He pulled away after a moment, "I'm sorry about your cousin," Chase said.

"Thank you," Y/N responded.

"You're going to be a great mom. Your cousin made a good choice when she picked you as guardian," Foreman stated.

"Thanks," She replied.

"She's adorable," Chase smiled, gently brushing his fingertip over the back of the baby's hand.

"What's her name?" Foreman questioned.

"D/N," House said.

"Oh, it's perfect for her," Cameron smiled.

House stepped over to his wife, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, Y/N wrapped her arms around him.

Cameron passed the baby to Chase, adjusting the bow on her head and fixing the blanket. Chase smiled down at D/N, "What a pretty girl you are, huh?" He murmured, swaying gently on his feet.

House was proud that he was able to share this part of his life with the people that mattered most. He knew that there would be hell to pay when his mother found out, but he would worry about that another day.

"We're parents," House muttered.

"Yeah, we are," Y/N nodded.

"I'm going to make those changes that we talked about. I can't promise it'll happen overnight, but I'm going to do what I can," He said.

"I know," Y/N replied.

It took a few months, but House made good on his promises. He limited his hours and took calls at home when Y/N needed his help.

They hired a nanny for the times when they both needed to be out of the home and things worked well.

House found his baby fever to be satiated, it didn't happen in the way he expected, but he wouldn't trade his daughter for anything in the world.

A few weeks before D/N's first birthday, Y/N discovered that she was pregnant. House was excited until the idea of having two kids under two years old hit him. It would be crazy, but it would be their crazy and he could definitely handle that.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Too Late (Azriel x reader) (Part 2)

Part One , Part Three

Summary: The war is over, and Y/N has been presumed dead for over a hundred years, but she finds herself having to leave her quiet life across the border and come back to the place where it all started. Turns out, Azriel took her death a little harder than she thought.

It had been years since you woke up. Your first memory when you woke up was the pain in your chest then the pain in your abdomen. The pain in your torso healed over time, but the pain in your chest was a constant ache. You had tried reaching out, to feel the emotions of those around you, but could no longer feel anything. You had seemingly lost what little power you had, the only power that made you useful to the night court.

So you ran, shame encapsulating your being. You ran to the human lands, being able to summon what little power you possessed to live a quiet simple life, even across the border, you felt the pain in your chest lessen over time. But the tears still came, night after night, or whenever a shadow would creep by, or you would see pair of wings, all you would be able to see is the bright blue eyes of the male you loved who did not love you in return.

As the years passed, you found yourself growing fond of humans and their ways, you healed them, help protect their young, taught them to farm and even how to make some basic herbal remedies. But even as the years went by, you still dreamt of those blue eyes and shadows. Whenever you cried, you thought about the night where Azriel held you tight and whispered reassurances in your ear, but those days were long gone.

Decades passed, then a century, and it felt like life was just passing you by. The humans you had helped grew old, and then their children would replace them, and their children after that.  It was an exceptionally lonely life.

The fire roared as you sat in your chair, rocking gently as you hummed the same tune Azriel had hummed to you all those years ago. He had never left your mind, and you weren’t sure he ever would. You wove the yarn between your smooth fingers, creating another blanket for a young babe about to enter the world.

You heard a shuffle outside and immediately grew quiet, setting down your yarn and reaching for the dagger strapped to your leg. It wouldn’t be the first time someone attempted to steal from you, but you would teach these humans the same lesson you had taught the last. The door slowly opened, and a large dark figure filled the frame, wings ducking to fit in the door frame.

The dagger left your hand before you could think, landing inches away from the faes pointed ear and into the door jamb. The male snapped his head towards you, pulling out his dagger in return. You gasped in realization, tripping backwards and catching your balance on the stone wall behind you.

Cassian stood before you, his face serious but hair longer, with strands falling over his shoulders. His body was visibly more muscular, and even from a quick glance you could tell that he had more scars than the last time you had seen him. You raised your hand to your chest, unsure of the emotions you were feeling, relief that he was okay.

“Cassian, you’re okay?” You whispered, tears filling your eyes as you stood in place. Cassian stared at you, his eyes guarded.

“What are you?” Cassian growled, raising his sword in your direction.

“I’m-what?” You asked, voice choking. “Cassian- it’s me, it’s Y/N.”

               “Y/N died,” His voice steady, his arm was steady too.

               “Cassian- please.” You lifted your arms, your hands shaking. “I don’t know what I can do to make you trust that it’s me.”

               “There is nothing that you can-“ Cassian’s eye caught a painting on the wall, and you followed his gaze. Dark shadows consumed the portrait, letting in glimpses of light, you had used a mixture of charcoal and wisps of blue, but the most striking feature was the eyes you could faintly see through the shadows, his eyes, they stood out like pools of light cutting through the dark. It was his same guarded expression you saw before you fell asleep.

               “That’s Az.” Cassian whispered, and you nodded.

               “Is he alright?” You could feel the panic rise in your veins, “Please- if he’s not alright you must tell me.”

               “He’s fine.” Cassian stared at you, his eyes shifting from the top of your head to your feet. “I am – I am so glad you’re okay.”

               His warm arms engulfed you, and you could feel yourself melt into his arms. You two had fought on the front lines before you were sent away to Azriel. You felt the tears start and pulled away.

               “Why are you here Cas?” You whispered, pointing at a chair near the fire and sitting in your own. “not that I mind, I’m so happy to see you.”

               “The bone carver told us…he told me to come here and I would find what we needed most.” Cassian said, still staring at you in amazement. “What happened out there? We all thought you were dead, it’s been over a century.”

               “I got stabbed.” You recalled, looking back towards the fire, the carnage coming back to you in a vivid memory. The memory of Azriels indifference, but then him running towards you as the sword plunged through you. “Then…I woke up, in the summer court. Someone had seen me fall and grabbed me, I lost my gift.” You teared up again, “I haven’t been able to feel anything since I left that battlefield, and the high lord had told me that gift was the only use I was to him. I knew…I knew that if I came back without it there would be no point in coming back at all.”

               “Rhysand is high lord now; you can come home.” Cassian reached over, grabbing your hand.

               “I can’t show my face.” Tears streamed down yours.

               “The bone carver said our secret weapon would be here; that’s obviously you.” Cassian pleaded, “We need you, Rhysand, Az, me, we need you.”

               Your throat bobbed as you looked around the life you had built for yourself, and you slowly nodded. “Okay.”

               The trek back was cold and windy, and Cassian carried you in his arms, looking at you every once in a while and shaking his head in disbelief. “I just can’t believe you’re alive.”

               “I’m lucky to be.” You whispered, watching the scenery go by. You could feel the difference when you passed the border, mostly by the change of the feeling around you. You felt like you could breath, but the pain in your chest grew into a dull ache. “How is everyone?”

               “As good as they can be.” Cassian replied, the thud of his wings matching the beats of your heart. “Rhysand found his mate, Feyre.” Cassian explained to you what the past few years had done to them as a group, and you felt your heart tug. You had been away for so long, and they had all suffered. “Azriel is doing…well, he’s Azriel. Very broody, over dramatic, the usual.”

               You laughed, remembering the broody Azriel that you fell In love with. You froze, you were about to see Azriel. “Do you think he’ll hate me?” You whispered, Cassian pondered this question, the longer he took to answer, the more nervous you became.

               “I don’t know.”

               Rhysand was waiting in the foyer when you arrived, Cassian had already let him know the news ahead of time. He hugged you, squeezing you and spinning you around. Relief filled your veins as you looked him up and down, realizing that he was okay and happy, the aura of finding his mate surrounding him.

               “Rhys, I’m telling you, I’m not your secret weapon.” You grabbed his arm, pleading for him to understand. “I lost my abilities, I lost it all when in the war, I can’t help. I can’t even fight anymore.”

               You felt Rhysand walk straight into your mind, your mental shields falling easily due to lack of practice. He walked around the emptiness, ‘you are not worthless, Y/N’ Rhysand seemed to echo, you shook your head. You looked around the cozy house, books lined the small table in the room and a fire was lit.  

               He led you around the “House of Wind”, showing you where everyone slept, the kitchen, and living area. He brought you to the end of a hall, opening a door and showing you a dark bedroom, shadowed by the curtains hanging over the sole window.

               “This is your room, as long as you choose to stay.” He smiled gently, a hand on your back leading you into the room. “I wasn’t sure how to decorate, it’s been a while since… since I’ve seen you.”

               “Dinner will be in a couple hours, if you don’t feel like joining us, I would be happy to have the house give you your food here.” Rhys offered, you sat on the bed, feeling the linen underneath your fingers.

               “Will…Will Azriel be there?”

               “Most likely.” Rhysand sat down next to you, “I’m…I’m not sure how he will take this, he was worse off than the rest of us. “

               “Why?” You voice came out in a whisper, then you coughed. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

               The day passed, you took up the seat next to the window, watching the sun slowly set behind the mountain and the stars light up the sky. Velaris was…beautiful, even more so than Rhys had described. The city was bathed in a golden light from the stars, you could see the reflections of the stars on the streets below, the streets made of glass and stone. Your stomach growled, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten today.

               You opened the door, hearing raised voices and laughter from down the hall. You slowly shut the door behind you, back turned as you made sure it clicked shut. What would you say? How would he react?

               “How did you get in here?” A low voice asked, sending a cold chill up your spine. You stared at the door, wishing you could somehow go back in time and not come out here. You slowly turned your head, peaking through the curtain of your hair.

               His form was surrounded by shadows, and he held daggers in each of his hands. You met his eyes, the same piercing blue ones that you looked at every day, you felt the tug in your chest and felt something lodge in your throat.

               His voice was low, dangerously low. “How did you get in here?” He snapped, lifting his dagger as if to throw it.

               You lifted your hands, which were shaking so bad you couldn’t hold them up straight. “Please, Azriel, I can explain.” The two daggers left his hands, pinning your shirt to the door over both of your shoulders. He walked over, his steps slow and his eyes narrowing. The pain in your chest grew to a roar, and tears filled your eyes, the panic growing within you.

               He lifted a hand, brushing the hair from your face, and then it hit him. His breath caught, and so many emotions flowed through you that you nearly dropped to the floor, after not feeling anything for so long, this was too much. Then, you felt the anger. Your head slammed against the door, leaving you face to face with Azriel as he pushed against your chest.

