#it was a summer prompt and i am a last minute person so its just a lil sketchy thing

[paissa-brat]

sunset catch ✨🎣

[tgm-all4one]

On May 27, 2022, Top Gun: Maverick was released exclusively into theaters. Almost overnight, it became a cultural phenomenon with a fandom of individuals from all over the globe who loved the movie and its characters.

One of the fantastic things about the TG and TGM fandom is the diverse and innovative creators who have used these movies as inspiration for their art. Whether that be in the form of writing, fanart, GIFs, moodboards, edits, etc, we have all taken the same 4 hours and 1 minute of film to create unbelievably varied and original content. And that is what this challenge is about.

What is the "It's not the prompt. It's the creator." challenge?

The idea behind the "It's not the prompt. It's the creator." challenge is to show that even though we might all use similar tropes or AUs, or create GIFs of the same scenes, or use the same moodboard themes, it is our own personal creativity, innovation, and preferences that make our work unique.

So unlike other challenges, everyone will be using the exact same prompt. That's it. One prompt. And an unlimited amount of participants.

And yes, there will probably be art that is similar (either the tropes, themes, characters, etc), however the point is to show that even when two creators have similar independent ideas, their final creation is unique because they put their own original spin on it that only they could do.

What is the prompt?

To celebrate the one-year anniversary of Top Gun: Maverick being released, the prompt is:

"Last summer was one no one could ever forget. Now, a year later, character(s) still feel(s) the effects of that time."

Be as creative as you want and feel free to use any characters from Top Gun (1986) and/or Top Gun: Maverick (2022). Also, while the prompt says a year has passed, there is no set time your art has to be set. It can be pre-canon, post-canon, during-canon, and AU setting, etc. Whatever inspires you!

What is allowed?

Whatever you want. It can be SFW, NSFW, slash, reader insert, OC, no relationship, poly, AU, fluff, smut, angst, whump, etc.

You can also use whatever your preferred medium is to fill the prompt. Writing, artworks, GIF sets, edits, moodboards, playlists, Pinterest boards, etc. Or think out of the box and build a scene out of Legos, make a stop-motion video, draw a flipbook. Whatever inspires you and your creativity! If you created it, it counts.

And there are no minimums or maximums limits for words, time, number of GIFs, etc. Just however much or little you want to share, even if it is still a WIP.

There are only three requirements:

TAG YOUR WORK APPROPRIATELY so others can filter out what they might not be comfortable with. Each post will be checked before being reblogged, however, mistakes can be made so please tag them correctly.

You must be 18+ to participate. Due to the freedom of the event and the fact NSFW content is allowed, only those 18 or older may participate. And if your blog does not have any age indicated on it (18+, 20s, over 21, 35, etc.), your post will not be reblogged. I am very sorry to any minors hoping to participate at this time.

No AI resources can be used as part of a submission. While AI can create cool works of art, they aren't your works of art. As that is the point of this challenge, it will not be permitted.

When does the event take place?

The event will start on Saturday, May 27 and run until Saturday, June 4. However, if you can't finish in time and post after that, this blog will try its best to still reblog your work whenever you feel ready to post.

How do we submit our work?

You can do this one of two ways:

Post your work on your blog as usual and tag @tgm-all4one. Also, tag the post with #tgm all4one. It will then be reblogged here throughout the week.

Submit a post to this blog using the "Submit your papers" button in the blog header. As long as it is tagged correctly, the blog will then post it throughout the week.

There is also an AO3 collection if you prefer to share over there. Please check the FAQ page for the link.

Please check out the FAQ page if you have any questions and please feel free to reach out either through an ask or DM if you have any questions! There is also a condensed version of this post here for quick reference.

I am excited to see what everyone comes up with and happy Top Gun: Maverick anniversary!

[sgiandubh]

You know nothing, Jon Snow

It's been a short night and a hot summer day in here. But I just received the last of the goods in my secondary inbox and am still unpacking, pondering and putting the data into context.

Work with me:

To begin somewhere, this is the exact content of the (in)famous Shamrock Anon submission to this blog, as delivered almost 23 hours ago:

Put yourselves in my shoes and read with me: "the Irish based drinks company (not the one accessible to fans) is solely owned by him and DF".

An Irish company? "Not accessible to fans?" Owned only by these two people and not her, on her turf? Now that could have been a nuke, because hello, where is the logic in all this, and who does that, and yes, why?

By the time I wrote my brief Shamrock Anon post, in the hope of luring this person to share more, the same message had already been delivered to at least two other shipper blogs. That would make three of us: the controversial newbie (I am not blind, but I am not cantankerous either), the respected veteran sleuth and Super Dispatch, with what I believe to be the intent of pushing an agenda of sorts. I chose not to publish Anon, because: 1) I needed more and yes, I needed to check and 2) I felt there was something bizarre with all this.

@luhafraser published it and I am truly relieved they did. I posted an update that apparently got even more people confused, and carried on with it. It did not take off the pressure (Anons begging, pleading and taunting went straight to the bin), but it gave me time to start looking.

It took me exactly two minutes and a half to find the Irish company's name and registration number, as visible and published on the FMN gin webpage (https://www.forgetmenot.com/ and always, always read the small print).

So long for "not accessible to fans", BS Anon:

Next stop, the Irish Company Registration Office's website (https://core.cro.ie/), where things went impeccably smooth. FMN Drinks is an Irish company, registered as "Limited", which would translate as Public Limited Company (plc) in the UK:

Getting more data required a paid search and I stopped to ponder. Really did. Price was a trifle, but that was not really my problem. So I sat on it during the night: it is something I always do when I find myself uneasy or unsure about something.

By noon today, local time, I mumbled "oh, what the hell", crossed myself and pushed send:

It took 15 minutes to get five of the documents and two more hours and 45 minutes to get the Letter of Status, certified by a living, breathing Irish public servant in that inbox:

So (in)famous Shamrock Anon, here is my answer to you:

If you think a company specialized in the distilling and rectifying of spirits, with 100 (one hundred) issued shares, worth 1 euro each and with a zero euro declared account balance since last December is proof of capitalist world domination, you are an idiot, Anon. You lured me down that rabbit hole with the preposterous idea that C was not a part of this PO box company - which she is, as one of its four appointed Directors - to try and prove shippers are stupid. Which we aren't.

At face value, this is nothing to write home about. But I said yesterday the devil is in the details and was not disappointed, because you clearly are sloppy (again?) Anon and boy, you do have an untrained eye. It's almost like me when prompted to read somebody's blood test results, you know?

I am now faced with a dilemma: I either buy a cork board, thread and pins and start a trip to Cuckooland, trying to navigate my way across trademarks and trails of companies, and such other niceties that are boring as death. Or, I look at this completely uncalled for embarrassment of riches and let the dots connect themselves, in time.

I always steered my course according to this French proverb: dans le doute, s'abstenir. When in doubt, do nothing. Making sense of a document posted on a real estate company website is one thing. Publishing such documents, which are readily available for the private use of anyone with a credit card, and prematurely discussing them is a personal red line I am not willing to cross.

It would be pushing an agenda and, especially right now (*promo*), writing the script. Circus might be in town, but I am not one of the clowns.

Oh, and Anon: a company is an evolving entity people get into, then get out of and even maybe get back to, at some point in time. A business project is by no means any sort of evidence of relationship/marital status.

[justabooknerdposts]

just an idea but awkwardly timed IMs lol, those fics always make me laugh and you are very good at capturing humor

*NOTE: I’m still closed to prompts for now, probably until at least the end of the year, as life is quite busy at the moment.  But I’m trying to catch up on some backlogged requests that have been sitting there for a few months since before I closed.  So, I’ll have a few up over the next couple of weeks—my goal is to have them all posted before Chalice of the Gods comes along and expands canon again, ha.  Again, not accepting any new prompt requests at this time—I’ll see how my schedule looks in January and revisit the idea then 😊  In the meantime, enjoy the four or five coming up. 

Oh, also, chapters 2 through 4 of my AHS senior year Percy and Annabeth story have also been posted.  This story is written under my TraitorousHearts8 pseud, so it’s a little more YA than middle-grade, but it’s available to read on Fanfiction and AO3 if you’re interested!  The last two chapters should be up over the next week or two. 

Alright, back to the prompt response!*

Okay, I kind of loved this one and it was fun to do some semi-awkward IMs.  Hope you enjoy!

PERCY:  The Greek gods have terrible timing.  For example, one once interrupted me in the shower.  Long story.  I’m not discussing it right now.  Demigods do a little better.  But sometimes, they have bad timing, too.  For example, during my freshman year of high school, I was in the bathroom at my mom’s apartment, going…well, doing what you do in the bathroom, when, suddenly, the air in front of me shimmered.  Charles Beckendorf’s face appeared a moment later.  “Hey, Percy, got a question for—” he said before his eyes widened.

I yelped and swiped through the I-M.

Once I was out of the bathroom and standing near the kitchen sink, using its water to make a misty rainbow, I messaged him back.

“Uh, hey, dude,” Beckendorf said sheepishly.  “My bad.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though I still kind of wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment.  “You didn’t know.  But, uh, let’s not mention it again.  Ever.”

He nodded gravely.  “Anyway, the reason I was calling…” and he launched into a Titan War-related question about an explosive device he was working on that could be added to the tour bus of monsters we’d received reports on.

Later, I learned that he’d rigged this device in the bus’s toilet.  I tried not to take that too personally.  And I definitely did not ask him what had inspired the idea.

ANNABETH:  Usually, I have way better luck than Percy.  Which isn’t actually saying much because he has absolutely terrible luck.  Which probably explains why this happened.  It was during the fall of my freshman year of high school, during the Titan War.  I was at my dad’s in San Francisco, and Percy and I hadn’t caught up for a few weeks.  Things had been weird between us ever since our quest in the Labyrinth that summer.  But we were trying.  Unfortunately, Percy chose to reach out via Iris-message…while I was in the shower.

I was washing my hair when suddenly, from behind me, I heard, “Hey, Annabeth—aagh!”  I turned, hands already up over my chest, to see Percy, bright strawberry red, covering his eyes and swiping through an I-M.

I called him back ten minutes later from my bedroom, fully dressed, though my hair was still wet and tangled.

As soon as his face appeared, Percy sputtered, “Annabeth, I am so sorry—”

I held up a hand.  “We will never speak of this again.”

“Agreed.”

***

A couple years later, on the Argo II, Hazel was talking about I-Ms.

“They’re great,” she said.  “But it seems a little risky.  I mean, we surprised Reyna in the baths.”

The corner of Percy’s mouth quirked up.  “Yeah, this one time, I called Annabeth and—”

“I thought we were never speaking of it?”

“Oh yeah.  So, anyway, is that a flock of harpies closing in again?  I’d better go check.”

After he ran off, Hazel raised her eyebrows at me.  I sighed.  “He called me once while I was in the shower.”

“Oh.”  She fanned herself, an old-fashioned gesture that somehow seemed natural on her.  “See?  Risky.”

I nodded.  “For sure.  Oh crap, those actually are harpies.  We’d better go help him.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

[philtstone]

and maybe #38 for the lotr characters of your choice (maybe in your summer camp/road trip/grad students AU if you feel so inclined?? But follow your ♥️)

#38 -- until you come back home i am absolutely inclined to write for that au because i just finished rewatching fellowship and wept a little (read a lot; its been A Week) at the last 40 minutes so my natural instinct was to write something belligerently, intrinsically ridiculous. here is the original fic to which emma is referring and i dont know necessarily how well the prompt was met but it's in there somewhere. thanks homie xxo you always got my back on this verse

Frodo has come to notice that Aragorn has a no-honking-the-van-horn-unless-it's-life-or-death policy, which becomes a point of contention amongst the party when they are trapped in a veritable angry-honk stand off with twenty other cars in a traffic-logged mountain road. Frodo observes this from his spot in the middle row of the van, squashed between Sam and Merry, while Gandalf harrumphs over their upside-down roadmap and everyone in the back -- by which Frodo very much means everyone -- continues to bicker. The volume of said bickering is only slightly better now than about twenty minutes ago, when they had Boromir on speaker phone.

"If the highway's blocked all the way from here to that big Rohan City Stadium --"

"This is the only road with actual pavement though."

"But if it's blocked --"

"Bloody global warming. This isn't natural, you know? This kind of rainstorm, in June?"

"Actually," says Legolas's voice, "it's hailing. This is a hail storm."

He says this as the torrentious patter of rain on the roof of the van above their heads turns somewhat more violent.

Eowyn groans and buries her face in her hands. Frodo supposes she's every right to groan, as her legs are squashed in between Gimli, who is continuing to decry the climate crisis, and Faramir's knapsack of snacks, which in his defense he is holding mostly atop his own person, but it's so large that it leans a bit onto Eowyn too. Sam is playing xs and os against himself by drawing invisible lines on his knee and Merry has his cheek squashed against his hand and keeps sighing loudly every five minutes. Pippin's fast asleep and snoring.

Up at the front of the car, Aragorn remains staring determinedly at nearly invisible the road -- the view from the windshield is Abstract Grey Haze -- Gandalf remains muttering over their map, and Arwen, who gets carsick when the weather is like this, remains morosely in the middle seat, her head resting quietly against the driver's shoulder.

The cacophony of honking cars continues around them, as does the storm. The road really is well and truly blocked. Frodo thinks a big tree might have knocked down onto it. And perhaps something about power lines.

Giving Sam a significant Look, he unclips his seatbelt and scoots up to peak between the drivers' seats. The stereo is playing Joni Mitchel at very low volume. Frodo wonders if perhaps it isn't Uncle Bilbo's old CD, donated righteously to the cause.

"What do they think they're achieving, honking the horns?" Frodo wonders aloud, as another obnoxious beep sounds.

"Satisfying their own frustrations," Aragorn offers, without much judgment. He taps his fingers against the wheel and adjusts the rearview mirror, which has a dried bundle of lavender hanging from it. He's pulled his hoodie over his hair to keep from getting cold, as the window has been cracked open for Arwen's sake. Yet another car horn screeches, quite close to them this time; Arwen grimaces and Aragorn's expression turns very slightly grim.

"Will we really have to go back?" Frodo asks, very quietly. Gimli keeps talking about the old highway tunnel his cousin built. But that's nearly a day's drive from here, still.

"Harrumph," is all Gandalf says, and turns the map over a third time; Frodo looks at Aragorn.

"There's a sign that says falling rocks ahead," he says, as quiet as Frodo had been. "I don't like the idea of that."

"Harrumph," says Gandalf again, more forcefully. He takes a puff of his e-cigarette. The windshield wipers squeak a bit on their next routine whub across.

Frodo sighs. Wriggling a little, he reaches into the front pocket of his t-shirt and pulls out the USB drive. This is an awful lot of misery just to potentially save the environment.

"What do you think, Frodo?" asks Aragorn. For the first time all afternoon he has taken his eyes off the road and is looking at Frodo.

On the one hand, Frodo thinks, if they go back, it will be at least another few days added to the number of days before they can go home. But if they stay here in this hail storm -- well. Road safety is very important, Frodo's always thought. He's sure Sam's gaffer would agree. He's not wholly sure Uncle Bilbo would agree, but then, he is not in the van.

Aragorn gives Gandalf a significant look -- of a different flavour from that which Frodo offered Sam earlier -- over the top of Arwen's head, when Frodo expresses this. Gandalf looks terribly aggrieved. But then he looks at Frodo and he says,

"Yes, alright."

With a hard yank their van swerves out of the lane and into the opposite one (there is a series of loud cries and intermingled oofs from the back) which is just soon enough to miss the fender bender behind them. They spray hail-water and nearly get clipped by a giant oncoming semi truck, but that collision's averted; with a decisive, sure palm, Aragorn slams the car horn, so long and loud that Pippin all but yelps awake.