               “What are you?” Azriel growled, pulling out another knife and holding it to your neck. “Damn, you almost had me fooled. You look just like her.”

               “Az! “ Cas shouted from the other end of the hallway, afraid to make any sudden movements.

               “What is this thing?” Azriel looked at him, his large hand still pressed against your ribcage.

               “it’s really her.” Cas held up his hands in mock surrender, his wings behind him as he slowly walked to Azriel. “It’s…trust me, I found her.”        

               Azriel looked back to you, his eyes scanning every inch of you, from the top of your head to the shoes that you wore. A flicker of hesitation passed before, in one swift motion, he grabbed the fabric at the bottom of your shirt and tore it, exposing your torso. Under the fabric and now exposed was your scar, white and ragged on your skin. 

               Azriels breath caught, his posture stiffening as his gaze move from his scars to you. His eyes were more guarded than you had ever seen them, but the pain in your chest didn’t relent. “Az-“ you began, trying to grasp his arm.

               “Why are you back here? Why now?” Azriel pulled his daggers from your shirt aggressively, you could feel the anger radiating from him, raw and bitter. “It’s only been, what, a HUNDRED YEARS?” His daggers flew from his hands into the wall on the other end of the hallway.

               “Azriel please-“ You begged, tears brimming. “I”

               “I LOST you, Y/N!” Azriel shouted, his hands in fist and shadows swarming around his figure. “One minute you were there, the next, gone! I searched for days! Do you know how many bodies I turned hoping to find you but also knowing that I couldn’t bear it if I did?”

               “I’m sorry!” You shouted, walking towards him as he backed up. “if I could go back and change it, I would-“

               “I don’t want to hear it, Y/N.” Azriel’s voice was stone cold, his chest heaved. Every part of him was anger, you could feel it like you were sitting next to an open flame. “I mourned you. I searched for you, I even made you a grave.” He growled, running his hands through his hair.

               “Just listen to me!” You shouted, “Just take a minute and listen to me talk, let me explain.”

               Azriel met your gaze and shook his head. “You don’t get to disappear and show up like nothing happened.” He snapped, walking to the wall and yanking his daggers out. “You don’t get to put me, us, through that. You don’t get to ‘explain’”

               “Please.” You begged, trying one last to grab his arm as he walked by. He pulled his arm back, like your touch was poison. The pain and hurt that filled you made it hard to breathe as you watched him walk out of the hallway, then heard a door slam. You slowly slid down the door to your bedroom, head in your hands as you cried. Cassian squatted down to squeeze your shoulder, but you pushed him away.            

               “Get away from me!” You screamed from your throat, and another loud sob left your body. You should never have left, maybe not feeling at all was better than this. You didn’t even notice Cassian leaving as you cried.

[rosewaterandivy]

all is calm

Summary: the first time, it was an accident. the second time? a coincidence. but the third time… well, unfortunately it’s a habit.

Pairing: s.h. x reader

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” He grouses, fingers slipping under the jamb of your window and sliding it up.

You roll your eyes and scoff, “You’re 32, get over yourself.”

“Yeah, well,” He opens the window fully, a burst of cool air entering the room. “Guess it’s time to die.”

He toes his boots on, not bothering with the laces and presses a brief kiss to your brow.

“This was fun.”

“Mhmm,” You nod, grabbing for your glasses on the nightstand. “No notes; you’ve still got it, Harrington.”

He laughs, punctuated by the sound of an errant squeak from a dog toy down the landing. A soft woof accompanies it.

“Better go before Gary gets wise.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe your mom named the dog that.”

You shrug, “Nothing to be done. Besides, you know as well as I it’s just an excuse for her to sing showtunes.”

Steve pulls a face of equal parts disgust and confusion. He could never quite get a handle on your mother’s penchant for musicals.

You check his shoulder and nod to the open window. “Best be off, Peter Pan. Can’t have the Lost Boys fending for themselves.”

He smiles and leans close to revel in your warmth, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that is anything but chaste.

“What would I do without you Wendy?” He says with a sigh, rising from the bed before you can land a kick to his thigh.

Steve takes a minute to psych himself up. It’s just like riding a bike, in theory at least. He just had to find his footing on the porch overhang and climb down the old oak tree. Easy peasy.

Or it would’ve been, if not for your father’s impeccably timed collection of the morning paper. He watches, amused, as his daughter’s childhood friend dexterously climbs through the open window and onto the roof of his front porch.

He sips from his coffee as Steve turns to make for a tree branch. At this juncture, he pointedly clears his throat.

“Not staying for breakfast, Steve?”

He immediately lets go of the branch, a smattering of snow dusting his sweater. Steve offers your dad an uncomfortable smile, his hand going to the back of his neck in embarrassment and for lack of a better thing to do.

While Steve is frozen under the inquisitive stare of your father, you poke your head out of the window to see why he’s still there in the first place. Mrs. Gallagher will be walking her dogs soon, and you’d rather your nocturnal activities not become the holiday gossip du jour of the neighborhood.

“Morning sunshine,” Your dad greets, raising his steaming mug of coffee to you.

“Morning!” You greet with a wave. Then turning to Steve, you grouse, “This is the opposite of subtle, y’know.”

Dad clears his throat and gestures with his newspaper toward the pair of idiots on the roof, “And you weren’t all that subtle back then either!”

Your face burns in embarrassment. While Steve struggles to form a response, unhelpfully gaping like a fish out of water.

“Why don’t you come on in and have some breakfast; the family would love to see you.” Your dad walks back toward the house, newspaper tucked under his arm. “Maybe try the front door next time, hmm?”

Steve sighs dejectedly, “Yes sir,” and turns to crawl back through the window again.

And really, it’s nothing new.

Home for the holidays filled with parties and get-togethers with friends and family to pass the time. Did last night’s shindig at Chrissy’s get a bit out of hand? Maybe. Was it a situation you recalled all too well? Possibly.

No one ever plans to be stuck in a coat closet in their early 30s with Nancy Wheeler’s ex-boyfriend for a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. And it’s a cruel twist of fate that you find yourself nearly recreating a scenario from many, many years ago.

How Chrissy had lured you here, you have no earthly clue. All you’d wanted was a strong drink and a stiff—

Oh.

Suddenly everything is crystal clear as Steve is unceremoniously shoved into the closet by a cackling Eddie. His back hits the wall with a thud as the closet door slams shut, and someone loudly announces that they’ve started the timer:

“So get on with it!”

Crossing your arms, you refrain from slumping to the floor and begin to lament leaving your drink outside in the den. You watch as Steve lightly coughs and fidgets with his hands, before deciding to shove them into his pockets.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hey.”

“How’s it, um, going?”

“Oh, y’know, really enjoying the sights of this closet. The craftsmanship is definitely something.”

He smiles before breaking into a laugh, the tension popping like a soap bubble as you find yourself smiling as well.

He shoulder checks you before pulling you into a hug.

“Didn’t see you out there,” He says, voice muffled by your hair. “I would’ve said hi.”

“Think they’d already hatched their dastardly plan and shoved me in here.” Raising your head from his chest, his chin bumps your forehead as you look up at him. “I know you would’ve, Steve.”

He sighs as that, arms loosening and falling to your hips.

“It’s weird, right?”

You shrug, “Not the weirdest thing I’ve done in a coat closet.”

“God, don’t even start that,” He admonishes, cheeks beginning to flush. “I’d like to get through one holiday event without your mentioning—“

“The best blowjob of your life?” You rear back with what you hope is an innocent grin, “Why ever would you not want to reminisce on such a pivotal experience?”

“You’re a goddamn menace,” He says with a squeeze.

”So I’ve been told.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, the sounds of the party filtering in through the crack at the bottom of the door.

Steve hasn’t let go, his arms a warm presence at your hips, his chest all too inviting. He’s wearing a sweater and you don’t know how he hasn’t overheated at this point, the man is a damn radiator.

It’s always been easy between you— no muss, no fuss. And it’s not that you fuck him every time you come home, allowances were made for partners, not that either of you were consistently attached. But within the past few years… fuck, had it been since you’d turned 30?

Well, regardless of that, coming home for the holidays generally resulted in a thorough roll in the hay with a frequent star of your daydreams.

Steve was, well Steve. Unflappable and constant, despite the otherwise chaotic stylings of your friend group. Someone you could rely on, who would drop anything to help out. He reminded you of the best parts of your favorite people, because he simply was.

Love is, at best, a panoply of treasured pieces from the people in your life. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you can see the twinkle in your grandmother’s eye, the smile you share with your father, a penchant for the wild stolen from Eddie, a honking laugh you’d adopted from Robin, and your own brand of absurd wit.

Occasionally, you were hard-pressed to pick out the glimmer and sheen of this mosaic to find Steve. And you know it’s because you were trying to protect yourself. This time last year, Chrissy had pointed out how happy you seemed, how much you were smiling and chalked it up to his proximity.

“You should just go for it,” She’d advised, over pouring the tequila for margaritas, “He’s over the moon for you, and I know you feel the same.”

You’d sighed and said something about how it would never work. The distance his job all but ensured. The drudgery of dating as an “adult.” It was bad enough to admit to yourself that you were crushing on Steve— the mortifying ordeal of being known and all of that. Having crushes as an adult was certainly humiliating, doubly so if you were already sleeping with said individual under a “no strings attached” policy.

Not that Chrissy knew any of this, of course.

“How much time do we have?”

”Dunno, maybe two or three minutes, why?”

You’d pulled back from his embrace, finding yourself studied under his gaze. His bottom lip pulled between his teeth and a furrow in his brow. Dropping his arms from your hips and taking a step back, he squints in the dim light.

“Gotta make it look authentic,” He breathes, hands coming up to your face. “D’ya mind?” He tugs at your hair, fingers pressing lightly along your scalp.

“Oh sure. Fuck me up, Harrington.”

He grins at that, “Such a tease.”

His fingers begin to shake out the roots of your hair, the light scrape of his trimmed nails soothing along your scalp. Satisfied with that, he musses your hair and sweeps it off your shoulder.

“Hickey?”

“Well,” You demure, “If you insist.”

As his lips descend to the hollow of your throat, you busy yourself with messing up his hair freeing it from the product giving it that artfully disheveled look. Giving a harsh suck and the barest kiss of teeth that startles you into emitting a less than soft groan, Steve rises back to his full height with a shit-eating grin.

“My turn,” You croon, a hand cradling the nape of his neck while you lay claim to his throat and collar.

Red lipstick, ever festive, is smeared across your mouth and his skin by the time the door is thrust open. The collar of his sweater is a bit worn, as if it had been tugged at repeatedly, which, to be fair, it most certainly had. There’s a tear in your tights where he’d gotten a bit handsy and promised to rip them off of you later.

And, most unfortunate of all, Steve’s hand had crept its way under your blouse while yours had worked its way beneath the belt of his pants.

“I fuckin’ knew it!” Eddie crows, and waggling his brow he lowers his voice to say, “Nice goin’ man, rock and roll.”

There’s a bit of finessing required for you to extricate your hand from its meanderings. And part of you mourns the loss, because he is hot and firm, and with Eddie distracted and abandoning you to the closet, you wonder if there’s enough time to surreptitiously spit in your palm and get Steve off right here and now.

But then his hand falls from where he’d been teasing your nipple to it peak and caressing your breast. Reluctantly, you slide your hand from out of his jeans and clear your throat.

“Well then.”

“Yep.”

“So.”

The pair of you leave the closet, about to go your separate ways back to the party, when he takes your hand and pulls you back to him. Spinning to his chest, he tilts your chin upward allowing you to catch sight of the mistletoe just as his lips land upon yours.

It’s a searing kiss. The kind that has a soaring symphony cascading through your ears, and your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. He coaxes your mouth open gently, tongue delving toward your own and leaving you breathless. One hand snakes around your hips while the other cradles your head, keeping you upright. Because without his steady presence and the tattoo of his heart beating against yours, surely you would’ve dissolved into a puddle by now.

Distantly, you can hear whoops and whistles, maybe a catcall or two. But none of it really matters, not when you have Steve Harrington kissing you positively stupid.

He releases you with a soft click as your lips part, a gentle peck as he sets you back to rights. Glancing up at the mistletoe, he muses, “Glad they didn’t tie it to a blade of the ceiling fan this year.”

“It’s more competitive that way!” Robin yells from the back of the group, “Sportsmanship, dingus.”

Steve rolls his eyes as you laugh and part of you never wants this to end.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

And y’know, maybe this year it would be.

[lululandd]

corrupted;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

word count: 1.3k+

warnings: possessive behaviour, angst

note: :) (also on AO3)

summary: the first time he came home with his mask on, you didn’t let him in.

you weren’t even convinced it was simon at first. the man held himself too differently; he stood up too straight, his shoulders too square, there’s too much confidence in his stance as he stared you down.

the mask makes you feel uneasy, it makes it seem like he’s looking down at you with perpetual hostility in his eyes. normally you’d look up, but right now you opt to just glance up at him from time to time. but you do see from the corner of your eyes that he tilts his head at you, his gloved fingers tapping a rhythmic beat on the door jamb. 

“it’s me, love.” he assured you in his gruff and gravelly voice, recognising it as the one he reserves for drunks at the pub.

“can you take the mask off then? please?”

he sucked a breath, both his hands now have come up on either side of the door. “just want to shower and go the fuck to bed, love. don’t be difficult.”

you stood your ground, eyeing him coldly. “and how difficult would it be to take the mask off before coming inside?”

his dark eyes bore into yours, brows drawing close together. “christ fuck, woman.” he finally says, bitterness bleeds through his muffled voice as he yanks the thing off his head, “happy?”

no.

finally seeing him, you notice the deepening lines on the corner of his eyes, and the bags underneath it worse than ever before. his lips twitch as if to say something as you open the door wider for him to finally pass you.

simon trudged his boots off by the shoerack before heading upstairs, you hear your shared bathroom door slamming shut as you still stood by the front door. you almost wanted to cry, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. you know simon’s job tires him out, he’s quieter and more reserved the first few days back; but today he gives you no hellos, no instructions to make tea, no offhand comment about the squeaking door that he complains about.

only silence greets you.

~

“come here.”

you barely turn from your little console, “no you come here.” giggling as you tried to find a safe spot so you could look at him and away from the game.

the bed dips heavily, you were tugged towards a warm chest as an arm snakes tightly around your waist and another slides up your collarbone, his finger absentmindedly tracing patterns on the side of your neck. he leaned his head on yours, pulling you flush against him; your back bumped against his solid chest as he leaves soft kisses on the top of your head.

it’s weirdly….foreign.

simon’s love language had always been physical touch; whether it’s a hand on your shoulder, his feet next to yours, knees touching on a hot day, but at this exact moment you can’t fathom why his touches felt so unfamiliar.

his kisses move downward, more insistent, lips lingering longer than it should. intoxicating but peculiar at the same time. 

“stop playing.” he warned, his hand getting worryingly close to squeezing your neck.

his hold had never felt so constricting, as if he fears you’d disappear if he loosens his grip on you. his mouth had found its way to your neck, sucking and biting until he’s had enough and places a large hand on the screen, forcing you to set the thing down.

“i said stop.” he ordered, voice worryingly close to a growl.

leaning further into him, he tightened his embrace on you. seeing you’re no longer distracted, he went back to marking your neck, lapping at the bruising skin. 

you sighed into his touches and kisses, fully surrendering in his hold. as he turned your head with a hand on your jaw, you could now see every scar, every freckle, every little imperfection on his face, and it was harder to form thoughts when he’s so close like this. “sim–”

his lips press into yours; harsh and domineering, as he pushed you into the mattress, making you gasp. taking your open mouth as an invitation, his tongue greedily swipes across yours.

the kiss ended as quickly as it started, with simon pulling back and opting to have a go at leaving marks on your neck again. he left a particularly hard suck by your pulse point, making you let out a nervous giggle, “stop, simon. i don’t think i have turtlenecks that high.”

“then let them see.” he breathed hotly against another part of your neck he hasn’t left kisses on. it made you shudder, no one had ever made you feel so desired before.

wrapping your arms around him, you smiled weakly, “i love you, simon. you don’t have to worry about other people.”

hearing you say that made him finally pause his persistent abuse on your skin.

“say it again.” 

you couldn’t even look into his eyes, your cheeks burn from the constant attention he’s giving you right now. but even that couldn’t dissuade the little voice in your head that's trying to tell you this isn't right, this doesn’t feel like him; but you said it aloud anyway, “i love you.”

“again,” he breathed, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips, “i want to hear you mean it.”

“i love you, simon.”

you could feel his smirk as he peppered kisses on your skin.

~

“simon you can’t be serious.” you chided him coldly, he has been wearing a face mask at home more often now. this time for a whole week straight. neither of you are even ill.

you could see something ominous and unpleasant underneath his glare as he turned his head towards you. “let me be, love.” he doesn’t even call you by your name anymore, as if he had completely forgotten what it is.

you groaned, “ugh, fine.” 

cutting the distance between you in record time, simon seized your wrist and held it up by his face, making you tumble into him. “what–”

“i love you.” he stated.

at this exact moment you thought him insane. you looked up at him, confusion and exasperation clear on your face.

“i'm sorry?” was the only thing you could think to say right now.

never have you thought simon was intimidating until this very moment. his eyebrows furrowed so deeply it made his pupils seem darker than it should. “say it back.”

you have no intention of saying it back.

his grip on your wrist had start to hurt at this point, and trying to wriggle away only made him hold it even tighter. the little yelp of pain you let out didn’t faze him even the slightest.

you only now realised this is not simon. in your mild attempt to break free from his grip you couldn’t help but to acknowledge his growing desire that’s been insistently prodding your front.

alarmed, you couldn’t help but to try and wriggle away harder. his insistent hand on the small of your back doesn’t help with the situation, either.

when he finally lets go of your wrist, opting to hold the back of your neck to hold you closer to him, you had already given up resisting. 

at that moment you felt as if you’re something of him to merely possess, and nothing else. tears escaped you, at first a little before cascading fully into sobs and whimpers. you don’t feel the love and warmth simon had, right now his grasp felt stiff and constricting.

“you’re not him, are you?” you hiccuped into his chest.

hearing no answer, you look up to see a man you loved, with a dangerous glint you don’t recognise in his eyes.

“no, you're not,” you answered your own question and his hold breaks. you let out a shuddered breath as you stare blankly at nothing, tears blurring your vision. “is he still in there?”

only silence answers.

[corroded-hellfire]

Ok I feel like As You Wish!Eddie would be obsessed with that part in Enter Sandman where like he says the lines like “Now I lay me down to sleep” just to have his kids or reader repeat them back in like the innocent voice

Eddie lives his life by Metallica songs and teaches his children to do the same

Words: 1.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Alright pipsqueak,” Eddie says, gently tugging on the toe of Eliza’s purple footie pajamas as he passes where she sits between her brothers on the couch. “Bedtime.”

“No!” Eliza says, quickly rolling over a hundred eighty degrees so she’s laying on her tummy and buries her face in the couch cushion. 

“Yes,” Eddie says. He scoops the remote up from the coffee table and presses the off button, effectively ending Shrek 2. “Come on. Go brush your teeth, little girl.”

Luke stares at his father and gestures to the television, as if to say we were watching that too, man. Rolling his eyes, Eddie tosses the remote into his younger son’s lap.

“Eliza Marie Munson,” Eddie says.

With a huff to show her father her displeasure, the three-year-old pushes herself off the couch and disappears down the hallway. Luke flicks the television back on and the last thing Eddie hears as he follows his daughter down the hallway is his teenage sons laughing at Puss in Boots coughing up a hairball. 

“Ah, ah, with the toothpaste.” Your voice floats out of the bathroom into the hallway, making Eddie chuckle as he passes and keeps walking into Eliza’s room. 

Deciding to mess with the feisty little firecracker, Eddie snatches up her favorite stuffed pig and lounges on his daughter’s too-short bed. It’s only a few minutes later that Eliza’s heavy tread can be heard coming down the hallway, the heavy footsteps baffling for such a small girl. The moment she crosses the threshold into her room, Eliza’s face scrunches up and her tiny shoulders rise up toward her ears.

“Hey!”

“Is for horses,” Eddie answers.

You’re two steps behind Eliza and the moment you see Eddie on the bed you chuckle to yourself. The Little Terror is about to be unleashed. 