Frodo scoots back over to Sam, and they begin playing xs and os together.

"Warmer weather, here we come!" Gimli declares happily from the back.

"Mosquitoes live in warm weather," Legolas supplies helpfully. "They're big carriers of West Nile this season."

As the worst of the storm is left behind them, Eowyn groans again.

[ayamturd]

kid│technoblade

summary: (requested) an errand run forces techno out of the house; he meets an interesting kid in return

warnings: brief injury description, hinted abandonment, light angst and fluff

pairing: in-game platonic!technoblade

a/n: i took this request and ran so far with it lol. pls enjoy, i loved the reader’s dynamic with techno sm

wc: (4.0k) - m.list

It was hot, the day smothering in the summer heat as the village offered little coverage to the harsh sun. From exploring the lands of the Arctic to walking in the crowded space on the sweltering landscape, Technoblade let out a sigh from how his layered clothing stuck to him; his regal attire was more than slightly uncomfortable and was arguably only for looks then and there. 

Glancing down to the list in his hands once more, he grumbled from the tasks, supplies and ingredients he still needed, openly irritated from being forced on the supply run. Real funny Phil. Hilarious.

He scratched his head, lost to the busy market place as many shoved past him in the busy rush. Technoblade was a warrior, the Blood God, he was someone to be feared and feel threatened by, yet at that very moment he couldn’t be anything less than a lost tourist. 

Technoblade rarely ventured to extremely public places, but he knew he couldn’t return empty handed, the underwhelming mockery he would receive would be just plain annoying. 

With a final sigh of defeat, he decided it best to take each task step by step, that starting with the blacksmith. Now, make no question that Technoblade and Phil weren’t not capable of crafting their own weapon, but at times, the cost of another’s opinion did more help than that of personalized wants. 

It was even hotter once he entered the open store, the burning furnace emitting an almost intolerable intensity that rivaled the burning cold of the Arctic. Rolling his neck, he approached the front desk and unsheathed both Phil’s and his long swords, tossing a small pouch with a chink as payment for restorations and commendations.

Speaking few words in the villager’s tongue, the worker immediately began his assessment when taking the weapons in hand. Techno knew little in the different language, but he understood when the man explained the necessary works and time expectancy. 

He sighed for what felt to be his 15th time that afternoon, but complied when leaning against the counter for the next few minutes; he refused to leave his best weaponry in the hands of a stranger, and would do with the wait until then. 

Picking on the crusted mud that hardened on his fur coat, he jumped when someone slammed into the wood he leaned against, eyes dropping to meet the height of a young adolescent.

Unlike himself, they seemed dressed for the sweltering heat. Their cloak hung loosely from their shoulders, but was bare and thin, either from time or was purposeful from the climate, it was his guess. While they seemed as energetic as someone their age should be, he could tell from experience of the way they stood tall with their chin held high that they were a fighter, someone who seemed cautious of their surroundings by the constant shift in their eyes. 

He also knew they noticed him but was purposefully choosing to ignore him for whatever reason, he couldn’t tell. Coughing, he went back to his useless fiddling. 

They tapped anxiously, their fingers twitching while they looked longingly to the nearest axes, an overwhelming sense of excitement filling the stuffy air. While he tried to ignore them considering how little they could stand still irritated him, he couldn’t deny that they intrigued him. 

“Helloooooooo?” they called out, jumping above the counter and holding themself up with their arms stiff in strength. Techno waited a brief moment while they began yelling louder before rolling his eyes to interrupt them.

“They’re busy right now. Give it a minute, will you?”

His monotoned voice caused them to freeze, and as they slowly turned to meet the sight of him, a huge grin grew on their face. It made his frown grow in return. 

“A minute can be so long in silence, I’m only making it go faster.” Techno scoffed at their words and fully turned his body towards them. His genetics made him tower over them even when slouched, yet while he knew others would cower, the child in front of tilted their head in amusement. 

“By what logic does that make any sense?”

The mischievous teenager followed Technoblade’s posture, mimicking his stance with crossed arms. They jutted their chin out proudly, though it was obvious they were only messing with him further.

“My logic, obviously.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s yours, doesn’t make it right.”

With an annoying quirk of a smile, the small human smirked with feigned innocent eyes.

“Says who?”

Knowing full well that it would a battle in vain, Techno conceded and faced the front desk again, his arms resting against the table as he hung his head down with a huff of air. 

His considered defeat made the young stranger laugh lightly, and they copied his position, but instead held their head in their palms with a small hum. Staring at him intensely, their head rocked in thought for some time before they spoke up. 

“You look miserable.”

It took Techno a large amount of willpower to prevent himself from glaring in their direction, something the child took as a challenge. They filled the silence when Techno left it unattended, leaning closer to him while still in place. 

“I mean, the outfit is sick, I won’t lie. But you just look awful right now. How many layers do you have on anyway?”

Once more, he had to clench his fist tightly to drown out their bothersome questions. The child, as he now deemed it considering how persistent it could be, noted his subtle tensing and bit their lip to smother another coming giggle. 

“Is your crown real? Are you actually royalty? Am I expected to bow in honor or respect? I’m terrible with conversation-“

“So I’ve noticed.” Techno dryly stated, his hand coming to rub the back of his head, exasperated, with a shake. They completely disregard his side comment like he never spoke. 

“-but I never though I’d live to see the day I interact with royalty.”

“I’m not royal, I’m anythin’ but.” Techno’s voice dropped when considering the matter, his narrowed eyes in concentration against his constant fight for Anarchy and destruction. 

His seriousness created a beat of silence in the shop, though without fail, the teenager overlooked his internal monologue.

“Do you have a long, fancy name with numbers and stuff? Like ‘King George the First' or ‘Their majesty, Alas-’”

“No."

“But what about-”

Techno’s groan cut their next range of questions off, and he pushed himself up to stare them down tiredly. 

“You’re a pretty annoyin’ kid, you know that?”

Sitting up when he did, the teen jumped onto the counter backwards, swinging their legs on the edge while gripping the border tightly. They rested their chin on their shoulder with an eased smile as they now matched his height. 

“So I’ve been told.”

The approaching footsteps from the back entry caused the both of them to turn their heads, the young stranger facing to him while Techno’s gaze still remained. 

“But you can’t deny it, I made time go faster.”

Hopping off before they could be scolded, the blacksmith returned with the weapons’ adjustments and the requested engravings Phil asked for, drawing Techno’s attention away from the young stranger. He opened the cloth the worker brought the swords out in, and lifted his own while gripping the grained handle tightly.

Stepping away from the counter, he swung the blade in front of him, tossing it briefly as to adjust to its weight and consider its balance. The wind it generated in the slices of air brought a dark smile to his face. Satisfied with the result, Techno inspected the finer details up close a final time before sheathing it to his side. 

As he went to grab Phil’s, he caught the teen’s awed gape. He chuckled from their open amazement and moved to walk towards the displayed axes behind them. 

“What’s your name, kid?” With his back to them, he reached his hand outward to the various blade sizes, hovering over the edges with careful pressure. 

His question visibly threw them off, and they stuttered before gathering themself. 

“What’s yours?” they asked, eyebrows raised in defense. Techno felt the corner of his mouth lift from their faltering. 

“Technoblade.” He was patient as they swallowed before responding. 

“Y/n.”

Unclasping a light, yet deadly thin battle-blade axe from the wall, Techno eventually turned around to meet them again.  

“No last name?” 

While they smiled, it didn’t reach their eyes as they glanced away with a careless shrug. No origin or proper upbringing, he assumed.

“Never came up with one. Never needed one.”

“Hmm.”

Lifting the axe in hand, Techno gestured to the empty baldric that wrapped tightly around their chest. By their longing stares and stance as a fighter, it didn’t take much to make the connection that they were someone who fought with an axe. 

“What happened to the last one?”

Surprised by his close observation, they brought their hands to the bare hold as if they were searching for it. Unlike the past few minutes in his company, they suddenly became shy and spoke with a guilty smile. 

“O-oh. I, uh, chipped the blade. Wore it down. It’s been a while since I was able to treat myself, I thought it was finally worth the wait to get a new one.”

Shifting on their feet, they grasped one of their arms awkwardly. Despite their previously loud, outward energy, Techno sighed once he saw them as the kid they were; they were someone alone that was forced to survive in the big world, someone he could relate and understand. 

After a moment passed, Techno faced the worker. They had been watching their interaction the entire time and seemed as uncomfortable as they were bored. Without asking for a price, he wordlessly pulled out a handful of emeralds from his drop leg pouch and slammed them on the table surface. 

The blacksmith made sounds of gurgled delight, gathering the gems into his opens hands with furious nods in thanks. Techno only rolled his eyes and shoved the purchased axe forwards, leaving it open in his outreached hands to the child. 

“Save your money. It’s not worth any price they try to sell.”

Switching their sights from the weapon and Technoblade in disbelief, they breathlessly giggled when carefully lifting it from his hold. 

Twirling it easily before striking near the ground, the pulled the new beauty to their chest gratefully. They were at a loss for words, to say the least, and Techno laughed from their frozen shock.

His laughter died down and he decided to take his leave in quick steps. While the teen tried to shout to him in thanks, they were still dazed and couldn’t form words to yell. 

Techno paused at the entrance and dipped his head back, his hand bordering the door frame. He grinned slightly to the point where his sharper canines were visible, and called out to them in departure.

“See you around, kid.”

Bow raised, arrow drawn, Techno crept low on the forest ground with cautious and calculated steps. 

The overgrown leaves above provided a gentle shading that shielded the majority of the sunlight, only few splotches breaking through. It had been too long since Techno went hunting, the sport lost to him since his recent adventures and scenery in the very south. 

As he had been traveling for days on end to meet with his brothers’ call, he thought to gather food and see through with his lost skill; he had devoted a majority of his time in peaceful solitude to farming and raising cattle, he wasn’t as skillful as he used to be. 

Keeping that in mind, as his eyes narrowed from the close rustling of a bush before him and he approached meaningfully, he failed to noticed the grown roots that broke through the dirt. 

With a small yelp, his foot became stuck and he fell hard onto his face.

A small rabbit hopped out of the shrubbery and stopped briefly near him as if in mockery to his embarrassing failure before bouncing away. 

Technoblade groaned, both from pain and the circumstances, and gave up any hope for moving in shame when the voices began to mock him. 

“Well that wasn’t very royal of you.”

While his memory failed him more often than not, he recognized the voice specifically over the chaos that reigned in his ears. Contemplating the next-least humiliating course of actions, he settled on pretending nothing happened. 

“Like I said the last time,” he sighed while pushing himself up, “I’m not royalty.”

Brushing off the dirt that stained his clothes and skin, Techno turned to the child’s voice and jerked startled when their entertained countenance was closer than what he expected. They were hanging upside down with their legs hooked on a low, but sturdy branch. 

Face smug, they crossed their arms and openly snickered. 

“Agreed, you are far less graceful than what I expect them to be.”

Techno shook his head and searched for his bow, the old relic more traditional and practical in comparison to his crossbow for hunting. He hummed when spotting it and tried to shift the conversation. 

“What are you doin’ out here, kid?”

Pulling themself up in a sitting position, they swung their feet wildly and looked around the woodlands with a shrug. 

“I live here.”

Freezing mid crouch with his bow in hand, Techno’s words were slow following after. 

“Out here?”

“Mhmm.”

There was a pause as Techno looked at them confused. His brows furrowed fro their vague input. 

“In the trees?”

“Sometimes,” they sang. Leaping forward, they landed smoothly onto their feet and raised their eyes to the sky. “It depends on my mood, and whether or not I want to see the stars.”

“Ah.”

With that, Techno turned and started to walk away. His hunting attempt was a mistake that cost him a bullying teenager that apparently lived in the woods and was homeless, the voices adding onto his internal torment; he wanted to leave as fast as he could.

Racing their steps ahead of him, y/n began to walk backwards to address him directly. 

“Why are you here? I assume you don’t live near here since you dress like an old, aristocratic woman with modesty insecurities.”

Techno looked ahead without faltering considering their playful jab, and they tried for an answer again. 

“Plus you haven’t been around for weeks.”

Steps slowing, Techno was genuinely surprised to hear their observation and glanced at them with an inclined head tilt. 

“You looked for me?”

Caught in their own web, y/n timorously avoided his stare. 

“The town’s always busy with newcomers, travelers, royalty,” they emphasized with a pointed look at him, “trust me when I say you stick out like a sore thumb. Your turn.”

Nodding from their reasonable, but untrue explanation, it was Techno’s turn to glance away while formulating a response. 

“I’ve been… uh, explorin’, you could say.”

In a paralleling manner, they copied his previous nod despite their skepticism. 

“I see. And now?”

“Now I’m visitin’ an old friend, old relations.”

“Ahhh. Girlfriend?”

Technoblade stopped walking altogether and incredulity gawked at them. 

“What?”

“Boyfriend?” y/n continued, now turning with their back facing him. Techno rushed to meet there stride and spoke down to them.

“No, stop it.”

Hand to their chin, they pretended to reach another revelation with wide eyes. 

“Ohh I get it now, distant family.”

“You can be quiet now,” Techno grumbled. Smacking his forehead, he rubbed it exasperated while their joy became evident in their cheerful tone.  

“Are they misunderstanding?” the teen asked, their cheeks flushed excitedly from his apparent discomfort. “Is it the person-friend they don’t approve of?”

“I’m leaving now.” Techno hurried his pace as to leave the forest ground.

“They rude? Unbearable? Selfish? Annoying?”

“You know what,” he stated, spinning to them to clarify since they had stopped walking entirely behind him, “yes.”

“Ooo which one?”

“Annoyin’, and you remind me so much of them.”

The trees were now clear as the plains had become more visible during their trek. Strapping the long, recurve barbow over his head and around his chest, Techno thought the exchange done and allowed the sun to bask over him. 

Before he could make his way to his camp, their voice yelled out to him. 

“Aww that’s sweet!”

Perplexed to how anything of what he said could be seen as ‘sweet’, his curiosity got the better of him and he turned again. 

“You consider me like family? I’m touched!”

Eyes narrowed, Techno bowed his head it defeat once again. He could never win with them, could he?

“‘kay, I’m done with this. Goodbye.”

Y/n waved avidly with a wide grin in spite of him not looking. 

“See you around, Sir Blade!”

“You should consider yourself lucky.”

The stillness was deafening. Regardless of the wind that howled outside and forced the shudders to rattle upon constant impact, or the fire the lit the room bright in heat and warm tone color, the quiet was tense when y/n awoke in Techno’s house. 

“I saw the smoke burn miles out. Had the wind changed its course, I would have never noticed.”

As his back was turned to them, Techno pulled the cork from his most recent regeneration brew and poured it briskly into a small mug, its small rippling sound overtaking the room. With a plate of bread he prepared beforehand, he finally addressed them with the sustenance in hand. 

Y/n was completely engulfed in the large bedding they rested in, Techno’s bedding. Their arms were wrapped tightly with gauze that covered their forearms all the way to their chest. Eyes sunken and dark, they squinted heavily from recently awakening with ashen hair that matted to their face. 

“Is everyone alright?” they asked, voice faint yet rough from the intense smoke inhalation and damage they sustained in the event. Coughing from speaking for the first time, Techno was quick to hand them the potion. 

They downed the drink voraciously, and he decided to speak while they ate. 

“Everyone that managed to escape, probably. But those that did fled long before I arrived.”

Glancing at down at them, Techno could only sigh at the sight. They were so small under his gaze, and he shifted his attention to the nearest wall with crossed arms. 

“It’s one thing to help others, it’s another when takin’ on a raid by yourself.”

His pointed comment caused them to snap and try to defend themself, however, they moved to suddenly and winced from the slight movement. Despite his frown, Techno’s hands were raised gently with concerned eyes from their evident pain. 

Breathing in and out harshly, they were still hunched over when they glared up at him in anguish. 

“You didn’t hear them scream, you didn’t hear them yell for mercy. You weren’t there, but I was. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.” Their voice cracked near the end, and with vast tears that escaped, a broken sob filled the space as they hid their face ashamed. 

Techno was at a loss when comforting others, but he wasn’t a jerk to ignore someone after surviving a tragic incident, one they tried to fight yet lost to. 

Slowly, he moved to sit on the bed side. He clenched his fist shut in hesitance, but steadily, he hovered his hand over them before stroking their back reassuringly. 

“Listen, kid,” pausing, Techno caught himself and cleared his throat, “Y/n, I know you barely know anything about me but trust me. I understand how it feels, how it must’ve felt then to be overwhelmed by sudden cries that surround you to the point that you make rash decisions. Trust me when I say I get it.”

Their cries died down from his words, and he spoke earnestly as they listened more closely in smothered hiccups. 

“I respect what you tried to do in the end, but you have to be self aware that you’re still just a kid.”

His blunt statement made them freeze, and when the fully processed what he said, they dropped their hands to scowl at him incredulously. Their red eyes are hard and made him laugh from his lack of explanation to his true meaning. 

“Hey, I never said it was the age that was at fault.”

Pulling his arms away, he grasped his hands together and rested his elbows to his knees, though his focus was still on them. 

“You’re young, and young means inexperienced. Give yourself some leeway and accept your limits that come with time.”

They looked down from his attentive eyes, but still nodded when understanding his perspective. 

Rubbing the bottom of his chin with the back of his hand, Techno attempted to further the conversation amiably. He was out of his depth socially, but he was trying for their sake. 

“Besides all that, I have to say you can definitely fight.” Their eyes shot up to meet his, the acclaim unexpected. Their face was too emotionally soft for Techno to look at, so he turned away before speaking with a joking smirk. 

“Though I’m not too sure about your close combat.”

Gawking at the audacity, y/n lightly smacked his arm and scoffed. A smile crept on their face as they shook their head from the backhanded compliment. 

“You try training with a tree, they don’t always fight back.”

His snicker grew from their weak justification, and eventually, they joined his laughing fit. Helpless giggles replaced the once solemn air. While it soon died down, the elation of each other’s company still remained. 

Techno rose from the soft mattress and crossed his arms loosely in thought. With a single nod, his monotoned voice encouraged them considerately.

“Get some rest, we can talk later.”

Like his past departures, his steps were fast and large as he moved to exit. His hand pulled the door with him, but a shy call of his name stopped him from closing it fully shut.

“Technoblade.”

His head peaked from behind the wooden door and was met with soft eyes that expressed more gratitude than words could convey. 

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed, kid.”

Bonus:

Shutting the door gently, Techno walked into the kitchen space with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes from the hours he spent watching them unconscious after tending to them, and heeded the voices’ command for food (real food for once, not blood).

He leisurely approached the pantry, and without turning to address him, spoke lowly.

“Not a single, word.”

Phil lowered the book in his hand and raised a hand defensively with a shrug. He was sat in the living room, obscured in the large armchair from the kitchen; Techno was aware of his presence, however, and knew of his routine.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Phil called out, though Techno was quick to respond. 

“Phil, you are the least stealthy person on this planet.”

“No, no, I’m serious. I have nothing to say.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Techno murmured a sure and moved to the front door, an apple in one hand and bag full of produce tucked in his other arm. He stated that he was going check on the animals and slammed the door close harshly.

Moments passed as Phil sat in silence, save for the crackling fire that roared beside him, before speaking as if he could still hear him. 

“To think, I sent you to the store and you brought back a kid.”

[mystic-sky]

Summary: third-year Gojo’s first kiss with fem reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, sfw aside from teen Gojo ogling at your tiddies.

A/N: I wanted to break from my heavy smut writing with something wholesome and sort of vanilla. Enjoy SSS trio and you on a summer night in August.

It was your second summer together, the summer before everything went to shit. The memory will forever be engraved into you, into Gojo Satoru. Forever engraved into Geto Suguru before his departure, and forever engraved into Ieiri Shoko, who had just discovered her newest infatuation with marijuana.

The moment feels ridiculously more ethereal than how you remember it. Suguru and Satoru snicker as you take your first pull. You’re coughing your lungs out, shoving the blunt back between Suguru’s fingers. He allows his laughter to die down before passing it between his lips (most effortlessly) to inhale.

“Like this,” he holds it for a moment, and releases a puff of the high into your face. Your throat closes and you heave again, squeezing your knees as you hunch over.

“You’ll get used to it,” Shoko says, taking hold of the blunt to take her own pull before passing it to Satoru whose just behind you, sitting on the railing. 

He’s blocking the setting sun, which you were grateful for in a way. You eventually got better at smoking before the thing burnt out, much to everyone’s dismay.

“Get us ice cream, oh handsome, honored one.” Shoko bats her long eyelashes at the snow haired male. She shoves an elbow at your side. You quickly join in.

“Oh dearest honored one, bestow us with snacks to cure the munchies.”

He hops down from the railing, and he’s still taller than the rest of you. “Hmm, say the handsome part again, won’t you? Then, I might consider it.” His sunglasses slide down his nose, and he’s more in your face than Shoko’s, even though you never exaggerated the handsome part specifically.

As nose barely touches nose, you’re a bit flustered by the heat of his body emanating onto yours. It was already hot outside, but you surely felt it.

“I’m the handsome, honored one,” you begin, sliding his sunglasses off of his face and putting them on your own. “And I am going to spoil my friends with ice cream— because I’m the honored one.”

“Cute,” he’s holding an loose, irritated scowl, whirling around and quickly walking up ahead of you lot, earning chuckles from the rest of the group. “Are you guys coming or not?”

“Oh we are, handsome honored one,” Shoko snorts on the handsome part again before cheesing at you. You’re imitating his facial expressions with the shades on— wow these things are pretty cool, you think. And clearly expensive. 

It’s a decent walk to the convenience store now that the sun is down, and no longer scorching the open skin of your back. Him and Suguru are snickering about something like usual, peering back immaturely at you and Shoko. The both of you are unamused, wondering if the two of you should pretend to mumble things about them too, just to rile them up. 

She asks you for your hair tie by whispering in your ear, and you stifle a fake laugh, earning raised eyebrows from the two males. You swiftly pull it off your wrist and hand it to her, watching her stuff what she could of her bob cut into a frazzled ponytail.

Stepping foot into the store was probably the sweetest relief of that night. The coldest air poured down your backs as the door chimed loudly upon entry. You slide the sunglasses up to rest on your head, realizing just how bright the in-store lights actually were.

You and Shoko broke off from the boys to choose what you pleased. She picked up a teen idol magazine as you paced just a few steps ahead. You’re grabbing a few snacks as well, something crunchy to fill whatever it was your stomach was feeling. 

The four of you meet again in the ice cream section, and Satoru doesn’t actually care that you and Shoko have picked out more than just ice cream. He’s got an armful of things you never even tried, so you ask him,

“What’s that? S’it good?” He’s distracted by your breasts being pressed together by full arms of snacks. A single strap of your tank top is falling off one of your shoulders, and it makes his gaze stutter about on your frame. Suguru snaps his fingers behind him, forcing a response from Satoru.

“I’ll let you try some,” the response is quick on his tongue, and he scowls at his dark haired friend who had been mocking him in the back ground about his looming crush on you.

“All you get is chocolate stuff,” Shoko inserts herself between you both, analyzing Satoru’s snacks. “Can I get cigs too?” 

He shrugs. He hardly had any limits on his allowances. Money to him was limitless, and that’s why, especially with his sweet tooth, he had absolutely no discipline. He’s at the register minutes later, with more items in hand than the rest of you. He argues that since its the the last week before the summer ends, who knows when you’ll get another outing like this one. 

You are all back by the pier again, sitting on the railing you aren’t supposed to be sitting on because you could very well fall into the sea. Stomachs full of flavored corn snacks and sweets, the munchies are now gone and you’re all talking about... well, a whole lot of nothing.

Shoko, as seemingly spontaneous as ever, wants to dip her feet in the water. 

“I don’t wanna go alone,” she tugs at Suguru’s side. “Carry me there.”

“What? No.” He’s gnawing unapologetically on a bare popsicle stick. Her eyes plead, the same ones from earlier, and he gives in out of annoyance. The two them walk down the steps to the beach. 

You never asked her if she left you alone with Satoru that night on purpose, or what her goals might’ve been, but an opportunity it was, nonetheless.

“The blue one’s better,” he says simply, sucking on the flavored block of ice.

“Than the red one?” You peered at your own popsicle. “I guess it’s up to preference.” 

Your mouth pops off of the tip loudly before you suck again. He wishes you didn’t make it look so lewd.

You ogle at the box of flavors, the rest of them would surely melt by the time you all got back to the school. You turn your head back to feel white hair graze against your arm. He invites himself to taste your popsicle, prompting hard blushes from you. He imitates the loud pop you made just before. 

“Blue is still better,” he smirks at your sudden discomfort. He’s somewhat at eye level with you, and you swallow hard. He’s always flirting with you, messing with you— trying to get some sort of reaction out of you. 

“Just cause you bought it for me doesn’t mean you can invite yourself to taste it whenever you want.” You bring the pop to your lips and suck softly, looking directly at him. He’s blushing now too, but he tries so hard to hide it. He’s stuck on the way that you’re barely shy about it. You’re not telling him to back up like you usually would. Your eyes are sparkling as bright as they’re able with barely any sun left on the horizon.

“Your mouth’s blue,” you break him from his sultry thoughts. He licks his lips, feeling somewhat embarrassed about it.

“Yours is red,” he deflects, he’s definitely not prepared at all for what you say next.

“If we kiss, our lips are gonna be purple,” He’s all for it, but he’s still surprised when your cold lips entwine with his. It’s a sweet taste, but the feeling of the kiss is a cross between sticky and numb. Suddenly, some warmth blooms in the center of it, and you feel each other entirely. Your tongue doesn’t feel like he thought it would, but at least he knows why. You pull away, wrapping your mouth around your pop, nonchalant as ever.

“You’re just always in my face like you wanna kiss me,” you shrug, you’re analyzing him subtly through the corner of your eye. His expression is sort of deer-like. He’s always wanted to kiss you, yeah. Did he think it was going to happen like that? Not exactly. 

“Cause,” the response is seconds late, “I do.” 

He’s not so shy anymore, closing the space between your bodies.

“So just do it,” you look up at him, and his eyes are glimmering at you. He presses his lips to yours, warming them again against your soft and pillowy flesh. A sweet sound pours through his mouth, one he didn’t know you were capable of making. He wondered if all girls tasted this sweet— with the exception of the ice cream. You kissed him back so bashfully, despite your seemingly assertive personality before hand.

The kiss lasts longer than you both realize, prompting sticky ice cream to dribble down both your arms but neither of you care that much. 

Your wet mouths part, and surely there’s a bit of blue on your lips as much as there is red on his. You find yourself looking away from his piercing blue gaze, trying not to draw attention to the blush painting your face. 

“There isn’t anything to wipe my arm up with is there,” you mutter, watching the red juice slither down your arm. You’re tempted to lick it up to prevent it from traveling further but Satoru speaks again.

“We could go rinse our hands by the fountains if you want,” he says, cracking a goofy grin.

“That sounds like a good idea,” you look towards him. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He chuckles lightly as the fingers on his cleaner hand find your face, smooshing your cheeks inward and puckering your lips. “Well would you look at that,” he grins again.

“They definitely are purple.”

[natashas-widows]

101 fluffy prompts

send me your prompt and the person you want it to be with.

prompt credits to : @otppromptlists

001 "You're really soft."

002 "You smell nice."

003 "I'm here for my daily fix of hugs and kisses."

004 "Is it possible to love too much?"

005 "I don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."

006 "I will always be there protect you."

007 "I'm cold. Come closer."

008 "I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

009 "The stars look especially lovely tonight."

010 "I've never seen such gorgeous eyes before."

011 "May I have this dance?"

012 "I can't stop thinking about you."

013 "You'll never feel alone with me by your side."

014 "Let's get to know each other over dinner."

015 "All I want is you."

016 "I could never leave you, I love you too much!"

017 "A fairytale with a happy ending always brings a smile to my face."

018 "I want to hear you sing."

019 "I don't think anyone could ever be as lovely as you."

020 "You look incredible in that."

021 "He/She's quite stunning, isn't he/she?"

022 "Sometimes I just can't control myself when around you."

023 "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

024 "I think I'm in love."

025 "I’d like it if you stayed.

026 "People are jerks, but not you."

027 "I'll share the blankets with you."

028 "I have never felt this way about anyone."

029 "I want this to never end..."

030 "Can I kiss you?"

LIVING TOGETHER

031 "I waxed the floors, grab your fluffy socks."

032 "Who changed the thermostat settings? I’m freezing to death."

033 "Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?"

034 "You can put your cold feet on me."

035 "Your stray red item turned my whites pink."

036 "A thunderstorm is rolling through town and you’re scared of lightening/thunder so I’ll protect you."

037 "There was a power outage and now we have to have dinner by candlelight."

038 "Rock Paper Scissors to see who has to go talk to the neighbors upstairs for being too loud."

039 "I just came home to you crying while watching a movie, please tell me what’s going on."

040 "Our AC is out and it’s the middle of the summer."

041 "You found me crying on the kitchen floor in the middle of the night surrounded by a shattered jelly jar."

042 "My parents are coming over in 10 minutes so please put some clothes on"

043 "We’re repainting the apartment and going to the hardware store together to pick out color swatches."

044 "IF YOU USE UP ALL THE HOT WATER ONE MORE TIME IM GOING TO BAN YOU TO THE COUCH FOR A MONTH."

045 "We’re watching Toy Story 3 and we can’t stop crying."

WEDDINGS/PROPOSALS

046 "I caught the bouquet"

047 "My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years failing to get over them."

048 "We accidentally got married in Vegas oops"

049 "I’m really drunk, please help me get safely out of the way so I don’t ruin our friend’s wedding."

050 "I planned out this super romantic proposal and you just ruined it by beating me to whole proposing thing."

051 "I wasn’t planning on asking you, but it appeared to me that life is short. Will you marry me? "

052 "If you shove cake in my face this will be the worst wedding night of your life."

053 "Do you take this man/woman to be your lawfully wedded husband/wife? "

054 "May I have this dance, wife/husband? "

055 "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m so happy I can finally call you my wife/husband."

056 "I jokingly told you that the only way I’d marry you was if you did this weird outlandish thing, and you actually did it, and I’m kind of charmed."

057 "This is probably a bad time, but marry me?"

MARRIED LIFE

058 "We’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about. "

059 "Your ‘miracle hangover cure’ couldn’t possibly beat mine."

060 "I know you haven’t had the best experience with dogs in the past but look at its face please please can we keep it?"

061 "I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary, but everything that could go wrong, did go wrong."

062 "I beat you at Mario Kart and now you're banishing me to the couch for the night?”

063 "I surprised you with tickets to see our favorite band… WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SURPRISED ME WITH TICKETS TO SEE THEM TOO?"

064 "I know we had a big fight but we still need to decorate the house for the holidays."