“My bed!” Eliza launches herself up on top of her father, causing him to let out an oof as she lands on his stomach. “My Penelope!” Small hands go to grab the stuffed pig but Eddie’s quicker, moving the plush animal behind his head to use as a pillow.

“Wow, kid, you really need to learn to share,” Eddie says.

A long exhale blows from Eliza’s nose, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a growl. Scooting her body up Eddie’s chest, your daughter rests her forehead against her father’s, giving him the most intimidating look she can manage. She probably doesn’t realize that to Eddie it now just looks like she has one giant eye, though. Hardly intimidating–even for the toddler. 

“Did you give night-night kisses?” Eddie asks.

“Penelope,” is Eliza’s only reply.

“I’ll give you Penelope the Pig back once you give everyone goodnight kisses.”

Sitting up straight, Eliza eyes her father skeptically. When he raises his eyebrows at her, she must decide to believe him because she slides from his chest and lands on her carpet with a thud. 

“Ryaaaaaan! Luuuuuuke!” Her calls echo down the hall as she runs, the shouts accompanied by the loud thumping of her feet as she picks up speed. 

“And you wonder why she’s a menace,” you say to your husband, tilting your head at him as you lean against the door jamb. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re implying,” your husband answers, giving you the most innocent doe eyes he can manage. 

Before you can come up with a response, Eliza rushes past you, back into the room. She skids to a stop and spins on her covered feet to face you.

“Kiss, Mama!”

Happy to oblige her, you scoop her up in your arms and press kisses all over her face. Her giggles are infectious as she tries to dodge your lips, protesting that this is an overload of kisses. She gives you a quick squeeze around the neck and you can’t help but notice how she’s feeling heavier in your arms these days. It makes a part of you sad, remembering when she was small enough to lay in the crook of your elbow. 

Eliza wriggles out of your grip and makes her way back over to her bed. Her lower lip juts out in a pout and she bats her dark eyelashes at her dad. 

“Can I have Penelope now pleeeeease?” she asks in her sweetest voice.

“I guess so.” 

Eddie pushes himself off the child’s bed and hands his daughter the stuffed pig. He presses a kiss to her head and tucks her in as she snuggles beneath her blankets. 

“Okay, ready for prayers?” Eddie asks.

“Ready.” Eliza snuggles back against her pillow, clasps her hands together in front of her, and closes her eyes.

“Now, I lay me down to sleep.”

“Now, I lay me down to sleep,” your daughter repeats, making you smile.

“Pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

“Pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

“If I die before I wake.”

“If I die before I wake.”

“Pray the Lord my soul to take.”

“Pray the Lord my soul to take.”

“Good job.” Eddie leans down and kisses her. “Goodnight, Sweet Pea.”

“Nighty night, Daddy.”

Quietly, you slip from the room, Eddie right behind you. He flips the light switch, turning off her overhead light and activating her Mulan nightlight. Gently, he closes the door behind him, and the two of you pad down the hall towards your room.

“You think Wayne will ever catch on that’s from a Metallica song and not your devotion to God?” you ask, a smirk dancing on your lips. 

“Not if someone keeps her mouth shut,” Eddie says, grabbing your sides and digging his fingers into them. Giggles erupt from you as you push his hands away and stumble into your shared room.

“Hush little baby, don't say a word,” you recite the next line of the song, walking backwards towards your bed. “And never mind that noise you heard.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at you as he slowly saunters forward, coming closer to you.

“It's just the beasts under your bed,” you continue. “In your closet, in your head.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, smirk on his face growing, “you’re about to have a beast in your bed.”

A soft yelp shoots out of you with a bout of laughter as Eddie tackles you down on the bed. He climbs on top of you and presses kisses all over your face, just like you’d done to Eliza. 

“Oof, she’s right,” you say. “Too much.”

“Oh, really?” Eddie teases. He scoffs and pretends to climb off of you. 

With a roll of your eyes, your fingers grip into the front of his t-shirt and you pull him back down on top of you.

“Get back here, altar boy.”

[pompadourpink]

Literal French expressions

À deux - at two

À la + n. - in the style of

À la carte - at the menu

À la mode - in fashion

Amateur - lover

Après-ski - after skying

À propos - about

Armoire - wardrobe

Art nouveau - new art

Au naturel - plain

Au pair - at the peer

Auteur - author

Avant-garde - before guard

Bête noire - black beast

Blasé - jaded

Bon appétit - good appetite

Bon voyage - good journey

Boutique - shop

Buffet - credenza

Bureau - office

Canapé - couch

Carte blanche - white card

C'est la vie - that's life

Chauffeur - warmer (n.)

Chef - leader

Cliché - picture

Clique - gang

Connaisseur - "knower"

Coup d'état - blow of state

Coup de grâce - blow of mercy

Coup de foudre - blow of lightning

Couture - sewing (n.)

Cul-de-sac - ass of the bag

Début - beginning

Débutante - beginner

Déjà-vu - already seen

Dénouement - untying

Dossier - file

Double entendre - double hear

... du jour - of the day

Eau de toilette - washing water

Eau de vie - life water

Encore - again

Ennui - boredom

En route - in road

Ensemble - together

Entourage - people surrounding you

Entrepreneur - starter (n.)

Essai - attempt

Esprit de l'escalier - spirit of the stairs

Étiquette - label

Exposé - exposed

Façade - frontage

Faux pas - fake step

Femme fatale - deadly woman

Film noir - black movie

Fin de siècle - end of century

Flâneur - "stroller"

Femme - woman

Folie à deux - madness at two

Foyer - fireplace, home

Gamine - female kid (casual)

Gauche - left

Gendarme - person of weapons

Je ne sais quoi - I don't know what

Laissez-faire - let (someone) do (imperative)

Laissez-passer - let (someone) pass

L'appel du vide - the call of the void

Lingerie - underwear

Maître d' - master o'

Mardi gras - fat Tuesday

Matinée - morning

Ménage à trois - household at three

Mon/ma chéri-e - my cherished

Montage - mounting

Motif - pattern

Mural - on the wall (adj.)

Né-e - born

Négligé - neglected

Nom de plume - feather name

Parole - word

Petite - small (adj.)

Pied-à-terre - foot on land

Poilu - hairy

Pot pourri - rotten pot

Pourboire - for drink

Première - first

Prêt-à-manger - ready to eat

Protégé - protected

Renaissance - rebirth

Rendez-vous - appointment

Répertoire - directory

Résumé - summary

Risqué - risked

Robe - dress

Rouge - red

RSVP - answer please

Sans-culottes - without pantaloons

Savant - "knower" (n.)

Savoir-faire - know how to do (v.)

Savoir-vivre - know how to live

Séance - session

Soirée - evening

Souvenir - memory

Suite - sequel, development

Surveillance - careful watching

Tête-à-tête - head to head

Touché - touched

Tour - circuit

Trompe-l'oeil - cheats the eye

Venue - came

Vignette - sticker, label

Vis-à-vis - face to face

Voyeur - "seer"

Ballet vocabulary:

Allongé - laid down

Balancé - swinged

Balançoire - swing (n.)

Battu - battered

Brisé - broken

Chassé - chased

Chaînés - chained

Ciseaux - scissors

Coupé - cut

Dégagé - cleared

Développé - developed

Échappé - escaped

En cloche - in bell

En croix - in cross

Entrechat - between braid

En pointe - in tip

Failli - almost did

Fouetté - whipped

Glissade - sliding

Plié - bent

Jeté - thrown

Manège - carousel

Pas de bourrée - drunk step

Pas de chat - cat step

Pas de cheval - horse step

Pas de deux - step of two

Pas de valse - waltz step

Penché - leaned

Piqué - pricked

Port de bras - carry of arms

Relevé - lifted back up

Renversé - titled, bent backwards

Retiré - removed

Rond de jambe - leg circle

Temps de flèche - arrow time Tendu - stretched

Temps lié - linked time

Tombé - fallen

Tour en l'air - turn in the air

Kitchen vocabulary:

Amuse-bouche - mouth entertainer

Bain-Marie - Mary bath

Café au lait - milky coffee

Casserole - pot

Cordon bleu - blue ribbon

Crème brûlée - burnt cream

Crème de la crème - cream of the cream

Crème fraîche - fresh cream

Croissant - crescent

Éclair - lightning

Entrée - entrance

Filet mignon - cute net

Flambé - blazed

Foie gras - fat liver

Fondant - melting

Fondue - melted

Gourmet - foodie

Hors d'oeuvre - out of the work

Légume - vegetable

Liqueur - liquid

Mille-feuille - thousand leaf

Mousse - foam

Pâté - pasted

Roux - redhead(ed)

Sauté - jumped

Sautoir - "jumper"

Soufflé - blown

Velouté - velvety

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[anacdoce]

Home at last

Pairing: Astarion x you (f!reader)

Rating: T

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: comfort/angst; feeling fear.

Summary: “This is your home now. Our home. I won’t need to invite you in anymore.”

You give Astarion a home. A safe place to finally live the life he deserves.

But is he really safe? Can you keep him safe?

a/n: This oneshot episode is somehow connected to my long fic "I Wish" and it can give you some insight to the 4th chapter ("Haunted by a wish"), but it can perfectly be read independently.

Hope you enjoy it 🖤

Read on oa3

After bidding farewell to all your companions, you leave the Elfsong Tavern and make your way to your cottage near the woods on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate.  

The past few months have been chaotic, and all you want now is peace, at least for a time. 

But you are not alone. Your lover is with you. He is part of your life now, and you are part of his. And Astarion will not pass one more day alone in his life if it depends on you. So you asked him to live with you, and he promptly agreed, as if he had been hoping for the invitation.

“Darling, you could have chosen a better place for your house. Why so far away from the city?” He asks, swatting at a cloud of mosquitoes on your path. 

“I like the woods. It's peaceful here. You’ll like it too. Give it time.” 

“Hurgh… I doubt it, my dear.” 

After a long while, you arrived at the place. A beautiful cottage in a field of wheat, illuminated by the moonlight. You smile at the sight. How you missed this place. You can't wait to take a bath in your tub, and preferably with the company of the irresistible pale elf standing beside you. 

You approach the house and start pulling out the weeds that have grown up in front of the door.

Astarion stands behind you, scrutinizing the surroundings. “Huh… Sweetheart, are you sure it's here?” 

“Well, I lived here for a long time, so yes, Astarion, I'm sure.” You open the door and step inside, trying to remember where you left the candles to light them.