065 "Oh! Hey! Could you come and taste this to see if it's okay?"

066 "We’re arguing over book versus movie."

067 "I came home to a Nerf gun on the front porch and a note that says ‘Here is your weapon. I have one too. Loser cooks dinner. Good luck. xo’"

068 "We’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years."

069 "You had a business trip and I missed you so much that I kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety… sorry?"

070 "We both have nowhere else to be so we get to spend our rare day off at home."

PREGNANCY

071 "I bet it’s a girl/boy."

072 "Do you think it’s possible that I…might be… pregnant? "

073 "I thought I was pregnant but the test must have been wrong. I’m not. "

074 "You’re lucky I’m pregnant!"

075 "Can you help me up, your child is pretty heavy."

076 "I could really use a foot rub right now."

077 "Your dad is really excited to meet you soon, it’s driving me crazy."

078 "Do you wanna know the sex of the baby?"

079 "The baby’s kicks are keeping me up at night."

080 "Did you feel that?"

081 "I can’t fit into my favorite dress anymore. "

082 "OH MY GOD I’M GOING INTO LABOR. WHAT DO WE DO NOW?!

083 "I can’t be pregnant… or….OH MY GOD! "

084 "I think you might be pregnant.”

085 "It’s 2 am but you’re craving cake and we’re both up anyway so let’s bake in our underwear."

PARENTING

086 "I knew it was a mistake to get the twins matching clothes."

087 "Sh…they’re asleep."

088 "I think someone had a little accident with the finger paint."

089 "Mondays are your diaper days."

090 "Our kid is totally the one who wanted to build a pillow fort, not me."

091 "Ooh…someone’s got a tummy ache."

092 "Are you sure you don’t want me to drop them off myself? I don’t think you could handle seeing them off alone."

093 "I told you we should have just gotten that German Shepherd puppy."

094 "What do you think for their punishment? Grounding? No video games? No going out for a week?"

095 "Mm…your kid before five in the morning."

096 "Come on now, I think you’re being too harsh. He/she’s just a kid. Remember all of the stupid things we used to do when we were their age?"

097 "So, how should we break the news that they’re going to have a new baby brother or sister?"

098 "I think we should have another."

099 "Why wasn’t I invited to your wedding?"

100 "Okay fine, one more story, but then you really have to go to bed."

101 "…They just grow up so fast."

[gojos-sidepiece-69]

Bedtime Stories- Nanami x Reader Oneshot

Word Count: 3108 words

Prompt: “Now I just know this man would ask you to keep reading out loud while he quietly gave you head under the bedsheets.”

It was a relatively quiet day for you. Being a semi-grade 1 sorcerer and a teacher at Jujutsu Tech proved to have its rough patches; however, today was not one of those days. You were seated in the teacher's lounge, going over a lesson plan that you had prepared days earlier for the students when Gojo strolled into the small room. "I see you have plenty of time on your hands today, y/n," he smirked.

You rolled your eyes at him. "Ijichi didn't have any cases for me today, and the first years were supposed to be training with you, so I have a free day," you muttered. Suddenly you felt the urge to leave the room. You and Gojo have always irritated each other. However, Satoru had a little personal game to annoy the hell out of you with every chance he got.

As you looked away from his blindfolded eyes, you could practically feel his pathetic little smirk plastered on his lips. You tried to mind your business by reading a book that Nanami had lent you. No matter how much you tried, you could feel Satoru's eyes burning holes onto the back of your head in the uncomfortable silence. You cleared your throat and sharply turned your head to the looming buffoon. "I'm sorry. Is there something you need, Satoru?" You asked sweetly.

"Am I bothering you? I can leave… but now that you mention it, I think a cup of coffee sounds extraordinarily great right now," he grinned. He lazily walked over to the counter and loudly clinked a cup on the smooth surface. You gritted your teeth and focused your attention on the book about expelling special-grade curses.

After a few minutes of Gojo loudly bustling around the room, you roughly shot up out of your chair and swiftly exited the room. "Have a great rest of your day!" Gojo yelled over his shoulder. "Piss off," you muttered as you walked down the hallway. You knew he would hear you even as you walked down the hall, and as if on queue, you listened to his laugh echo the room.

As you made your way to the teacher's headquarters, you stopped to sit down at a nearby resting area. You exhaled a sigh of relief at the sense of peace and quiet that you had finally attained. You closed your eyes and breathed in the sweet summer air flowing around you. At times like these, you wished you were sitting in a comfortable home with no one to worry about except yourself.

Alas, that was not your current situation. Your students were your priority, and they felt almost like family; therefore, you were always nervous about them, mainly when it was Gojo's time to train them. Your mind began to wander, and you noticed the slight texture of your book in your hands. You lightly dragged your fingertips across the leathered book cover.

You and Nanami were reasonably close and more so as the summer days passed by. At this point, you considered each other as friends with benefits, although you both knew you were lying to yourselves. The sex was phenomenal, but you've always wanted something more than the title of 'just friends who fucked each other from time to time.'

Nobody was currently aware of the relationship that you two had. However, Gojo had his suspicions from time to time, making lewd comments when you and Nanami were near each other. You opened your eyes and shook your head to clear your thoughts. Enough fantasizing, you scolded yourself.

You walked silently to your bedroom, admiring the beautiful oranges and purples that began to blend into the evening sky. You slid open the doors to your room and quickly padded over to your large window. You carefully set Nanami's book onto your bedside table. Being a teacher here at Jujutsu Tech did have its benefits, as it had a great view of the city, you thought. You strolled around your room aimlessly before landing in the bathroom.

You disrobed your issued teacher's uniform and dressed into something much more comfortable, which consisted of a shirt three sizes too big for you and grey sweatpants- it was definitely a sweatpants kind of day for you. You jumped onto your bed and huffed as a wave of exhaustion suddenly overcame you. I need to get a grip on myself; I didn't even do anything today, you thought.

You tucked yourself into bed at 8:00 pm, book in hand. It was still early, yes, but there was nothing to do besides reading and lounge in the teacher's room, which was something you were not going to do again. As your eyes danced across the pages of the old book, you heard a slight knock echo into your room.

Your eyes scrunched in confusion. You hadn't expected any visitors tonight. As you opened the door, you looked up to see an even more exhausted Nanami.

A wave of surprise coursed through your body and heat began to pool between your legs. Were you going to have sex again? You wondered. Nanami looked down on you and cleared his throat. "Can I stay here for a bit? I'd rather not deal with reporting the exorcised curse to Satoru right now," he sighed.

You tried to hide your embarrassing disappointment by walking back into your bed." Sure go ahead, stay as long as you'd like." As he entered your room, he walked straight over to a small couch seated by the window.

You shifted uncomfortably in your bed and resumed reading. Like your earlier experience with Gojo, you could not focus on a single word when Nanami was so close to you (with supremely different emotions stirring up inside you).

Nevertheless, you stared at the textured pages, now studying a picture of the general makeup of a curse. You had finally gotten comfortable with Nanami in the same room as you when you heard his chair screech on the wooden floor.

Your eyes shot up to his. However, he paid no attention to you as he quietly sat down on your side of the bed. You shut your book and looked up at him with lustful eyes. You were hungry for him.

At this point, the sexual tension was practically drowning you two in the bedroom. "I…" Nanami began, but your colliding bodies soon cut it off.

You had had enough, you pulled Nanami into a passionate kiss, and a small moan escaped your lips. Nanami did not hesitate; instead, he held you to his body before pinning you down to the bed.

"A bit excited now, are we?" He rasped. You meekly nodded and said, "I need you." It seemed like that was all it took to convince the man pinning you as he quickly bent down to crash his lips onto yours.

Your tongues swirled together, and you pulled back, granting him full entrance to your mouth. As his tongue pushed through your lips, a moan had yet again escaped you. You felt your pool of arousal increase by the minute.

Nanami fumbled with your shirt, and you quickly ripped it off of yourself. Nanami had seen your body countless times before. However, it never ceased to amaze him how beautiful you were.

Suddenly cold with the loss of heat contact, you playfully pulled his tie towards you and wrapped your arms around his neck. Nanami seemed to thoroughly enjoy this, as a small' fuck,' escaped his lips before crashing onto yours.

You began un-knotting his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt, careful not to break your intimate contact. Nanami released his iron grip on your hands and trailed his fingers down your body, eliciting a moan from you.

Your core was throbbing with desire, and you felt the slick coating of wetness dampen your panties. Every time his fingers came into contact with your skin, you felt an energetic shock pulsate through your body.

In one quick movement, the blonde man ripped off your sweatpants, and you moaned from the sudden movement. "You’re being so good for me," Nanami muttered, a small huff escaped his mouth.

You un-clipped your bra and flung it out towards the room. Nanami wasted no time and plunged his face between your two mounds. You ground your pussy onto the folds of his pants, wanting nothing more than his face on your sopping wet cunt.

Nanami fondled one of your breasts with one hand and lapped up your other tit with his long tongue. You arched your back, wanting more contact and your heavy moans filled the room. As his tongue swirled over your nipple, he maintained eye contact with you.

The contact was almost enough to send you over the edge; however, you wanted to ride this out as long as possible, pun intended. You shut your eyes and leaned into your pillow, letting Nanami's intoxicating touch fill up your world. His fingers trailed long lines up and down the side of your body and finally rested on the waistband of your panties.

Suddenly, Nanami stopped his handiwork and looked at you with a pang of hunger you've never seen before. You noticed him glance towards the book in the middle of the bed and then back to you. "Were you reading this before I got here?" He asked quietly. With a dazed expression, you simply nodded.

"Get under the covers," he instructed. Confused, you did as you were told and shrugged into the covers. What was he up to? You wondered. You watched him as he slowly unbuckled his belt and let it clink to the floor. Yet again, you felt another pang of pleasure throbbing in between your legs. He slowly walked over to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers.

You stared up at the ceiling in complete surprise. What the hell was this man doing? Was he seriously only here to edge me? Nanami shifted over to look at you and quietly said, "I want you to read that book for me." You tried to hide your displeasure. What the fuck? You thought. You were under the impression that he was here to fuck you, not read him a bedtime story.

You sighed and picked up the book, flipping through the pages to find where you last read. "I'm currently on chapter 23: 'Classifications of the Curse Spirit'," you muttered. He quietly nodded and looked up at the ceiling. You shook your head and began to read the starting lines.

"The vengeful cursed spirit is a cursed spirit that is created when humans become a curse after death…" you grumbled. You look at Nanami, who is still staring at the ceiling. You slump back into the bed. What the actual fuck. "...erm, Those whose deaths are cursed have the possibility of having their spirit corrupted…"

Your words soon trailed off as you heard Nanami shift and slipped under the covers. Your insides jolted as your mind raced about what he could be up to. "Keep reading," he commanded. Your grip tightened on the book; you felt your core become slick again. Fuck, whatever this man was going to do to you, you knew it was going to be good.

You focused your attention on the book, trying to ignore the rustling covers as Nanami settled in between your legs. "Okay let's see- sorcerers have an increased chance of turning into a curse after death, but this can be prevented through juju-" your words are quickly cut off as you feel a wave of intense pleasure.

In the meantime of your reading, Nanami had slipped under the covers to venture off in between your legs. He felt for your waistband and lightly tapped it with his fingers. Nanami could practically feel your heat rising out of you. Carefully, he moved his hand down and lightly brushed over your clit.

"I told you to keep reading, y/n," he cooed. You moaned and arched your back as he brushed on your clit again, making your insides tingle. "N-Nanami," you sputtered, the daze of a high already settling in. You lost your grip on the book and it fell onto the large mound that was Nanami’s head. “Are you okay?” you said, as you scrambled to pull off the covers. Nanami tightened his grip on your legs and said, “Stop moving, give me your hands.”

You stopped writhing and slowly slid your hands under the covers. A rough pair of hands connect with yours and you promptly feel fabric being tied around your small hands. You nervously laugh- it was his spotted tie. “Nanami, what are you doing to me,” you laughed. He ignored you and handed the book to you.

"Read, and don’t drop it," he forcefully commanded. You stopped laughing and began to resume your readings quietly, but you bucked your hips towards his face as you felt hot kisses trail up and down your thighs. "Ah- Fuck, Nanami. I can't read when you're doing this to me," you said breathlessly.

“Read as best as you can, then,�� he replied gruffly. The pleasure was ten times more intense, as the feeling of your constraints and the constant contact of Nanami kept you on your toes. Your hands were practically clamped down on the book so that you couldn’t do anything about the man pleasuring your slick pussy.

After Nanami was satisfied with the trail of love bites in your inner thighs, he began to slowly rub circles on your clothed clit. You moaned out a sigh of relief as you felt more contact with his hands. “A- a diseased cursed spirit-” you began, but your words fell into a moan as you felt Nanami pull down your panties with his teeth. “Shit,” you breathed out.

As Nanami pulled down your panties, a wave of blood rushed towards his cock as he saw your thick coating of slick string out. “You’re so wet for me, y/n,” he said hungrily. You moaned again as his wonderfully deep voice rumbled against your cunt. “N-nanami- you’re going to make me-” you muffle your screams and bit down on his tie that constrained your hands.

His tongue lightly swept over your slit, licking up your sweet desire. He bent his head down and lapped you up hungrily, stifling a moan. The vibrations of his voice further made your toes curl, and you soon began repeatedly groaning his name. You hooked your legs over his shoulders and stifled a scream as you could feel your destination come closer.

The Intense pleasure was something you had never fully experienced. As Nanami lapped up your wet pussy you heard and felt him spit on your clit. Your breath was erratic, and as your breathing slowed down, you felt two rough fingers slide into you.

“Read,” Nanami once again commanded as he took another lap in your slit. You sighed as you lifted the book back to your eyes. “Plague and general sickness are concepts constantly cursed by humanity,” you began, your breath hitched at certain words as Nanami slowly pumped in and out of you.

Suddenly, Nanami began to speed up; he curled and spread his fingers as he was inside of you. With the sudden movement, you felt your walls begin to pulsate- you were almost there.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your hips bucked and swayed, finding just the right spot. Nanami groaned against your clit as your slit felt slicker by the moment. “Shit, I’m gonna-“ you heaved, your chest took shallow breaths, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You forced your eyes to open and with pleading eyes you asked Nanami if you could let yourself go.

It seemed like Nanami knew what you were asking for, despite his head still under the covers. “Cum for me, darling,” Nanami pitted against your pulsating heat of mess. Oh, how his words could make you unravel so quickly. You felt your heat burst and your teeth clamped on Nanami’s tie to muffle your screams. You closed your eyes and saw stars. You were fucked good.

As your high steadily came back down, Nanami shifted under the covers and came back up, his face full of your essence. His eyes were bright and alive, something you rarely saw. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about your slick on his face, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

As your breathing slowed, you pulled your hair away from your sweaty face. You turned your head to look at Nanami, your heart thumping out of your chest. “It’s only fair… that I repay you for your kindness,” you began, your hands trailing down his now crinkled dress shirt. He smiled and looked you up and down, “Sweetheart I don’t think you’re even able to get up and walk right now,” he laughed. “Besides, you can repay me later… not that I mind giving my services to you, free of charge,” he said quietly.

You smiled at him and brought the covers over your chest, your eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion. You heard Nanami leave the bed, but you were too tired to open your eyes. You must’ve fallen asleep as you felt darkness soon overtake you.

You felt a light tap on your chest and groggily looked up to see Nanami out of bed holding a hand out to you. “What are we doing now?” you asked tiredly. He kissed you on the head and laughed lightly. “Don’t worry, y/n. I know you’re tired, but we’ve got to clean you up,” he noted.

He led you to your bathroom, and as your eyes adjusted to the bright lights, you noticed that Nanami had drawn a bath for you. You looked back at him and chuckled. “Always the gentleman, Nanami.” He pecked you on the lips before carefully placing you inside the tub. Your muscles instantly relaxed from the hot, sudsy water. You smiled to yourself as you felt Nanami slip into the tub behind you.

You sighed with great content and leaned your head back on his chest. As you closed your eyes, you felt his hands skimming across your arms and legs, gently washing the previous activities that were stuck on your skin. You were in complete bliss. “Thank you, Nanami. For everything,” you gushed. “Anything for you, y/n,” he muttered.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that you decided to read before bed.

🌻

[not-a-coral-snake]

for the @lamenweek Day 6 prompt: Auguste Lives Au

inspired by this post by @skyline-sunset-in-my-veins and @phoenixtcm

“When I am in Arles this fall,” Damianos says, words soft in the summer sunset air around them, “I will kneel before your brother the king and ask his permission to court you.” He pauses, smile just the slightest bit cocky. Laurent is lounging, hair mussed and shirt trailing half-opened laces, in Damen’s arms. “Court you officially, I mean.” 

“You are going to Arles for the negotiations yourself this year?” Laurent says. Seated as they are, Damen cannot mistake the shudder of tension, quickly repressed, that runs through Laurent at Damen’s words.

“You haven’t told him yet,” he says. 

“It’s just I thought that the ambassador—”

“You haven’t told him yet,” Damen says again. “You said when I saw you last fall that you would tell him last winter for sure.” He tries not to sound accusatory, but well. It is not the first time they have had this conversation.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Laurent concedes. It should not be so hard. It’s been six years since Marlas. Vere and Akielos are at peace. Laurent is in the habit of sharing nearly everything with Auguste, and yet— 

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” he says, as he always does. “It’s a sensitive matter, I wish to catch him in the right mood, lest he make up his mind before hearing me out.” 

“And you’re afraid of hurting him,” Damen says, as he always does.

“And I want to ensure I don’t hurt him. So I have to find the right time—”

“It’s been years now,” Damen cuts in. “Should we believe that, somehow, the perfect moment will occur this summer, when it did not last winter, or last spring, or the summer before that?”

“Damen—”

“This can just be a fling, if you want,” Damen says, gently.

‘That’s not what I—no,” says Laurent. Damen’s never said that before. 

“We can just keep meeting a few times a year. It doesn’t need to be serious. It doesn’t need to be something we tell others about.”

“Damen, stop,” Laurent says. “No. I want to court you. I want it to be official. I want it to be serious.”

“Well, then let it become serious.”

“I’ll tell him this time,” Laurent says. He can do this. It’s been six years since Marlas. Auguste always speaks of Prince Damianos in respectful tones. Laurent picks up Damen’s hand, kisses his knuckles. “Promise.”

And Laurent means to tell Auguste that summer, he really does. He meant to upon his return last fall as well, and the time before that, and the time before that. It’s just that—well, it’s just that every time he returns from diplomatic visits to Delfeur or Ios, he’s struck again with the slow, deliberate way that Auguste moves now. Each year as late spring ripens into summer, he sees how it saddens Auguste that he still no longer has the vigor or endurance for hunts or long rides or anything more taxing than a slow turn around the gardens. Each year as fall deepens into winter, he sees how another year has gone by and the cold makes Auguste’s injuries ache just as much as they had the winter before. 

Auguste had nearly died on the battlefield at Marlas. But that wasn’t the whole of it. Even after he had survived the trip home to Arles, he almost died of fever, of wound rot, of the pneumonia his battle-damaged lungs nearly couldn’t shake. And he almost died of assassination, not one time but many. There were few ways to kill a king in the peak of youth and health without attracting undue suspicion, but endless subtle ways to hasten the death of a man in his sickbed. Their uncle, left to rule the court unchecked, had tried seemingly most of them, endless schemes which Laurent had only barely managed to avert and which left behind no conclusive evidence for Laurent to show the court. Even as Auguste had gained strength, the schemes had continued, until the day Laurent gave up trying to beat his uncle while playing by his uncle’s own rules and had simply arranged an accident of his own. 

After that, Auguste was safe, but the fallout from their uncle’s years ruling the court and admittedly-suspicious death left him with nearly as many enemies as allies. As prince, Auguste had been universally adored. As king, he faced a yearslong struggle to regain the allegiance of erstwhile allies. 

And all this was, at its root, because of Marlas. Because of Damianos. Auguste’s history with Damen wasn’t just the matter of an injury six years ago, not when that injury had colored every day of his life since. And Laurent can’t imagine a way of telling him that he loves Damen, wants a future with him, without it sounding like a betrayal. 

To make matters more awkward, Auguste has, for whatever reason, gotten it into his head to nag Laurent about romance. It’s uncomfortable enough to be keeping his relationship with Damen a secret from Auguste. It’s worse to lie, outright or by omission, every time Auguste asks him if there’s anyone Laurent is interested in pursuing. 

And then— “You know you can tell me anything, little brother,” Auguste says quietly, a few minutes after Laurent has let a conversation about an overly-flirtatious marquis from Lys lapse. 

Laurent swallows, mutely cataloging the darker corners of his past. He does not like to lie to Auguste. But he does.

And there are things he probably will never tell his brother about, things Auguste does not need to know, but also— “Actually, Auguste,” he makes himself say. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

And then he pauses, because he still hasn’t figured out a semi-workable phrasing. I’m in love with Prince Damianos, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still upset about what he did to you. I’m fucking the man who almost killed you, and I’m sorry but also I won’t stop. I know seeing the prince of Akielos this fall will probably be terrible for you but also when he asks to court me please say yes.

It’s Auguste who rescues him, after a moment or two of expectant silence. “Is this going to be you finally telling me about your romantic entanglement with Prince Damianos?” he says. “Because honestly, I’m getting sick of seeing you walking around looking guilty and sad all the time.”

“You knew?” Laurent says.

“Of course I knew! You, dear baby brother, are not very subtle. And I’ve had to hear all your reports from the negotiations with Akielos twice a year. Was I somehow not supposed to notice how you gradually stopped insulting Damianos and started telling me about all his varied and impressive positive traits?”

“I said that he was straightforward and committed to the good of his people, and thus that the negotiations were likely to be a productive use of time!”

“And then the trip after that, you said that he was an innovative thinker, a natural leader, and you couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. You said you didn’t mind having to go on hunts with him, which anyone who knows you understands is a major compliment, and when you said he was patient, you smiled that quiet smile of yours that means you are remembering something that made you very happy.”

“Auguste—”

“And yet! Whenever anyone suggests you have developed any fondness for the man, you deny it. Why go to such lengths to conceal a friendly working relationship?”

“Auguste—”

“And honestly, brother, even back when you hated him, I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned his appearance rather a lot. You were always complaining that he was ridiculously tall, or offensively muscular, or something along those lines.”

“I said he was a brute!”

“You also said that his eyes were, and I quote, ‘disgustingly soulful.’ Oh, and the letters! Was I not supposed to notice that in the last year your correspondence with the prince of Akielos has roughly quadrupled in volume and frequency, even as the official negotiations are reaching a standstill? There isn’t enough policy discussion to account for a tenth of the letters you write. There isn’t enough policy discussion to justify you going to Delfeur in person twice a year, and yet you insist on overseeing things personally each time anyway.”

“Auguste, I’m sorry, all right? I know that this must have been painful for you to witness, and I don’t want you to think I don’t care about everything you’ve been through.” He swallows. “But I don’t want to stop seeing Damianos.”

“All right.”

“‘’All right?’ You’re okay with it? Just like that?”

“He makes you happy. If your judgement of him is to be believed, then he sounds like a worthy man. And I trust your judgement.”

“But he stabbed you. And now I’m sleeping with him.”

“Well, we were at war. And it was years ago. And I’m fine. We’re at peace, the nation’s moving on, you’ve moved on in your opinion of him, I can move on as well.”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Why can’t it be? I only met him for about ten minutes. I’m sure there’s more to him than he revealed in a single duel. You have my blessing, Laurent.”

“How can you just—”

“Remember when your pony threw you and you broke your collarbone?”

“This is not the same, this is not even close to the same—”

“You snuck out of the infirmary to go to the stables and tell Chuckles you weren’t mad at him.”

“I was seven, he meant me no ill will, and the bone healed in a month. Also he was a horse,” Laurent grits out. “Damianos was—is—a grown man, responsible for his choices, the injuries he inflicted did lasting damage, and he was trying to kill you.”

“Well, no one is asking you to sleep with him,” Auguste says, in his reasonable-big-brother voice. 

Laurent lets out a breath, sits back in his chair. “I started managing the negotiations with Akielos so that you wouldn’t have to speak with him,” he says. “We said that it was because I could travel more easily, that it was because you could not justify spending so much time away from court. But in truth, I did not want you to have to be in a room with him, to have to learn to make polite conversation with him and pretend that Marlas did not happen, that it didn’t matter. If I have come to know him as far more than just the soldier who attacked you, if I have put his past actions behind me, come to care for him in spite of them—that does not mean I expect you to do the same. Could ever ask you to do the same.” 

“You’ve always been protecting me, all these years,” Auguste says softly. “Don’t think I don’t know it, or appreciate it. But let me be the protective big brother again once in a while? You’ve learned to let the past go and let yourself have the present you want with Damianos, because you’re in love with him. Allow me to let the past go and have the future I want, where my little brother is happy.”

He’s looking Laurent in the eye, gaze steady, and slowly Laurent allows himself to believe that Auguste is serious, that in his heart of hearts, he does not mind. That he is happy for Laurent. 

“Thank you,” he says. “For your blessing.” 

“Of course,” Auguste says. And then, “Well, when I say you have my blessing, I mean informally, of course. Prince Damianos will have to ask me himself.”

“You just want the chance to make him squirm,” Laurent says. 

“I just want the chance to make him squirm,” Auguste concedes, and he and Laurent break into quiet laughter, imagining it.

[rebrandedbard]

@greyduckgreygoose Tumblr ate your ask when I tried posting it two minutes ago. You requested prompts 5 or 6, which I choose to read as 5 and 6. Stay tuned for prompt 6 in the future. If you like this, perhaps I’ll make it more Valdo. Whump or healing—you pull the trigger, goosey. Or perhaps I’ll use prompt 6 for some Filavandrel fun. Let me know.

5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

tw: alcohol, depression

WC: 1600 even. Whoo! Even hundredth place! Two goose eggs!

A Good Man

Geralt meets Valdo Marx while taking a contract on a ferry, protecting its passengers from an unknown threat on the water. Valdo himself is an unknown threat, until the two of them get to talking, and Geralt learns a quiet truth.

Geraskier. One-sided Valdo/Jaskier

-

Valdo Marx, troubadour of Cidaris, was the last person Geralt expected to meet on the ferry from Brugge. Per Jaskier’s rambling, he’d assumed the bard stayed put, living it up in Oxenfurt or Cidaris—Geralt was never quite sure if Cidaris were his home or simply a place he’d chosen for his adopted title. He’d wondered if Jaskier were a ‘Bard of Thereabouts,’ but he was never curious enough to ask where-abouts. They both travelled so much, Jaskier could be from anywhere. Something told him that Jaskier would choose Lyria if asked; the name was lyrical.

But Geralt supposed bards were of a travelling nature after all. Besides, the ferry down the Yda was the fasted way to travel inland from Brugge to Craag An, and just beyond was the Adalatte. A straight shot through Kerack would have Marx home in Cidaris in no time at all, and people with coin to spare liked to hurry to and fro in laid-back comfort. It was a paradox Geralt often found amusing.

He paid no fare for his ride, having been hired on for protection. It would seem that, of late, people were disappearing from the ferry before reaching their final destination, reaching a much more final destination than anticipated. Drowners, probably. Sirens were less likely, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. The channels were connected to the ocean; something could have come washing downriver. It wasn’t altogether unheard of to find displaced sirens after the summer rainstorms. If asked which he’d be more likely to meet, Geralt would have chosen sirens before Valdo Marx.

Geralt recognized him as a bard from the off: it was impossible to mistaken anything so brightly decorated. True, the man did not carry his lute about his person as Jaskier would, but he wore the uniform of satin, the season’s colors all in coordination and too impractical for the weather. It was a mark of their trade, their plumage like birds of paradise and that theatrical air.

Well, the atmosphere around Marx was less the foppish theatrics Geralt had come to expect. He did not saunter across the deck wooing a crowd, nor reciting poetry. He did not do much of anything to draw attention to himself. In fact, he was quite unlike anything that made up Geralt’s image of bards, drawing back against the bulwark, completely silent. Like a fool, Geralt presumed they would go all the way to Craag An without confrontation, but it would be a snowy day in the desert before bards acted predictably.

It was late afternoon the second day on board when he approached, the sun falling low, bringing on the evening. Geralt was keeping watch at the stern: if anything was about it would be disturbed, knocked back as the ship made headway, clawing its way onto the deck from the rear. Geralt kept to the lower main deck, closest to the water. If anything came crawling up from below, he would be in position to dispatch it. The passengers aboard had likely been warned beforehand, or else they’d heard the rumors, as they stayed on the upper deck and bow. With the lower deck abandoned, he easily read Valdo’s approach from a distance.

“White Wolf?” he asked, leaning casually a few feet away from Geralt. The question was monotone, almost disinterested, but he would not have come if there had been no reason.

There was nothing else to do and, truth be told, Geralt was bored. So he turned to Valdo and nodded. “Geralt,” he replied. He’d never quite grow used to the fanciful title, but it brought him good business. It made him recognizable, and therefore comfortable, in so much as anyone could be comfortable around a witcher. Reputations had influence.

“Valdo Marx. I’m sure you heard of me.”

Geralt hummed. There was something in his manner of speech. It was not an obnoxious flaunt of his fame: there was something resigned in it. Bitter, perhaps. It was the same tone Lambert used to say, “There was a wraith in Gulet. I’m sure you’ve already heard.” It had taken a witcher down from the school of the viper. The tone implied notoriety.

For a while, they did not speak. The only sound came from the water below lapping against the side of the ship. Geralt waited, glancing at the troubadour once more before he turned his attention back to the water. He supposed that had been it, a simple acknowledgement. People were often curious, coming to him only to confirm his identity as Jaskier’s witcher. It was a title he’d grown comfortable with more quickly than the White Wolf. It was truer, and he smiled to himself when he thought of such instances in private.

“You’re a right lucky fuck,” Valdo muttered.

Geralt looked up again from the water. He turned to examine Valdo silently, wondering what, exactly, Valdo thought he had going for him to mark him as lucky.

Valdo stared back at him, looking tired and severe. “Maybe I would have had better luck if I didn’t talk so much,” he continued. “If I didn’t sing … ”

“Bards are supposed to sing,” Geralt replied. He now wished Valdo would go back to the upper deck. Nothing aggravated him quite like people who refused to get to the point. He scented an undercurrent of hostility in the air. That, and an abundance of vodka.

Valdo produced a flask from his jerkin and gave it a swig. “Never was trying to be a bard,” he muttered. He took another sip, let it sit, then concealed the flask once more. It occurred to Geralt that the man’s leaning was not entirely owed to false causality.

Geralt knew not what to say. So he simply said, “Hm.” He heard the knuckles crack in Valdo’s tightening fist.

“Melitele’s tits. Years of poetry and songs, and you come along with your … ‘hm,’” Valdo mocked, “and that’s it. Not even a melodic hm. Just … hm.” He raked his fingers through his hair, hissing through his teeth in frustration. He was muttering something under his breath, but it was incoherent, even to a witcher’s ears. When Valdo looked up again, his eyes were red. Neither that, nor the sour note in the air were owed to the alcohol, Geralt surmised.