Astarion reaches the door, but stays outside, leaning against the door jamb, with his arms crossed against his chest, waiting.

Once the candles are lit, you start rushing around, putting things in order. You don't want Astarion to think that you are a disorganized person. Well, maybe you are… just a little. But first impressions are important, are they not? 

But didn't he share a camp with you for the past few months? So he must know, mustn't he? Will he enjoy living with you? Just the two of you, day and night? 

He clears his throat, catching your attention and interrupting your thoughts and your sudden need to put everything in order, after being months away.

“Why are you still outside? Is it that bad?” You ask, thinking that maybe this was not the best idea, bringing him here. Too modest and simple for his taste, for sure.

“Darling, you have to invite me in.” 

“Oh…” The realization hits you. “I'm sorry. Right. Please, come in.” You extend your hand to him, and he accepts it, stepping inside. Close to him, you kiss his cheek. “This is your home now. Our home. I won’t need to invite you in anymore.” 

He looks at you, surprised. “My home?” 

“Of course! We are together, are we not? I really meant it when I said I wanted to share my life with you, Astarion.” You stroke his soft, curly hair before turning away, leaving him with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he admires you tenderly while you return to your affairs in the house.

Gods! How is it possible to have so many spider webs!

You run back and forth again, and Astarion stays put, right next to the door, uncomfortable, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, you notice him and you stop beside him. You take his backpack off his shoulder, setting it down, on the floor, near you. “Please, make yourself comfortable. You’ll have all my attention in a minute, I promise.” You gently push him toward your bedroom. “Why don't you go in there and choose your side of the bed?” 

Once again he looks surprised with your words, but walks into the room, slowly examining everything around him. You give yourself the pleasure to watch him for a moment, while he wanders around. Astarion stops in front of a small vanity, facing the bed, and he touches your things – your comb, some necklaces hanging from the mirror, an open book covered in dust. It’s as if your life was on hold, and he has the honor to be there, to resume it with you. 

“Is this supposed to be you?” He holds up a small rag doll that resembles you, in a way.

“Yes. It was my father’s. He made it for me. It's lovely, isn't it?” 

“It is.” Then he brings the doll and sets it on one of the night stands beside the bed. “I’ll take this side.” 

“It's a great choice.” You smile at him and leave, returning to your house chores that need an urgent attendance. 

After some time he is in the living room, studying your bookcases. He stays there for a while, and then you catch him rearranging some things, swapping and replacing, giving his touch to the place. In that moment your heart swells with affection for this man – your man – making your house his. 

He sits in an armchair, next to the fireplace, shifting his body as he tests the seat. “It's not so bad after all.” Astarion concludes.

“What isn’t?” 

“This house. I think I can live here.” He says, smirking.

“Thank the Gods!” You laugh, and he joins you.

“You know, your laugh was one of the things that helped me get through our previous adventures. I love hearing you laugh, my darling, and I’m committed to making you laugh for the rest of your life.” Astarion taps his thigh, inviting you to sit on his lap. And who are you to refuse such a request?

As soon as you reach him, he embraces you, nestling you against him. His hands on your back, brushing gentle circles over your shirt. “Thank you. This is nice.” He kisses you. The silkiest lips you ever felt. A lingering soft kiss. Then you feel his fingers searching for the waistline of your shirt, pushing it upwards, caressing your skin beneath. His grip tightens, and his kiss grows hungrier. 

His enthusiasm is rising, and yours is too. You hear his softs moans as he pulls you closer and closer. Gods! How does he have such power over you? Your body is already screaming for him, and he knows it. His mischievous grin doesn't fool you. 

He unbuttons your shirt, caressing your breast while doing it, and when he is about to do the same to your trousers you suddenly remember something. Something urgent. Your breath trapped in your throat.

“Astarion, my love, this will have to wait, I'm afraid…” The words are dragging from your mouth, but you can’t let yourself get lost in his arms just yet.

“What is it, Darling? Can’t it wait a little longer?” He purrs, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck to your collarbone.

“The sun won't wait for us, Astarion.” He stops and looks at you as you point to the windows without any kind of sun blocking throughout the whole house. 

“Oh… I see.” He clears his throat, shifting your body on his lap, loosening his hold. “Maybe we should do something about that first.” 

You nod your head and reluctantly lift yourself from his lap, arranging your clothes and catching your breath. 

After a while, both of you try to cover all the windows in a rush, because the sun is almost rising. You use everything that could be useful – old thick blankets, some unused wooden strips that you had saved.

You do your best to hurry, but panic starts to set in. The sky is getting brighter outside, and you still have windows to cover. I should have remembered this! How could I forget? But no… all I could think were those stupid spider webs! Because I wanted everything perfect for him, to make him feel at home. Safe. And I forgot the most important thing… “Astarion, we’re not going to get all the windows covered in time.” 

“I guess not. Maybe we can close the doors and minimize the daylight in the house.” 

“Yes we can do that. And if what we did isn’t enough? What if the sunlight still gets in? What then?” 

“Well… I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” His face, worried.

“What? No. That won't do.” 

You remember when the effects of the tadpole had abandoned him, how his flesh started to burn, and how he fled from you, running through Baldur’s Gate docks, trying to find some shadows to hide from the sun. 

You remember how you chased him in panic and you remember when you catched him, curled up behind some crates, shaking. 

You won’t let that happen again. He is your whole world, and you are his safe place. You won’t fail him. Ever. 

You swallow the fear that grows inside you, and know what you have to do. Your heart aches with the thought, but it's the only way. You have to be sure that the house is safe. “You will have to wait inside that closet, please.” Your hands, trembling.

“What? Are you asking me to lock myself in there?” He asks incredulously. 

“Please Love… I know it's not the perfect plan, but I’d never forgive myself if something happens to you in our home…” He looks at you with some sadness. “Please, Star… just let me make sure everything is okay.” 

He walks defeated to the closet, his curse robbing him, once again, one of the happiest moments of his life. He curls up inside it. “It will always be like this, won't it? Running, hiding, being afraid?” 

“No it won't. I promise. We just have to adapt. I will give you the life you deserve.” You lift his chin, leaning to him and kiss his lips, wanting nothing more than to hold him in your arms. But that will have to wait. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I make sure it’s safe for you to come out.” He lowers his head, hiding it between his knees, enveloped by the shadows. Your heart shatters at his sight, and you know you will be haunted by it for a long time.

You leave him, closing the closet’s door behind you. You breathe deeply once and then you move on to continue the unfinished work. Shortly after, the sun is shining outside. You close the doors from the rooms with windows still uncovered, and where you stand, only darkness remains. No sunlight can reach you. Astarion is safe.

You run to the closet, opening it, and leap into his arms, holding him, satisfying your craving to embrace him once again. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry!” Your voice trembles with anguish.

He holds you close, his hand on the back of your head, burying his face on your neck crock. “It’s alright, my sweet. Everything is alright.”

“It’s not! I wanted it to be perfect. But I keep forgetting important details. Maybe I can’t keep you safe after all.”

“Darling, you’ve given me more than I ever imagined I deserve. And I’ve never felt safer than with you by my side. It can’t be more perfect than that.” 

“I love you.” You mutter, feeling your heart soothing with his embrace.

“And I love you, my treasure.”

[kmomof4]

X Never Ever Marks the Spot - A Birthday Fic for @zaharadessert

We're back and it's time to bring in Emma!!!! This chapter was so much fun to write and I so hope you enjoy it!! Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me!! It means more than I can say!!!

Thank you again to @snowbellewells for her beautiful banner above and her beta expertise!!! And to @hollyethecurious for the title and helping me out with grammar questions.

Rating: M for smut and scary moments.

Words: 2727 of approximately 24k

Tags: Inspired by Raiders of the Lost Ark, Birthday Fic for Zahara

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells  @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic

@elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90

@suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love 

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 2 The Threshold of Adventure

Killian approached the wooden building nestled in the mountains of Nepal as a long stream of men came toward him, heading for the village he’d just left down below. Killian watched as they passed him by, paying him no notice whatsoever as the weather around them worsened. 

The wind whistled, fresh snow - eager to join the layers that were already hard packed on the ground - swirling in the gusts that threatened to blow him off his feet. Once the last two men passed him by - holding each other up by the looks of it - Killian continued toward the bar on the edge of the remote mountain village.

He came to the door and rested against the door jamb for just a moment before she noticed him. A smirk touched his lips as he observed her cleaning off the tables, her back to him. She was bent over slightly, her jeans stretching enticingly across her backside. 

She stilled suddenly, looking up at the wall she faced where his shadow was clearly visible. She quickly turned toward him, her eyes widening in shock, her mouth dropping open slightly as a quiet gasp passed her lips. Killian stepped inside the building. 

“Hello, Emma.”

“Hello, Hook,” she replied after a moment. Her nickname for him. Well, it had originally been bestowed upon him by Cleo; first, because of his knack for finding things, and second, because she was the one who taught him to use his head instead of his fists - specifically, his right hook - to get what he wanted. The former term of endearment made him smile in fond recollection. He hadn’t heard that moniker in a decade and he realized… he missed it.

A smile slowly bloomed on her face as she took a step toward him. “I always knew you’d come back through my door. That somehow… you’d find me again. I never doubted that.” She took slow steps toward him, like a cat. “What are you doing here in Nepal?”

Killian stepped toward her, a charming smile on his face. “I need one of the pieces Cleo collected.” He’d turned his face away from her slightly when he spoke, and so missed it when her fist swung and connected with his jaw.

She packed quite a punch, and Killian couldn’t hide his stunned surprise.

“I’ve learned to hate you in the last ten years.” 

The venom in her tone surprised him, but when he turned to face her, she couldn’t quite hide the deep and abiding pain in her eyes, no matter how much she may have wanted to. She always had been an open book to him.

He couldn’t face her. She didn’t know the truth about why he left without a word to her. At least, he assumed she didn’t. He didn’t think Cleo would throw him under the bus like that, but he couldn’t be absolutely certain unless Emma, or Cleo, told him herself.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. It may have been true, but he was many years past the naiveté necessary to believe his behavior a decade ago hadn’t done exactly that. It was nothing more than a paltry platitude he extended to her now, and they both knew it.