“He won’t love you,” Valdo said. “He can’t. He doesn’t hold on to things that way. You’re just—” he flapped a hand, searching for the word “—a fascination. You’re something shiny and new. He’ll forget about you the moment he leaves your bed.”

“Who?”

“Who the fuck do you think, witcher. Don’t mock me,” Valdo snapped, voice cracking. If he didn’t look so pathetic, if his words did not carry such weight, Geralt might have chuckled to hear Jaskier’s infamous rival croak unprofessionally. It was not flattering of bards. But there was nothing funny in what he said, nor in how he said it.

“Wait a minute,” Geralt said. He had said less than ten words to the man, none of them mocking in the slightest, and he meant to say as much.

But Valdo held up a hand to silence him. The broken man slipped down to the deck, curling against his knees, head bowed. When he spoke, he mumbled against his knees, fingers tangling in his hair. “I went to Oxenfurt for him. I chased after him for so long, watching him fall in and out of stranger’s beds for less than a wink. But all he wanted me for … he only met me on the stage. Irked if I played below standard, livid if I won. Try what you will, there’s no pleasing Jaskier.”

Geralt thought he understood him then. “Are you jealous?” he asked.

Valdo lifted his head enough to meet his eye. His cheeks were wet, shining in the fading light. “Are you Jaskier’s witcher?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied.

“Then you have your answer.”

Geralt paused a moment. He approached Valdo slowly and lowered himself to his side. They sat together in silence, hidden in the shadow of the bulwark as the sun set behind. Valdo produced the flask again, offering Geralt a sip without a word exchanged. Geralt took the flask.

“Have you kissed him?” Valdo whispered.

“No.”

“Don’t. If he never kisses you, he might not leave.”

Geralt watched as Valdo finished the last of the vodka. “Did you?” he asked.

Valdo stared across the empty deck. “No,” he replied. “But I don’t count. He sings songs about you. I only exist to him three days a year at the bardic competition.”

“He talks about you,” Geralt offered. It was a poor comfort when one knew how Jaskier talked.

Valdo sighed and tucked away the empty flask. He stood on unsteady legs, turning back toward the stairs to the upper deck. “I know. I have a rough idea what sort of man you must think I am from his gossip.”

“I don’t hold with gossip.”

“No,” Valdo chuckled. “Your kind wouldn’t.” It wasn’t an insult, but empathy. There was an understanding between them on that mark. “I wanted to find out for myself what kind of a man you were to entice him so. I hate to think I see it.”

“What do you think you see?”

“A man. One whose best friend’s first wish would be to strike death upon his rival, and knowing him, would allow that rival to approach him without preconceptions. Who would share a flask with a sobbing drunkard and listen earnestly. A good man, in short. So ... hatefully good.”

-

Send me drabble prompts!

[theresthesnitch]

A Letter from Home

Coming in late on day 2 for this prompt, but I'm happy with how this came out. Another entry for @harryandginuary BINGO event.

O 63: “I’m having the worst day and you've just handed me an envelope with…”

Read it here on AO3!

Rated: Mature

***

The rain is incessant. 

Everything is saturated with it. Weeks and weeks of staking out this post in the neverending rain, hoping that the dark wizards responsible for a string of muggle disappearances would finally, finally make a move and reveal themselves. The intelligence was good. They were sure. This was the right location. All that was left was to wait. 

And wait.

And wait. 

And wait. 

And Harry was so tired of waiting in this fucking rain, and on today of all fucking days, that he was legitimately considering if being an Auror was really worth it. He couldn't just walk away without consequences. He may have saved the wizarding world from the worst dark wizard in a generation (which, the rational part of him that wasn't quite soaked through with rain reminded him was not a card he would ever play), he still didn't have the standing to just walk away from an unfavorable post. He was a junior Auror. He was only just out of his training and had only just achieved Auror status. So he was stuck with no choice but to wait. 

And wait. 

And wait. 

And wait. 

And what's worse is they just received word from Robards that they would have to keep waiting because the intelligence still suggested this was the place they needed to be and the targets were close and they just had to wait and I swear to Merlin I cannot wait in this fucking rain anymore. 

"Auror Potter!" 

Despite the fact that Harry was younger and had less training, Junior Auror Jeffrey Wilson insisted on referring to Harry in a tone and with an honorific that placed Harry at a higher level of seniority. In fact, several of the Junior Aurors referred to him this way. Harry gritted his teeth at the continued use of the title. 

"It's just Harry." 

"Right, sir. Sorry, sir." 

"No, Jeff. Not sir. Just Harry." 

"Oh. Uh, right, si- Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Did you need something, Jeff?" 

"Oh! Yes, sir." Harry bit back the angry retort at the use of sir again, and took the item Jeff was holding out to him. "A letter came for you." 

"A letter?" Harry looked dubiously at the envelope in his hands. "I thought they were blocking our post." 

"I don't know, sir. It came with our weekly rations from the Ministry, not by owl. Seems to be for you, though." 

Harry looked down at the letter in his hands, and his heart warmed at the familiar script that curled and twisted into his name. “Jeff, you are officially my favorite person here.” 

“Oh, thank you, sir! That’s wonderful!” Harry stifled a groan at the man’s overreaction to his offhand comment. “Uh, sir? What did I do?”

“It’s just Harry, Jeff. Not sir.” Why did he bother correcting him when it seemed like he would never learn. “It’s just that it’s my birthday-”

“Oh, happy birthday, sir!”

“-and we are stuck out here in the rain on this awful stakeout. I’m having the worst day, and you've just handed me an envelope with a letter from the love of my life. It’s just about the best present you could have given me.” 

“Oh, well you’re welcome, sir.” Harry shot him a glare that caused him to stagger a step under its weight. “Uh, Harry. You’re welcome Harry.” He scurried away swiftly after that. 

Harry flipped the letter over and broke the seal. He was immediately surrounded with the comforting scent of warm treacle tart, the earthy scent of a broomstick handle, and the flowery scent that had him momentarily transported back home to his bed and wrapped in Ginny’s arms again. He didn’t know how she managed to package everything he loved into this little paper box, but he was nearly overcome with longing, desire, and gratitude before even opening the letter inside. 

He removed the letter from the envelope, fingers trembling slightly. He unfolded it, and began to read: 

My love, 

I miss you so much that I don’t even know where to start. Remember to thank Robards for allowing me to include it in the supplies. I may or may not have yelled at him that the man who saved the whole wizarding world, including Robard’s own useless ass, deserved to receive at least a letter on his birthday. I’m not even a little sorry for doing it either. 

Mum wants to have a party for you as soon as you’re back, so she’s requiring everyone to keep Saturday evenings free until you get back. That resulted in a (not so) small amount of muttering about wasted weekends, but you know mum who shut them all up quickly. I only hope that she does not preemptively prepare a feast every Saturday just in case you turn up at the last minute. I don’t know if I have the heart to tell her that if you do show up without warning on a Saturday that we will not be making an appearance at a party that same night. Honestly, she may have birthed seven kids, but I am not prepared to discuss sex plans with my mother. 

Hermione helped me charm this letter so that it smells like Amortentia to whoever holds it. I hope you like it, and I hope it reminds you of that weekend we spent at Grimmauld Place during Christmas of my seventh year. If it didn’t, I hope that’s what you’re thinking of now.

Did I ever tell you my Amortentia smelled like? I don’t think I got a chance, since that was during my sixth year and you were away. I smell yeast dough and cinnamon, like the cinnamon buns that mum makes on Christmas morning. I smell the crisp, clean scent of new clothes and new shoes. And finally, I smell you, which is vaguely spicy and and dark, with earthy tones to it, like your Auror robes smell like when you return from long trips. I can still remember walking into Slughorn’s classroom and nearly being thrown backwards by the smell of it. It smelled of you so strongly that I searched for you in that room before I realized that it was a potion and not the real thing.

Writing this letter to you is bringing up all kinds of memories of my seventh year, while I was at Hogwarts and you were always just an owl away. I know it was only a few years ago, but I feel like we were such different people then. In that first year after the war, we were so broken down and struggling to come to terms with the post-war world. I’m proud of us for figuring out together how to navigate this new world. After the summer we spent barely apart, I thought we could never deal with just letters and a few Hogsmede trips, but it was leagues better than the year prior. 

I cannot wait for you to be home again. I’ve thought extensively on what that first day would be like when you finally return. I would feed you first, of course, because I know that you always come home from missions hungry. Something light, I think. Sandwiches, maybe, full of crisp green lettuce and juicy tomatoes. Then, I would take you upstairs, peel all of your clothes off and draw us a warm bath.

Do you remember the bath we took together after the Quidditch game against the Tornados my first year on the Harpies? We lost so miserably, and I was so worn down from the match. You took me in the bath, filled with rose oil and petals, and rubbed down all of my sore and tired muscles until I was putty in your lap. Then you made love to me slowly while the water cooled around us, and I swear that I have never orgasmed as hard as I did that night. I’ve been revisiting that memory a lot these last few weeks while you’ve been away, particularly when I’m alone in that great big bathtub, and my hand slips underneath the water and between my legs… 

Did I mention I miss you? Because I do. Touching myself never feels as good as when you touch me. 

I hope you come home again soon. I've been keeping busy with my training schedule during the day, but my nights are empty without you. I've been spending some nights with mum and dad or Ron and Hermione because I hate being here when you are so far away. 

I miss you, and I'll be here planning for the night you come home until I see you again. 

Yours eternally, 

Ginny

Harry reread the letter twice more, then held the paper to his chest and breathed in deeply the scents of Ginny and home. The letter was wonderful, but it also left him feeling empty. Reading her words wasn't half as good as having her in his arms. 

Harry looked up and caught movement at the house they've been watching for weeks. He waited another minute and, sure enough, it's what they've been carefully waiting and watching and hoping to find. 

Wait for me, Gin, he thought as he foldrd the letter and sounded the silent alarm. I'll be home tonight.

[wlntrsldler]

“You’re in love” (song) x Fred Weasley

PROMPT: based on you are in love by taylor swift (an installment of my taylor swift x harry potter series. to read more about it, click here) The three times Fred knew he loved you and the one time he said it. 

A/N: i did NOT come up with this prompt but i really loved this idea so i wrote my own version of it!! credit to whoever started it first ❤️

WC: 3K+

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

-

you are in love (f.w one shot)

The first time Fred realized he loved you was in his 5th year, right before everyone said their farewells for the holiday season. It was the last Hogsmeade trip of the year, snow falling softly around everyone’s body, and a chill in the air that made everyone want to snuggle up beside the fireplace in their house common rooms. George and Lee left the two of you alone, hoping that the romantic ambiance of the holiday season would finally give Fred the confidence to tell you how he felt. 

And Fred tried, Merlin, did Fred try. He spent the whole afternoon talking to himself in the mirror, practicing his lines so he wouldn’t stumble on his words. He didn’t have a problem talking to you as he normally does; you were his best friend after all, like George and Lee, but once he tries to tell you that you make his heart beat faster, make butterflies flood his stomach, and makes him lose all his senses. George had to drag him out of the room, complaining about waiting in the common room for “fifteen bloody minutes” already. 

Eventually, he met you and Lee at the front gates of Hogwarts and walked with you to Hogsmeade. The entire day, he felt so jittery, like he couldn’t stay still. You remained oblivious to the fact that Fred was about ready to burst from the inside from how nervous he was. Lee and George, on the other hand, couldn’t contain their laughter. By the time the sky began to fade into the night sky, George and Lee decided that now was as good of a time than ever and made up an excuse to leave the two of you alone. 

Now here you were, walking beside Fred, bundled up in your house scarf, and the cutest red blush on the tip of your nose. You readjusted your beanie, looking up at him to start conversation. Fred felt his words get stuck in his throat, unable to remember how to speak with you staring up at him with the twinkle of oblivion in your eye. 

“Freddie?” you giggled, bumping shoulders with him. You wrapped an arm around yourself, the chills from the Winter air growing harsher as you walked closer to the castle. “Am I that boring that you can’t even pay attention to my blabbering?” 

“Godric, no,” he blushed, finally able to string words together. Without thought, he wrapped an arm around your body, shielding you from the cold. You melted into him, sighing in content. Fred swore his heart swelled three times its size. 

The snow crunched under your boots as you walked up the path. The lights lining the cobblestone street gave a yellow tint to the sight. He walked with you in silence but in his head, he was going over exactly what he wanted to say. This was the perfect time. The snow falling slowly from the sky, little snowflakes tangled in the strands of your hair. You were pressed up against his chest, so close to him that he could smell your perfume, sweet and addicting. There were no other students around, all too eager to find sanctuary in warmth that the castle brought. It was the perfect time. 

He stopped walking, halting you with him. He let you go for a moment, taking a deep breath in and slowly let it out. You watched as the cloud of fog escaped his lips and dispersed into the air. His red hair poked out from under his hoodie, matted on his forehead. Fred looked down at his wet boots, kicking around snow that pooled around the soles. Finally, he looked up, taking your two hands into his palms in the process. 

You smiled at the gesture, your heart fluttering in your chest. You looked at him, offering a comforting look as you raised your eyebrows up in suspicion, “What’s up, Freddie?”

And just like that, all of the words he worked so hard to conjure up, slipped right out of his mind. When he saw you looking up at him, eyebrows raised, cheeks and nose tinted with a light shade of pink, and your lips plump and red, he realized that there were no words to describe what it was he felt about you. You watched him in silence, studying the way he gave you a lopsided smile when you tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. He leaned into your touch, letting out another sigh of relief. 

“Nothing,” he finally spoke, letting go of your hands. He wrapped his arm around you again, hoping you won’t hear the marching of his heart in his chest. “You’re my best friend.” 

-

The second time he realized he loved you was when you spent the summer at the Burrow with him and his family. You were outside the house with Ginny and Hermione, talking about who knows what, and you threw your head back in laughter. The sound of your voice was the only thing he could hear, despite the bustling noise of the other inhabitants of the Burrow.

He stood beside his mother, washing the dishes, as he looked out the window, a smile playing on his lips. Molly watched in adoration as her son stared at the woman he loved, gently nudging Fred with his elbow as she dried the plates. 

Fred snapped out of his thought, blinking rapidly before taking the dried plate from his mother’s hand. “Huh?”

“Truly, Fred, when will you just tell Y/N how you feel?”

He ducked his head, blushing furiously that another one of his family members caught onto his affections, “What are you talking about, mother?” 

“I gave birth to you, boy,” Molly scolded, picking up another wet plate to dry. “I know you.” 

“I’ll tell her soon.” 

“Blimey, Fred,” a voice whistled from behind them. Molly and Fred turned around, seeing Ron munching on a biscuit as he leaned on the door. “You’ve been saying that for like a year now. How soon can soon be?” 

Fred walked over to Ron, hitting him with the rolled up towel he was using to dry. “Shut it, you git. I’ll tell Y/N when you have the guts to tell Moine how you feel.” 

The younger boy’s eyes widened, immediately growing flustered at the mention of Hermione. Molly stood by the sink, arms crossed as she watched the two boys argue and fight. She cleared her throat, “Both of you need to tell them how you feel.”  

As the two boys continued to bicker, the three girls made their way inside, Ginny smirking to herself as she knew exactly what was going on. She’s been around her brothers long enough to know that Ron was head over heels for Hermione and Fred could never shut up about you. Wanting to embarrass them, she spoke up, “Tell who?”

Fred froze in the spot, hearing the smug tone dripping from his sister’s words. He looked at her, sending a glare her way, before giving you a kind smile. He scoffed, “Mind your business, Gin.” 

Your heart sunk in your chest, thinking about Fred having feelings for someone. It wasn’t hard to notice that you had fallen in love with the older twin. Your touch on his arm lingered a bit too long, you stared at him in pure adoration, and you always looked for him everywhere you went. It was a shock that he never caught on. Unbeknownst to you, he was too busy trying to conceal his own feelings to even notice yours. 

You sent him a tight-lipped smile, unable to stop thinking about the possibility that Fred is in love with someone else. Truth be told, she would probably be smitten with him too. Who wouldn’t be? Fred is amazing and everyone was able to see that. He could make you laugh more than anyone else could. He’s so caring and careful with you, like one wrong move and he’d break you like you were made of fine china. He was adventurous, a contrast to your more reserved personality. Fred was amazing. Any girl would be lucky to have him. 

You didn’t realize that you stood in the middle of the kitchen as everyone else excused themselves or made themselves busy. Ginny and Ron already walked out, muttering something about bothering Harry. Hermione struck up a conversation with Molly, now taking Fred’s place in helping with the dishes. Fred stood in front of you, arm reaching out to touch you. He cocked his head to the side as if asking you what’s on your mind. 

Fred grabbed a hold of your hand, pulling you into his chest. He felt your uneasiness, and although he didn’t know what caused it, he knew it was up to him to make you feel better. So without saying anything else, he wrapped both of his arms around you, letting you rest your cheek on his chest. He kissed your temple and rocked you back and forth, not even caring that Molly and Hermione were staring at the both of you. 

As he looked down at the girl on his chest, he realized this is what he wanted for the rest of his life. He loved you. 

-

The third time he realized he loved you was after the war. After all of the casualties and his accident, that almost cost him his life, his life was turned upside down. He woke up the next morning only to find out that you skipped town the night before. You left with no note, no notice, no anything. He just woke up to an empty spot next to him on the makeshift bed they had to make on Hogwarts’ concrete floors. 

It took them two months to start the store up again. When they reopened, the line was out the door, circling around the block. People wanted some happiness after everything that happened. Fred would be lying if he said he didn’t want that either. 

George patted his brother’s back, watching from the staircase as parents bought their children anything they wanted, just happy that they survived the war. Nobody has heard from you in months. All everyone could do was hope and pray that you were safe and doing okay. Not even Hermione heard from you. She probably took it the hardest after Fred. She considered you one of her best friends and it hurt her that you left without saying goodbye, but a part of her also knew that it was probably too much for you. 

Fred knew you were probably out travelling the world, just as you told him many times before. It was your dream, he knew that, but a part of him always thought that he’d be right beside you. Everyday that passed, he cursed himself for not telling you how he felt before you left. Would it have made a difference? He’d like to think so. Even if it didn’t, he, at least, wouldn’t have to live every single day thinking: “What if?” 

The sight was pitiful. George would see him in his office, staring blankly at the picture of the two of you that he framed. He had it perched up on his desk, reminding him of what he could’ve had. George tried to get him to move on, but even he knew Fred was in love with you, and you were someone special to the both of them. Nobody could compare to you and nobody would ever dare try. 

It wasn’t until six months later when you stumbled into their shop, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. A part of you knew you didn’t have the right to be there because you left them with no warning. You wouldn’t blame them if they asked you to leave the premises the minute their eyes landed on you. You knew you deserved the cold shoulder. Merlin, if they were the ones who did that to you, you knew you wouldn’t be so forgiving. 

The shop was fairly busy, kids running around trying to get their hands on everything they wanted before the school year. You saw the displays of the love potion, smiling sadly as you remembered your lonely months alone. Fred consumed your thoughts. He was the only one you could think of when you left. Every little thing reminded you of him. 

You spent a few weeks in Paris, living amongst the Muggles, and watched the sun set behind the Eiffel tower. You would turn to your left, half-expecting Fred to be there, only to be met by an empty space. You went to Greece and ran into the water, laughing freely at your found spirit. You began to search for his laugh behind you, waiting for his arms to pick you up and spin you around in the light of the moon. But then you remembered what you did and you felt sick to your stomach. 

That’s why you came back. You couldn’t take it anymore, not after 6 months of being alone. You knew you needed time but now you needed your friends, your family, your Fred. You wanted nothing else but to bury yourself in his warm embrace and feel his lips kiss the skin of your forehead. You yearned for nothing else. 

Your eyes locked with a pair so familiar. He dropped the vials in his hand, not even caring that the contents spilled down the steps. His jaw was hanging wide, eyes blinking rapidly as if they were playing a trick on him. You smiled at him, unsure of his reaction. 

Fred watched you for a moment before a grin broke out on his face, running and shoving paying customers out the way to pick you up. All the feelings he still had for you, tripled. His heart rumbled in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Even after all this time, he was still so in love with you. 

He began bumping into displays, dropping some of his own merchandise. You squealed when he reached you, his head sitting comfortably in the crook of your neck. His laugh carried throughout the store, disrupting everyone in the vicinity. But he didn’t care. You were home. 

-

It didn’t take long for Fred to tell you how he felt after you came back. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Every moment that he didn’t get to call you his, chipped his heart. His brothers and his sister were growing tired of it, encouraging him to just say it because they were certain you felt the same. Fred tried to ignore them, not wanting to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help but think about how amazing it would feel if you told him you loved him back. 

You just came over to have dinner with the Weasley family, Molly and Arthur insisting that they missed you too much to go out to a restaurant and cut the celebration short. After a hefty meal, you and Fred excused yourselves and walked out into the garden. His hands were in his pockets, unable to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. He’s been practicing what to say to you since Hogwarts and yet, he still felt unprepared. 

You were walking silently beside him, taking in the silence and calmness of the life you’re living now. You no longer had to worry about anything, just the day to day necessities, and your feelings for Fred. Subconsciously, you intertwined your fingers with Fred’s snuggling up to his side for some warmth. 

Fred froze for a moment. This is it, he thought, this is the perfect moment. 

Before he lost his confidence, he spoke, “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, Freddie?” you asked, rubbing your thumb over the top of his hand. “What is it?” 

He held you in your place, stopping in the middle of a field of flowers. The moon illuminated one side of your face, showing off your perfect features. Fred smiled, reaching over to caress your cheekbone. With tears in his eyes, he said, brokenly, “I’m so bloody in love with you.” 

You gasped softly, looking up at him, “What?” 

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Fred sighed, connecting his forehead with yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.” 

In a small whisper, you asked, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I’ve been so afraid of what you’d say.” 

“I love you, too, Freddie.” 

At first he thought his ears were deceiving him. You loved him back? His eyes shot open, pulling away from you as he stared at you in disbelief. “Y-you love me?”

“Yes, you silly boy,” you chuckled, pulling him closer to you. Your lips ghosted over his, causing him to shiver. With your lips dangerously close to his, you continued, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.” 

“I’ve been a down right idiot, haven’t I?” 

“Yeah.” 

And with that, he kissed you. All those years where he hid his feelings came pouring out in this one kiss. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his like there was any more space between the two of you to close. Your arms looped around his neck, allowing him to dip you once one hand snaked down to your waist to steady you. He kissed you, pouring in all his regrets, mistakes, apprehensions, into his love, no longer wanting to pass up an opportunity to love you for the rest of his life. You giggled against his lips as he peppered you with kisses, unable to stop himself. 

Once he stopped, his chest rumbling with laughter like you, he beamed at you. He pecked your lips, one more time, his kiss feather light, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

On your way back to the house, you felt it in the air. The love. It lingered between the two of you, surrounded you and suffocated you, but it was the best feeling in the world. Fred Weasley was in love with you. You are in love.

-

TAGS:

@rexorangecouny

[the-canary]

Springtime in Queens - b.b. (1)

Summary: She’s a regular teacher that he sees every morning. She smiles and it makes Bucky almost believe that he can fall in love again. It’s all part of the ploy anyways. (Modern AU!Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt: ❝What does that say about you?❞ + ❝I’m sure it speaks volumes about my poor choices, my own dishonesty, indecency, and general lack of good character.❞  

A/N: this is for @daenyara writing challenge. this is also part of nyc series. welcome to me writing after a year or so. 

Manhattan is sweltering during the summertime. No matter how pretty the city seemed to be, there was always the lingering smell of something more rancid in the air, even after all the years in the city of her dreams, she as still not used to the smell. The weather was almost the same as home, but sewers and polluted island was not exactly the same as open fields of a small town. 

“Hello,” a voice breaks her thoughts as she glances up to see a woman with cherry red hair and brown eyes, “Are you the Mala?”

She frowns at the pronunciation that rolls of the other woman’s voice. It was a name that she had gained from her first accidental job and has stayed true to its course of all the other woman she had helped. She wasn’t truly a bad person, though not everyone she had hurt and deceived would say that. 

She states her name as a replacement. The red-haired women corrects herself and smiles before sitting down, “Jenny said you were the best at your job. I am willing to pay triple your amount to find out if my ex was cheating on me. I mean, why would he want to get rid of all this.” 

She decides to take a drink of her coffee instead of answering the question, as the redhead motions to her body -- manicured nails, perfectly styled hair, and smelling of Gucci.

She understand a bit as to why after doing this for so long. 

“What is his name?” she questions. The woman gives her a snake-like smile at her question, noting that she is a woman who simply wants to get down to business.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” 

Coin Café was a little far from Bucky’s hunting ground, but he was just so used to the expresso to keep him awake when he needed to make it through the work day. So, two days a week, he manages to wake up earlier than usual and grabbed his drink and pasty before taking the subway back to his job. However, there was slowly --as summer gave way to the coolness of fall-- a new thing that caught his attention with the little coffee shop. 

“A large--” the voice goes on with its order in front of Bucky. She was there on the two days that he came into the shop and she tended to order the same thing -- a large of whatever she wanted and a pack of sweets. 

There was  lot of things he wanted to say, to ask about the pretty face that did not seem to leave his mind for the rest of the day. However, he had been bettered and bruised in the last relationship he had been in some time ago. Dorothy had been in cruel in the name of loving him, which was something he had still not gotten over. 

So, daydreams stayed as they were...in his jacket pocket until he forgot about it all over again. A cruel case of what could be, and he was sure that his younger self would laugh at him. 

However, things do not always play like a person tends to think they will. Bucky steps forward after the woman grabs her items from the cashier and leaves. It is then that he feels it -- a quick glance in his direction before she is out the door. 

Bucky is confused for a moment, before he begins to give the young barista his regular order. His confusion is finally answered when the barista stops him from pulling out his credit card. 

“The woman before you paid for your order,” the barista states with a smile and a shrug, like she could not have stopped her from doing so and it leaves Bucky dumbstruck for a moment. 

He is out of the shop five minutes earlier than usual with a huge grin on his face as he stares at his cup of black coffee. 

“Damn,” is all he can say to himself.

His heart swelling at the prospect of what all this could mean more than he would like it to.

[brattyfics]

drunk dialing | writer wednesday

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!OFC

Summary: Angel's ex-girlfriend gives him a call one night when she has too much to drink.

Tags: Angst, Toxic!Angel, Unresolved Feelings, Alcohol Consumption.

Word Count: 1.5k

1:16.

“She doesn’t need anymore.”

The words barely register over the hustle and bustle of the packed sports bar. Basketball reruns play on the television, old school r&b blaring over the loudspeakers. The bartender takes one look at Summer and the way her frame is slumped over just slightly, the way her dark brown eyes have glazed over, and nods his agreement. From their places on barstools, her friends thank him, not-so-subtly sneaking glances at Summer from the corners of their eyes. She can’t bring herself to care. They don’t understand. She’s drowning in the liquor but also an ocean of misery. The waves steadily pull her down further at each turn.

No one understands, so she takes special care to savor the dark amber liquid as it burns her from the inside out.

2:29.

Last call in the state of California is 1:30 am for any establishment that sells alcohol. Businesses like the bar that so graciously hosts Summer and her friends can stay open later, and they usually do. Most patrons abide by state law, using the time to sober up by stuffing themselves with greasy foods-- pizza, fries, chicken wings. Instead of drinking, they make plans to come back and meet up with the strangers they have become fast friends with or say goodbye to their college buddies in town for the weekend.

If You Think You’re Lonely Now plays as patrons began to shuffle out. Summer hums along.

If you think you’re lonely now, huh

Wait until tonight, girl (If you think you’re lonely now)

I’ll be long gone (You just wait until tonight girl)

And you’ll never find another man that’ll treat ya’ right

And then there are the lonely.

The ones at the bar every evening without fail, using it as home in place of the one they lack. They slide the servers bribes, crisp and crumpled twenty dollar bills across the bar top. She watches with tired eyes as they slide shot glasses back in exchange. Summer thinks she would try her luck if it weren’t for the mother hens watching over her with careful eyes. Her friends-- Aliyah, Jasmine, and Nia already think she’s a ticking time bomb. The last thing she needs to do is give them the ammunition they need to call her an alcoholic.

3:34.

It takes a while for the bar to clear out. Nia has to use the bathroom at the last minute, complaining about it being filthy when she returns. Jasmine mutters an obviously while Summer pitifully sips the last remnants of her drink. The melted ice cubes ruin it, she can’t taste the bourbon at all, but every little drop counts, right?

Summer refuses the hand offered to her by Aliyah as they stumble out into the parking lot. Aliyah hovers with her arms poised to catch her just in case. Nia absentmindedly plays a card game on her phone behind them, and Jasmine heads up the group, her keys noisily jingling as she swings them back and forth. She’s the designated driver and the only one sober enough to drive.

It’s a typical summer night in California, dry but cold and windy, so they quicken their pace. With every step, Bobby Womack’s crooning is stuck on replay in Summer’s mind. The lyrics resonate with her…

When it’s cold outside who are you holding?

...and she’s about to voice her thoughts when she sees it.

“Is that a phone booth?!” The words come out more hysterical than probably they should. Sure, it’s been like ten years since she’s seen one in person, and she didn’t know they still existed, so she’s a little excited and a lot drunk, but it’s just a phone booth. One that’s narrow and brightly lit in the midnight blue of the night. Aliyah, who forgot her glasses at home, squints at the white blob until she can make out its shape.

“I think it is.” She sounds a little mystified herself, and that’s all the encouragement Summer needs in her state. One minute she’s cheesing wide, and the next, she’s sprinting across the street towards the phone booth, giggling and tugging her short dress down the whole way.

The girls yell after her, but she tunes them out, snatching the ice cold phone off the hook. She’s even more enamored when she pulls the heavy metal to her ear and hears the dial tone.

It works!

High heels click loudly behind her. Summer turns just in time to see the girls come to a stop behind her, out of breath and unamused. Jasmine leans over and rests her forearms on her knees. “What the hell?” She hisses, glaring daggers at her friend. Summer ignores her, punching the chunky silver buttons like she’s in a trance. Even inebriated, she knows them by heart. One number after the other, she dials the one person she knows she shouldn’t.

Angel Reyes.

She vaguely registers her friends telling her to put the phone down. She knows that she’s making a mistake, but the armor she wears to protect herself from the world is too heavy. She strips it away, her inhibitions lowered. All she wants is him.

Ring...

“She’s been drinking. We should do something.” Sweet Aliyah is always the voice of reason. Nia sounds bored and over the situation. “This is so dumb.” Jasmine tugs on her arm. “Come on. You’re drunk.”

Ring…

“There’s no harm in a phone call, right?” Aliyah says, but her voice is shaky. She’s wrong, and they all know it.