“I was in love.” Her words were coated with pain, the anger still coloring her voice, but the venom no longer as potent. He could almost detect a note of defeat underneath everything she was trying to hide from him. Maybe Cleo had told her. “And you left us without a word.” Killian searched her eyes. He could almost hear the personal pronoun me in place of us in that last statement. “Why?”

Well, he was apparently wrong. Cleo obviously hadn’t told her about the ultimatum she’d given him when she found out there was more to their relationship than just harmless flirting between her two students. 

He hated that he was now in a position to throw Cleo under the bus without her here to give her side of the story, but facing the only woman he’d ever loved, he owed her the truth. And he would give it to her.

“It was Cleo,” he confessed. “She found out about us, and she let me have it.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, remembering in vivid detail the tongue lashing she’d given him. “She told me I had a choice to make. If I was going to remain under her tutelage, I had to give you up. You had a brilliant future before you in archeology, and you wouldn’t reach your potential if you were involved with me.” Killian scratched behind his ear in a nervous gesture he’d had as long as he could remember. “I knew I couldn’t give you up. Not being around you every day, working together, but not able to be truly together. So, she sent me to Archie.”

She was silent for a long moment, then nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “So neither of you thought that I should at least be consulted as the two of you made decisions about my life.”

“Cleo loved you like a daughter, Emma, and she wanted what was best for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Again,” she said, fury back in full force, “MY life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she replied bitterly, turning back to the tables behind her.

“Look,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “I need a piece from Cleo’s collection. A bronze piece, about yea big,” he said, forming a circle with his thumbs and pointer fingers, “It had a hole in the middle, off-center, with a crystal. Do you know it?”

“Yeah,” she bit out.

“Do you know if Cleo still has it? Where is she anyway?”

Emma carried her tray full of shot glasses back to the bar and closed her eyes at his question.

“Cleo’s dead.”

“What?” He couldn’t keep the shocked dismay out of his voice. 

“Got on the wrong side of the wrong people,” Emma murmured. 

“And you’ve been hiding here.”

“What of it?” she snapped, turning to go back to cleaning off another table. Killian didn’t know what to say to that, so he went back to the reason he was here in the first place.

“I need that piece, Emma,” he repeated as she approached the bar again with another fully laden tray. As soon as she set it down, Killian grabbed her hand and stuffed a roll of hundreds into it. “Three thousand. And I can double it when we get back to the States.”

She stared hard at him for a moment. “I’ll have to find it. Come back tomorrow.”

Killian searched her gaze, but she didn’t flinch away from his scrutiny. He gave her a sharp nod and walked out, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Emma pocketed the money and walked over to one of the long tables in front of the roaring fire in the open hearth and sat down, pulling on a chain around her neck and drawing out from under her blouse the medallion the love of her life was looking for.

She took it off and turned it this way and that, letting the fire reflect off the surface. Cleo had been so excited when she found this piece, bringing her one step closer to finding the lost city of Tanis. She’d given it to Emma for safekeeping, but the Nazis didn’t know that when they paid Cleo a visit a year or so ago. So far, Emma had managed not to attract their attention, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they found her. Giving the piece to Killian would guarantee her safety, but it would put him in the bull’s-eye instead. She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it.

Suddenly the fire flickered and a gust of wind blew through the now-opened door. Emma laid down the medallion and turned toward the entrance. A thin man walking with the aid of a golden handled cane stood there, two taller men behind him. He was about her height with shoulder length, straight hair, but something about him - the glitter in his dark eyes, or the way he smiled - made a shiver go down Emma’s spine.

“The bar’s closed,” she called, trying not to let her nervousness show.

“Good evening, Fräulein.” He chuckled as he stepped further into the room. “We are… not thirsty.”

His German accent was thick and Emma’s blood ran cold. They’d found her.

“What do you want?”

His steps into the empty room were slow and deliberate, the men behind him keeping to his pace. Emma licked her lips and prepared herself for a fight. If only she hadn’t sent Killian away already. She could use a second pair of hands, or the firearm that she was reasonably certain he carried.

“I want the same thing your friend, Dr. Jones, wanted,” he informed her. “Surely he told you there’d be other interested parties.” His voice was oily. Not much different from what she’d always imagined the serpent in the Garden of Eden sounded like.

“No, he didn’t.” Emma’s eyes darted around as the man with the cane moved toward the fire, and the other two men took steps toward her. 

“I hope, for your sake, he has not yet acquired it.”

“For my sake?” She couldn’t show any fear. Fear in the face of a predator virtually guaranteed attack. She’d don her armor and hope they bought it. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you’re dealing with, but you’d better not be threatening me here in my place.”

The man chuckled as he picked up a poker and stirred the burning coals in the giant fireplace. 

“Oh, it is not a threat,” he assured her, still facing the fire, his back to her. “Do you still have it?”

“Yes… but I’m not going to just give it to you. Killian has offered me six thousand dollars for the piece. Are you willing to offer more?” She kept the other men in her sights as she backed away toward the bar, her arm behind her, ready to pull out her gun if they made a move toward her.

The man with the cane stood - the now red hot poker still in his hand - and faced her. She pulled out her gun from her waistband and made the mistake of aiming for him instead of his companions, who were much closer to where she stood.

One of them grabbed her wrist, making her drop the gun, and pulled her against him, holding her still as the man with the cane slowly made his way toward them.

“I was,” the man murmured. “But no longer.” 

His dark eyes were dancing with delight as he got closer, and Emma knew that he would kill her slowly. And he would enjoy it.

“Please,” she whimpered, the poker now inches from her face. She shut her eyes, unable to stand looking at it or into the depths of depraved madness in the man’s gaze.

“Please, what, Fräulein?” he asked.

“I’ll give it to you,” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Yes,” he said, and she could clearly hear the smile in his words. A smile that no doubt matched the evil in his eyes. “Yes, you will, Fräulein Swan.”

The door blew open again, and Emma’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Killian’s whip wrap around the man’s wrist and pull taut, causing him to throw the deadly instrument across the room where it landed on the floor. The man dropped the cane, grabbed her away from his minion, and held her in front of him. A loud whoosh sounded near where the poker had landed, and Emma could just see out of the corner of her eye one of the drapes covering the window begin to burn.

“Let her go,” Killian growled. 

Emma was accustomed to rescuing herself, and even prided herself on the fact that no one saved her but her, but at this moment, she would gladly hand that mantle over to him.

Emma watched as Killian’s attention was drawn over to her left, where he took aim and pulled the trigger of his pistol, machine gun fire going off briefly before coming to a stop. Emma elbowed the man who held her in the ribs until he let her go and she ran for where she’d dropped her gun.

She hid under the bar as gunfire erupted around her, only peeking out occasionally and taking aim at anyone who got anywhere near her. The fire was spreading, but no one paid it any mind as the back wall was now consumed in flames. The table where she’d been sitting when the Nazis got here was turned over and used as a barrier to hide behind by one of them. He took aim at Killian over the edge of the table, but Emma shot him in the back before he could shoot. Flames shot up from where the shot glasses and bottles of alcohol she hadn’t cleaned up yet had fallen on the floor when the table was turned over. 

Machine gun fire went off again, but Emma couldn’t see where it was coming from. She crawled to the area behind the bar, trying to get to a place of relative safety and cover. Suddenly, Killian’s face appeared above her, where he was being held down on the bar by someone behind him.

“Whisky?” he rasped.

She handed him a nearly full bottle, and he swung it behind him, hitting whoever held him down on the head. As soon as he stood up, he looked back down at her and grinned.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She looked at him again to see someone swinging a flaming torch at his head.

“Look out!”

Killian ducked and grabbed the man by the arm, slinging him into the still-raging fire in the fireplace. His screams and the stench of burning flesh had to be blocked out since she couldn’t give in to the horror that threatened to overcome her senses. Emma rose up from behind the bar to see the ringleader reaching over the overturned table he was hiding behind. She was nearly out of bullets, or she would have shot him herself. But she knew, now that Killian Jones had barreled back into her world - and that the Nazis were after them both - she should probably hold onto some ammo, not knowing what kind of adventures awaited them.

Suddenly, the man straightened up, screaming, holding something in his hand. Even from where she hid - behind the bar and facing his back - it was obvious to her that he had her medallion in his hand, and that he’d plucked it out of the fire that was consuming the table he was hiding behind.

His fist released and he ran out the door still screaming, holding his hand to his body. Killian appeared above the bar again and held out his hand to her.

“Come on! We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“My medallion!”

She took his hand and climbed over the bar, then grabbed a rag, and ran to where her captor had dropped it. Grabbing the chain with the rag wrapped around her hand, she nearly stumbled as Killian dragged her out of the burning building that had been home for over a year.

Once they were safe from the flames, she turned and looked at him. She barely had time to notice the fear in his eyes as he gathered her in his arms and crushed her to his chest.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked. He stroked her hair tenderly, and Emma suddenly realized that he still loved her and had probably never stopped.

She nodded into his chest. “Yeah.” She pulled away from him and searched his eyes. “Some things never change. Adventure follows you wherever you go, Killian Jones.” She grabbed his hand and dropped the still-warm medallion into it. “Now you owe me another three thousand when we get back to the States.”

“Yep,” he agreed, pulling her close again and kissing her on the crown of her head. “But first, we’re heading to Cairo.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I'd love to hear what you think! We are heading to Cairo on Monday! See you then!

[rosella-writes]

ro ro ro I see we're in a solandra sexual tension mood tonight >:] how about some low hanging fruit for those two: [ LANGUAGE ] : sender begins to speak seductively and fluently with the receiver in another language.

Thank you!!! I took this one in a direction I didn't expect to take it lol but I had fun. For @dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Solas x Cassandra Rating: T Tags: Winter Palace, drunk flirting, Cassandra knows at least three languages

~~~

Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, Hero of Orlais, seventy-eighth in line to the Nevarran throne, was drunk.

Solas, the elven serving man, guided her away from the crowd, presumably to her quarters before she embarrassed herself — or, at least, that's what Cassandra assumed. Solas decided not to tell her that likely no one would notice that the celebration had gotten away from her. There were far more interesting things going on in the wake of the Inquisitor's success in saving Empress Celene.

In the empty hallway on the way to the Inquisition's rooms, flushed and with her jacket half-unbuttoned, Cassandra grasped Solas's hand and held it to her heart.

"Do you feel it thundering?" she asked. "Fit to burst."

When he blinked at her and lowered his eyes to her mouth, she assumed she'd said something shocking by mistake. She said it again — only when he responded in broken Orlesian did she realize what she'd done.

"My heart," she said in Trade, laughing — she cut off with a snort. "I am fit to burst. Je suis désolé, I spent so many years in court that I —"

A fit of hiccups wracked her, and Solas grasped at her hands.

"I did not know you spoke Orlesian."

They tottered down the hallway together, a pair of unsteady friends that leaned harder and harder on the other as they went. Solas was drunker than Cassandra had initially thought.

"Pfft," Cassandra scoffed. "I served Justinia and Beatrix for so long I nearly forgot my native tongue. When I talk in my sleep I am sure it is verse after verse of the Orlesian chant."

"I would like to hear that."

"Would you?" Cassandra giggled.

Solas's sly smile was broader than any she'd seen on him before — his cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were bright when he looked at her. He gestured to invite her through the door to the Inquisition's wing, but she would have to pass close enough to touch him to do so.

She sidled near, almost stumbling on the jamb, and recovered quite smoothly should she say so herself — she only rested her hand on his chest for a moment. He smelled of warm summer grass and heady, sweet wine. His mouth was near enough to kiss.

"I would like that very much," he murmured. When had his hand fallen upon the small of her back? "No matter the language that comes to your lips, asha'dirthar, I would hang upon every word."

Cassandra raised a brow, suddenly bold. She placed her hand back on his chest, near his lapel — she played slightly with a silver button at his collar. "Would you really have me quote scripture to you? I could choose the most abominable verses."

"Must I repeat myself?" he chuckled. "I would hang upon every word."

She raised her hand to his chin. The eyes that had so intently watched her fluttered closed. She traced a fingertip along his jaw, to his chin — the pad of her thumb paused just before she teased his bottom lip. A puff of air passed through his teeth when she let go, as if he'd been holding his breath.

"Come with me," she murmured, speaking now in her Nevarran mother tongue. "If you are as intent as you say, you may hear more than scripture tonight from my lips."

She let him go — she passed through the doorway, leaving only her scent in her wake.

Solas seemed to pause only for a single breath before following close behind her.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

The Rest Is History

A/N: Listen, was I supposed to be working on IPB AU? Yes. Did I write this fun drabble instead? Also, yes. I'm surrounded by enablers.... but the fact remains that Cassian is absolutely thinking abou the Roman Empire daily. And he would make a hot history nerd, so here we are. Dedicated to the GC ❤️

“Listen. I get it. It looks cool and all that, but you seriously expect me to believe any general in their right mind is going to use catapults and ballistae in a forest? A forest? Just imagine the poor guys trying to maneuver those into place between the trees. It would take forever and only leaves you exposed and puts you at more of a disadvantage.”

Nesta has to bite her lip around a smile as she listens to Cassian rant in the other room. Even through the closed door, his voice carries down the hall to her.

She had known Cassian was a history buff from their very first date. They’d gone to a bar in the historical part of town, down by the harbor, and as if he simply couldn’t stop himself, Cassian had leaned over after they’d ordered their drinks and explained how the location was notorious for shang-haiing back in the day. How one of the most notorious culprits was actually a woman who would flirt and trick sailors into having drink after drink with her until they passed out and woke up dazed and confused on a ship the next morning while she walked away with her pocket full of coin.

He had apologized almost as soon as he’d finished speaking, clearly embarrassed by the outburst. But Nesta had been so entranced by the way his hazel eyes had lit up when he spoke, the golds and greens of them practically sparking even in the low light of the bar. Entranced by the way his lips had tugged up into an easy, excited smile around the words he spoke. Entranced by his passion and his love even if it was for a topic she didn’t necessarily share in.

It had been enough to want a second date with him.

It had been enough to want a lot of dates with him.

And now, here Nesta is, curled up in the room they converted to her own personal library and office, listening to Cassian rant away to his followers on TikTok. It still leaves her with that same feeling as their first date, that same soft warmth blooming between her ribs. Still has her shaking her head fondly, as she burrows deeper beneath her pile of blankets and returns to the final chapter of her book.

By the time she is finishing the last page and finally closing the book, Nesta is less than impressed. She digs her phone out from where it’s buried between blankets and opens her Notes app, adding to her running list of points to make in her review. The ending? Terrible. Nothing worse than an author who clearly got offered a new book deal so they suddenly decide to add unnecessary plot to the final ten pages to set up another book. She’ll definitely be warning her TikTok followers about that.

To take her mind off the ending, she decides to open up the app in question, to check on what her followers are saying about her last book review, liking and replying to a good chunk of them. With a soft sigh, she sinks deeper against the pillows at her back, navigating to her FYP. Almost all of the videos are a trend sweeping across BookTok, of different creators trying to teach their boyfriends and husbands how to be a good book boyfriend. It has an idea sparking in Nesta’s mind, her eyes dancing toward the closed door to the library.

With a decided nod, she clambers up to her feet, padding out of the room and down the hall. She pauses in the doorway to Cassian’s office, leaning casually against the door jamb and watching him work. He has his ring light set up on the desk, phone poised and recording in the center. His hair is scraped back into a bun, and he’s wearing a loose tee that teases just enough of the dark swirls of ink that splash across his collarbones, that twist down his arms. But it’s his hands that really have Nesta’s attention, the way he waves them about as he passionately speaks to the camera.

“And don’t even get me started on the depiction of Marcus Aurelius. Did they even have a historian in that writer’s room?”

As Cassian continues to rant about the Roman emperor and his character in the movie, it’s clear that he can feel Nesta’s eyes on him. It’s the smile that gives him away first, the slow tug of his lips until the soft, dopey look he fondly calls his ‘Nesta smile’ takes over his face. And then his eyes start glancing toward her, and even with the distance, Nesta can see the way his gaze softens around the edges.

Even still, Cassian continues talking, continues recording as if nothing’s amiss. Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but that merely has his smile growing. She always teases him when he does this, for the way he won’t re-record any of the videos and posts them regardless. When Nesta had taken a peek at his account and his videos, she’d seen plenty of comments asking what or, more particularly, who he was looking at.

When Cassian finishes, he reaches forward to stop his recording, turning to give Nesta his full attention. “Hey, Nes. Finally finish your book?”

“Yes. The ending was terrible.”

Cassian chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I’m sure your followers will appreciate your honesty on that.”

Nesta shrugs noncommittally, but she knows he’s right. It’s how she built her following in the first place: completely honest and transparent book reviews. “Speaking of followers. I do need your help with a video, a BookTok trend. We can call it even from when you made me chase after you for that August video.”

“Hey, that Pheidippides joke was hilarious,” Cassian defends, standing up from his chair even as he shakes his head as though fondly remembering the video. “The Persians slipped away like a bottle of wine…”

Nesta snorts at the reminder of the caption he used, turning on her heel and leading the way back to her library. She grabs her phone from where she left it, taking the time to set it up so it has the perfect framing of the door. Once she’s happy with it, she presses record, curling her hand around Cassian’s wrist and tugging him into the shot.

“So the trend is to lean against the door frame like the men in books do.”

“Lean against the door frame?” Cassian asks, shifting until his shoulder presses against the door jamb.

“No, the top frame,” Nesta corrects, grabbing his wrist again and tugging his arm up to demonstrate.

Cassian readjusts his stance, settling his weight forward as he leans against his raised hand, and offers her a winning smile. “Like this, sweetheart?”

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to smile. It’s meant to be sultry,” Nesta explains, frowning at Cassian’s expression. “What is that face?”

“Blue steel.”

“That’s it. You fail,” Nesta laughs softly, turning to walk back toward her phone and stop the recording.

An arm snakes around Nesta’s waist, fingers curling and spinning her back around. She barely comes face to face with Cassian before he’s backing her up against the door jamb, caging her in with his large body. Her breath hitches in her chest at the way his hazel eyes have darkened, and she can’t look away, even when his arm tightens around her waist, arching her back and pulling her flush against him. His hand slides along her jaw, thumb skating across her bottom lip before he leans down and kisses her, Nesta sighing into his mouth.

“How’s that compare to the men in your books?” Cassian whispers when he pulls back.

Nesta is sure that she must be blushing, but she clears her throat and extricates herself from Cassian’s hold. She can practically feel Cassian’s smirk on her back as she walks back over to her phone and stops the recording, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. Especially when she watches back the way she became flustered and then melted into him in 4k.

“Well, I can’t post this.”

“You should definitely post it,” Cassian murmurs, his voice closer than she expects, but then his arms are curling around her waist as he plasters himself to her back.

And maybe it’s the warmth of Cassian wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the peace and security she’s found in his arms. Maybe it’s the way this history nerd has made her feel happier and more loved than she ever thought possible. Maybe it’s the way his lips pressing a line along her neck is very distracting.

Whatever it is, Nesta finds herself trimming the video to remove the parts at the beginning and end where she started and stopped the recording. Finds herself quickly adding subtitles and typing out an easy caption of, ‘I guess he passes after all… #BookTokChallenge #BookBoyfriend.’ After all, she can always delete the video later if she really wants to.

She presses post and tosses her phone aside, turning around in Cassian’s arms and kissing him properly, more than happy to go stumbling down the hall to their bedroom in a tangle of limbs. And later, while Cassian makes them dinner, Nesta sits atop their kitchen island and decides to open TikTok again, unable to hold in a surprised laugh as she reads the top, most liked comment on her most recent video.

Is that the fucking HistoryTok dude????

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

[captainmagpie-risha]

WIP Wednesday

I'm not late, how is it possible ?!! Thanks @sugar-peanut-cat for tagging me (this time I have something to show)

Still working on this WIP this week ; next step will be Anora's hair and maybe, MAYBE SOMEDAY, her outfit. I can't work on it more than 1 hour at a time I swear. Idk why this piece makes me so insane. (Maybe because they are too powerful ??)

The more it goes, the more toxic yuri it becomes. (It was already like that a lot.)

Also worked on my DA:I longfic. I'll put it below the cut (FR + rough English translation as always). Translating was a good exercise on this one, as it helped me refine my original text as well :) But it took me sooo long. Hope you'll like it 💕

Edit : I also forgot to tag someone but anybody seeing this could do it, really. Tag me if you want, i'd be happy :)

Context : Ennera Lavellan, the Inquisitor, got the news that her clan was attacked and scattered in the Free Marches. She left Skyhold to have a silent panic attack, then locked herself in her room. She was comforted by both Varric and Sera a bit earlier, but now she's alone.

EN (translation)

When she’s persuaded she’s starting to go mad with guilt and sorrow, a steaming teacup appears in front of her ; she only turned her head one moment, hoping someone would come. The fragrance escaping from it smells like the tea from home. A window seems to open in her. “I can make you forget,” asks Cole with his soft voice, sat beside her in the same way, arms around his knees. “Forgetting does not heal.” “But you cling too much to them. The echoes hurt, they resonate too loud. I couldn’t see you behind.” “Can you see me better, now ?” “Yes, i can. Smell of home, opens a door. You wish you were there.” Her eyes sting, so she lowers them to the floor to observe the teacup and the steam plume. In her mind, she plays with it, tries to imagine how the cloud would react if she touched it. Would she feel it, or would her fingertips stay numb ? “I don’t understand. Aodren chose to stay. It is not your fault, if it is his choice.” “If I stayed, maybe I could have protected them.” She rests her head on his shoulder, and the spirit does the same in return, peaceful. Her face furrows. Choice or not, she let them down. “They loved you.” “That is not the problem,” Ennera answers as gently as possible for her not to cry again. “They loved me, and that is precisely why I should have been by their side.” “You also were a little by their side. When you are here, you are everywhere. You protect differently. You have faith.” It’s okay, leave it to me. You go, no worries. Just be careful, okay ? Aodren. Having faith in him till the end would have mattered to him. Him too had faith in her ; maybe was he expecting too much. Yet it changes nothing ; those who represented her home didn’t exist anymore. She sniffles, holds back her tears, then clenches her jaw to contain the howling rumbling in her chest. “Thanks for the tea, Cole. This too will pass, do not worry.”

Note : in french, Aodren and Ennera are the only one using singular "you" (tu) when adressing each other, where everyone else uses plural "you" (vous). Vouvoyer (using vous) indicates respect and formality ; but tutoyer (using tu) indicates, here, proximity and a different cultural setting for the Lavellan clan compared to Ferelden and the Free Marches. That is something very distinct in french and i find it adds some layers in the story !! Aodren is a man from her clan. I have so many thoughts about them both.

FR

Lorsqu’elle pense qu’elle va devenir folle de culpabilité et de chagrin, une tasse fumante apparaît devant elle ; elle n’avait tourné la tête qu’un instant, espérant que quelqu’un vienne. L’odeur qui s’en échappe lui rappelle le thé de la maison. Elle ouvre comme une fenêtre en elle. —Je peux vous faire oublier, lui demande la petite voix de Cole, assis ses côtés dans la même position qu’elle, bras autour de ses jambes. —Oublier, ça ne fait pas guérir. —Mais vous vous y accrochez trop. Les échos font mal, ils résonnent trop fort. Je ne vous voyais presque plus derrière. —Est-ce que vous voyez mieux, maintenant ? —Oui, je vous vois mieux. L’odeur de la maison, elle ouvre une porte. Vous auriez voulu être là-bas. Ses yeux la piquent, alors elle les baisse sur le sol pour observer la tasse et les volutes de vapeur. Dans son esprit, elle joue avec, imagine le trajet que prendrait le nuage si elle le touchait. Le sentirait-elle, ou le bout de ses doigts resteraient-ils gourds ? —Je ne comprends pas. Aodren a choisi de rester. Ce n’est pas votre faute, si c’est son choix. —Si j’étais restée, j’aurais peut-être pu les protéger. Elle pose sa tête contre son épaule, et l’esprit y pose la sienne en retour, paisible. Son visage se froisse. Choix ou pas, elle les a laissés tomber. —Ils vous aimaient. —Ce n’est pas le problème, répond Ennera le plus doucement qu’il lui est possible pour ne pas pleurer encore. C’est justement parce qu’ils m’aimaient que j’aurais dû être à leurs côtés. —Vous étiez aussi un peu là-bas. En étant ici, vous êtes un peu partout. Vous protégez autrement. Vous faites confiance. “C’est bon, fais-moi confiance. Tu peux partir tranquille. Fais juste attention, ok ?” Aodren. Cela aurait compté pour lui, qu’elle ait eu foi en lui jusqu’au bout. Lui aussi avait foi en elle ; peut-être même en espérait-il un peu trop. Pourtant, cela ne change rien ; ceux qui composaient sa maison n’existent plus. Elle renifle, ravale ses larmes, et serre la mâchoire pour contenir le hurlement qui gronde dans sa poitrine. —Merci pour le thé, Cole. Cela aussi va passer, ne vous en faites pas.

[serenescribe]

Ficlet request event

Diasomnia cuddle pile?

[✐] ficlet frenzy

"Father?"

A voice rings out from the door, causing Lilia to raise his head from the bed. Silver stands in the doorway, eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him.

And oh, what a scene it must be! The three of them — him, Sebek and Malleus — all curled up together on Malleus' bed, large enough to fit all of them. Malleus lies in the middle, arms curled around Sebek and Lilia's waists, pulling them close to his warm body.

"Ah, Silver!" Lilia calls out, ignoring the exasperated little huff he hears from Malleus as he shifts to push himself upright. "You're just in time, actually. See, Malleus here happens to be in quite a bit of a pickle. His draconic instincts seem to be going a tad bit awry today."

"Yes, I can see that," Silver answers, still hovering in the doorway awkwardly, fingers curled around the jamb. His eyes flick from side to side, surveying the room. "Should I go?"

"No," Malleus demands, his voice like a throaty rumble of thunder, reverberating through the room. "Come."

It takes a bit of maneuvering, Lilia needing to stir Sebek from his slumber — the younger boy grumbling as he shifts over to make space for Silver to crawl in — but finally, Silver settles in among the rest of them. He lays with his head on Malleus' chest, fidgeting slightly, clearly at odds about weighing down his liege's body, though Malleus does not seem to care.

"He'll be like this for a while," Lilia tells Silver, reaching over to ruffle his hair. He hears a snort and an exasperated muttering of words from Malleus, complaining about how this isn't that bad. "Best to settle in for a nap to pass the time, much like Sebek is doing."

It's a bit of a shame that Lilia will have to miss the raid he's planned with Gloomurai today, given how suddenly Malleus had burst into his room and whisked him away without any warning. But can he really say he dislikes this, cuddling close to the rest of his dear family, spending precious time together?

[heilith]

Sage Blossoms

Another something for Scribbles and Drabbles 2023, for this stunning piece of art (clicky) by @clumsycopy. This one suddenly grew into a longfic, so yeah...it's just the beginning. Buckle up, have a pleasant ride.

@fall-for-tolkien

Sage Blossoms, Part 1

Miserable and soaking wet.

Half-dressed. And sorely regretful no one was there to hear the cheerful rhythm your teeth were making in vain attempts to meet.

You could do with a laugh.

Or with an embrace.  

The drawbar had always been too heavy for you. You’d never been able to budge it on your own, not with your ludicrous bony hands.

The horses behind the thick oaken door were still raging. You prayed it was not a rat this time. That last incident with a parton’s horse cost the inn twice your yearly wage. You hadn’t had a new piece of cloth on you since.  

The rainwater was meandering down your face, sprouting new and new rivulets. The skin it touched was quickly turning numb.

The smell came first… A strange blend of dead embers and no longer living flesh. For an instant it seemed to you it was oozing from between the doors to the stables.

The thought of fire was far scarier than the thought of rats.

A horse inside let out a high-pitched shriek, making your hair stand on end.

You shrank back and choked on a short outcry at finding yourself locked between a pair of arms, reaching for the drawbar.  

The presence you’d collided with let out a sound, too, a something you could hear coming out of a mouth curled up in self-ridicule.

Strange as it was, it calmed you down.

A dozen years of serving lord and vagabonds had taught you to know a danger at the first syllable it sent in your direction.

The look you ventured at the man did nothing but add to your surmise. If anything, it was his slouching countenance that reassured you completely. That, and his eyes, the best feature on an otherwise unhandsome face.

He was holding your gaze silently, perhaps, waiting for you to be the first to say something.

It was hard to look away, no matter how troublesome a feeling the expression in his eyes was giving you. He knew exactly how much he had scared you, and what measure you had measured him with, and how by now you had no doubts that unsettling smell was coming off him, after all. And he was jeering at you, you could tell it for sure, in a way a wiseman could jeer at a baby trying to read its first word.

“Why you?” said he at last.

His voice had the same ashy quality to it as his whole self, as if his throat was burnt.  

“The grooms won’t return till the morning.”

The question brought you to the reality where your nightgown and the poor excuse of a shawl were still dripping with cold water and the horses were still going insane, shut in four walls with something that had scared them to death.

“I’m sorry, I have to…”

He didn’t let you finish.

The drawbar came out of the slots without a spare hitch. You couldn’t expect him to dispose of it with enough care, but he did, leaning the thing against the jamb in a weirdly habitual manner.

The dark mouth of the doorframe had swallowed him before you could utter a word of protest.

The beasts screamed so loud you jumped back faintheartedly, giving up the intention of following him.  

A century had passed in feverish struggle with yourself. You had to be there, and you had no courage to step over the threshold.

Your senses were strained to the limit that didn’t seem possible.

To your relief, little by little the clamour started dying down. The horses were falling silent one after another. First there were four of them, then two, then the last one sobbed quietly and all you could hear was a monotonous raspy whisper. Eventually it trailed off, too, leaving the rain the only thing to beget any sound at all.

There was a fresh cut on his cheek, when he stepped out into the yard again. In the scant moonlight the streaks of blood looked almost black to you.   

“Go back to bed, child,” dropped he without any feeling, “You do not wish to die in sickness.”

His breath was coming out weary, too weary for you not to put down your guard once more. With the sense you could find no name for you felt that whatever he had done had cost him more than it was worth.  And you deemed yourself guilty for that.

It was a silly move.

An obvious mistake.

The way his whole body convulsed at the touch of your shawl against his cheek made that clearer than daylight. In that brief moment your eyes met his again, there was such fury in them it made you nauseous.  

But you went on with it till you wiped away all the traces of blood and dirt and could be sure the wound was clean at least by the look.   

“Take care of it, please,” you said firmly.

The stables remained unlocked.

But you didn’t even think of it, as you turned away to leave.