Ri--

“Hello?” The reception is shitty, and the volume in the earpiece low, but with one word, Summer’s hooked all over again. She doesn’t say anything for several moments, the sound of her harsh breathing the only thing that transmits. There’s a long, tense moment where Summer tries to convince herself to hang up, but then Angel says, “Baby, is this you?” She hates the sob she releases into the phone from the simple words. She draws her bottom lip into her mouth to quiet the sound. Her girlfriends freeze, unsure of what to do.

“Y-yeah, it’s me.”

“You been drinking, mami?”

“Maybe.” Summer sways, and Aliyah is there, using her arm to prop her best friend up. It’s a silent act of support, a reminder that Angel isn’t and shouldn’t be the center of her universe. She has supportive friends, a loving family. She doesn’t need him.

“Where you at? I’ll come get you.” She doesn’t need him, but she’s tempted to tell him to meet her back at Jasmine’s place. It’s only a ten-minute ride from his place, five minutes if he speeds the way she knows he does.

Speeds the way he did when she caught him at Vicki’s with Adelita. He had been acting shady for months, whispering on the phone, keeping odd hours. She had felt like a crazy woman when she put the tracker on his bike, but her intuition was validated when she saw his location. She followed him, expecting to find him with one of Vicki’s girls. Instead, she found him there with Adelita and her protruding belly, rubbing it with his large, ringed hands like a doting father. Like they were some happy fucking family.

Summer had nearly lost her mind, knocking over furniture, breaking bottles from behind the bar. Luckily for them, EZ caught her wrist and restrained her. The sight of Angel shielding that woman, protecting her when he hadn’t protected her feelings, was ingrained in her mind. Realizing that all the men she regarded highly and looked up to as older brothers and uncles had been lying, and helping Angel hide his cheating, was something she would never forget.

Being betrayed like that should have been enough to make her stop loving him, but... it just wasn’t. Summer often found herself wondering what was wrong with her. Why did she pine after a man that hurt her so badly? Sure, Angel’s handsome, and funny, and sweet, and really, really good in bed, but he’s not good. Not for Summer.

She sniffles into the phone, “I don’t want you to. I don’t want you.” She tries to will the words to be true, but the tears gliding down her face tell a different story.

“Why call me then?”

“Too much liquor.”

He snorts out a laugh but then pauses as if considering something. “Yeah, me too.” Summer swears she can make out the sound of Gilly shouting something in the background, but maybe she’s so drunk that she’s imagining things. Maybe she’s making it all up in her head because she longs for their relationship back. She always finds herself back at square one when it comes to Angel, wishing things could go back to how they were, that she could erase all the bad and keep all the good.

You see the night's the time when the needs come out

When your needs come out to breathe

And the jonesing starts and there ain't no way you can sleep, ooh

“You hurt me.” Summer doesn’t bother to hide her bitterness. She knows Angel won’t acknowledge the words because the only pain he can recognize is his own.

“Summer, why are you calling?” His voice has an edge to it this time. He’s daring her to make a decision, pick a side. Either she wants to be with him, or she doesn’t. His gruff tone, the callousness with which he says the words should make her want to turn away from him.

Instead, it makes her heart lurch.

She feels desperate to hold onto him, so she says, “'Cause I-I...I love you.”

Notes: The prompt is from @autumnleaves1991-blog Weekly Writing Challenge. Summer Walker - Drunk Dialing...LODT & Bobby Womack - If You Think You’re Lonely Now inspired this fic. Let's all pretend you don't have to pay to use a pay phone lol. Do you like to see moodboards/covers for fics? Please let me know. Hope you all enjoy!

General Taglist:

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903

Angel Reyes:

@claytoncardenasbabymama @adaydreamaway08

[seventfics]

Autumn Birds

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: We fell in love, but your previous lover reappeared/returned Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier (w/ past!Geralt/Eskel and past!Geralt/Jaskier) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow. 

Read on AO3

* * *

They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

Jaskier had heard of a witcher staying in town and, as was his prerogative since his acquaintance with a certain White Wolf, he’d ventured to see what the man was all about. It was not so often one got to meet someone of their caste. Why not have a little courage to break the ice himself?

The whispers spoke of a witcher with a terribly scarred face. Two swords strapped over his back, their pommels shaped into wolf heads. The women said he had a voice like a dog’s growl, so grave that when he spoke, it made children cry.

He thought that last bit was rather mean, and followed the trail of curses into a grimy tavern where a fight was about to break out.

“You promised fifty.”

“The best I can do is half.”

Jaskier’s hand freezes on the door. Whatever he’s come to doesn’t look good. The witcher’s back is to him, his padded shoulders raised with tension. The village’s alderman paces in front of him, fuming over a contract’s fee. There’s a few antsy people in the crowd too. The anger written on their faces makes him nervous.

He’s seen how this ends a dozen times. It’s gotten his own arse kicked butting into the middle of a witcher’s bargaining, actually.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Jaskier interjects boisterously from the doorframe anyway. “This is no mood for drink and cheer. Calm your spirits with a little of the former—”

The alderman grumbles under his breath about merry idiots meddling in what they shouldn’t. “Shut up, bard. This here’s serious business. And I’m not about to be robbed by a witcher’s ridiculous high prize.”

“It’s not ridiculous. The contract says fifty, and,” the witcher stops to lift the bloody stump of a water hag’s head, “it’s already done.”

“That contract was up weeks ago. The reward’s gone down. You’re lucky half’s on the table at all.”

The witcher grunts—a familiar sound to Jaskier’s ears which translates to wordless annoyance—and drops the head on the floor. “You’re lucky the hag didn’t move closer into the village in that time.”

“Is that a threat?”

At the rising outrage in his tone, Jaskier slips closer to stare at the alderman over the witcher’s swordless shoulder. “Ah, I believe the witcher means more of your people would have died, had he not taken care of the problem so promptly. The reward hardly sounds like an unreasonable amount. I could get twice as much on a profitable eve of singing. In fact,” he flips to the witcher, who does not yet deign to look back at his unforeseen defender, “I could turn this place around and earn us both a decent share in one night. I’m no fop on the job!”

It’s then that the witcher looks towards him, but the bard only manages a quick glimpse of an incredulous set of eyebrows before the alderman starts shouting.

“Get out! Both of you! Out of my town or I’ll have the dogs chase you out!”

They both take that as their leave, Jaskier with a bit more speed in his jog.

At the outskirts the witcher turns fully, and at the sight of his whole face Jaskier almost gasps out loud. A long scar runs through his cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, and over his lips. It puckers the skin all around it, disfiguring half of his face.

Whatever caused that scar must have hurt a lot.

The witcher shifts in place, quiet for a long second as Jaskier does his best to hide his nerves. “I’m sorry to have involved you.”

“Oh, please, don’t be. I involved myself. Jaskier’s the name, by the way,” he introduces himself, hand extended in greeting.

The witcher scratches the back of his head. His lips twist to one side, bashful. One of his teeth peeks through the scarred tissue over his mouth. “Uh. Eskel.” He takes the offered hand and shakes it.

It’s the firmest handshake Jaskier has ever received.

“Well, Eskel. Are you short on coin? Because so am I.”

The snort he gets is—soft. Not at all like the gruff from before, with the alderman.

“I’m not doing too bad, I’d say. Just currently fifty short of what I expected to have at the end of the day.”

"How about I help with that? I wasn't lying when I said I could earn both a decent share, given the right crowd."

It's the sunset hour, and the leaves were falling on top of them. Everything is gold. The sky, the trees. Eskel’s eyes when they blink at him and he breaks into a genuine laugh.

Jaskier knows he’s a romantic. His heart flutters every odd day over strangers with pretty smiles. He’s just never seen such a shy, sweet smile on someone with such an intimidating facade.

Making him smile again became a personal quest.

* * *

At the next town over, Eskel speaks to the alderman there. This one is more reasonable at least, and up front about the sort of beast that lurks in the northern farms. Which brings up a whole new conversation as Jaskier doesn’t part from Eskel’s side despite the obvious danger.

Eskel grunts and sits him down, not unlike the times Geralt tried—and failed—to convince him to stay put. Jaskier just blinks his pretty blue eyes and says, “and how will I write a song of your prowess in battle if I am not there to witness it?”

“This is a dangerous contract, bard. It would be best if you let me handle it alone.”

“Oh no. No, no, I’ve heard that before a dozen times.”

Eskel pauses at that. “What?”

“I am perfectly capable of staying out of your way.”

The wyvern they encounter says otherwise.

To be fair, he had done a good job of staying out of the witcher’s way for most of the fight. It is only when the beast slams its tail into Eskel’s side on a backswing that Jaskier shouts in worry from his hiding place and brings undue attention to himself.

Wind whips around him for a split second, scattering dust into his eyes. It takes a moment to wipe them clean so of course he doesn’t see the great shadow flying at him. Doesn't realize the immediate need to hide or flee for his life until a giant claw snatches him by the bunched fabric on his back.

Jaskier's stomach plummets as he soars up. The ground recedes. His clothes start to rip. This is it, he panic-screams in his mind, this is his final day. Either as monster food or a blood splatter on a rock, his time has come.

A severe overreaction, and his own mistake for not trusting in a witcher's skill. He doesn't realize it in all, what with all his flailing about, but Eskel fires a crossbow bolt perfectly at the wyvern’s eye.

The beast screeches terribly loud in his ears. It flaps its wings once, twice, before twisting midair and letting him go.

They both fall, but Eskel catches him.

By the silence that follows after an earth-shaking crunch, he knows the witcher's won. Victory is not immediately on his mind, though. The way his sight spins and the sun paints a halo behind Eskel's hair, Jaskier dumbly thinks, oh—I've quite literally fallen in love.

“See?” he says instead, breathless with terror at almost having died, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Eskel raises a thick brow at him. And he's smiling too, the bard thinks. Could just be the scar making it look like a lopsided smile, but he wants to believe that he's made the witcher smile again with his foolish sense of humor.

“Are you alright? The tail,” Jaskier frets once his vision settles. Some of these monsters have poisoned stingers on the end of their tails. Are wyverns one of them?

But Eskel waves him down before he can consider the worst. “Relax. I cast Quen in time.”

“That’s a, uh, magic shield, right?”

Surprise colors Eskel's features. So it seems he's right. A point of pride on Jaskier's belt for remembering witcher signs.

Getting proof of a contract well done takes the witcher a good minute to collect. Wyvern skin is tough. The head would normally satisfy as proof, but it's too heavy to be lugging around town. He will have to make do with the wing tips. Should they question him, the remains aren't going anywhere.

“Come on, bard. Time to get our day's work done. And after that, we're going west.”

“'We'?” Something about the proclamation has his heart beating fast.

“'Course. I'm not letting you out of my sight now.”

He makes a show of bowing dramatically. “I wouldn’t want to be elsewhere.”

* * *

“You’re a friend of Geralt’s.”

Jaskier looks up from his notes.

Traveling with someone is always interesting—with a witcher even more so. So far he's learned that Eskel has far more routines than Geralt ever did, like counting his coin at the end of every week, and making sure he has two of every potion ready.

Jaskier quirks a half-smile. “I am. How did you figure? I never said his name.”

“Your song.” He points to the scribbled mess on his lap. “Or, I guess your work in progress. I see an expression he uses a lot, that he learned from me.”

“Oh?”

Eskel sits by him and nods, as if finally understanding Jaskier’s odd ease partnering with a witcher, and starts the story of where the expression in his handwriting originated from.

It’s funny at first, imagining a much younger, somehow more foolish Geralt together with this huge, frightening man who is not frightening at all to talk to. Eskel speaks so softly, so tenderhearted about the old memory—two boys, witchers-to-be, practically joined at the hip, making crude jokes. So he reciprocates with a tale of where he comes from, as destiny deigned to put them in each other’s paths.

As it happens, a lot of their first stories aren’t even their own, but Geralt’s.

And Eskel has many more over his. He’s more than happy to share them over camp.

Some of it leaves Jaskier’s throat aching. This is someone who clearly cares about his big grumpy friend. It's someone he can understand.

Then Eskel claps a bare hand on his back, his thumb and forefinger a hot press just under his nape, and oh, he’s more than a little foolishly in love actually, as his head is emptied of all reason at the small touch.

“Am I to become your travel bard,” Jaskier quips with an airy giggle. “I’m excellent entertainment at parties.”

“Not for long. It’s almost winter. Soon I’ll have to head north to meet my brothers.”

His heart sinks. “Oh.”

Eskel squeezes his shoulder with careful strength. “You better keep out of trouble while I’m gone, you hear?”

“Of course. I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“No, trouble just finds you.”

Well, if ‘trouble’ is a scarred, smirking witcher, he sure hopes that to be true.

* * *

They meet again when the trees are just beginning to color with spring blooms.

There is also a griffin tearing through the town's cattle, but that’s besides the point. Easily dealt with. Which is good, seeing as Jaskier had been near the scene and probably next on the menu. No one had told him about the griffin, so really. He's just as surprised to find Eskel as he is about the beast.

“You alright, bard?”

“I am now.”

Matter resolved, Jaskier walks in step next to Eskel. The town opens before them, welcoming the witcher not with smiles, but grudging gratitude.

“You sure? Trouble didn’t come knocking while I was gone?”

“Only a man with a lover’s grudge come to kick my ass out of a wonderfully luxurious establishment. Didn’t even get to enjoy the hot bath I paid for, which is such a terrible waste of hot water.”

A deep hum comes out of the witcher. “A lover’s grudge?”

“Just a past dalliance that won’t forget me.”

Eskel stops and shifts on his feet, like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know how to start.

Oh, witchers and their awkward conversation skills.

“You know what, I’m starving. I think a good, hearty meal is owed between us. What do you say we go collect your reward and we break fast at the alderman’s recommendation?”

“We don’t have to get the coin right now. I could go for some food.”

“First tavern we see then. Come on.”

Right as he says it, he wraps his arm around Eskel’s, and maybe he’s just being too obvious, too hopeful, but Eskel doesn’t shrug him off. They make their way to a large and welcoming tavern, him talking his head off about the barn smell that permeates the whole town and ignoring the dark looks people give them down the street, as Eskel listens, not a word coming from his mouth. It worries Jaskier a minute that he’s becoming more annoyance than the teasing meddler he wants to be. But Eskel is just scratching his chin, looking down and letting Jaskier lead.

When it becomes clear that Eskel doesn’t have any rented lodgings yet, Jaskier offers his own. “I’m sure the innkeeper won’t mind us bunking if we pay for two, at the end of our stay.”

Eskel doesn't say no. He also doesn't say yes. It takes them finally being settled in a table of their own, full of fruits, cheese and bread, neither of them taking the first bite to eat, for Jaskier to nervously ask, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” comes the too-quick response.

“If I overstepped in some way, please tell me.”

“It’s nothing like that, I—uh.” Eskel shakes his head, his expression scrunched up unpleasantly.

“Whatever it is, I won’t be offended.”

He's already writing a million apologies in his head for any of his imagined offenses, that he's not quite prepared for what Eskel says instead.

“You are...different from what I expected.”

Jaskier blinks. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You’re just. Human. You’re normal.” He makes a point of gesturing at the table, the people keeping their distance. “I don’t get why you do all this for me.”

It's slow-creeping, but once the pieces align, Jaskier starts to understand what he means. That confusion, he’s known it with Geralt. Why do you stick with me? What does a witcher have to offer a human that isn’t the service of a silver sword? What does a human want with a mutant when there are plenty of other ordinary, uncomplicated folk in the world to have for company?

“Because you’re a good man,” he tells the witcher gently. “Because you saved my life and I want to repay you in kind. Most reasonably of all, because we’re friends, and friends take care of each other.”

Of course there’s more to it than that, but if a friend is all Eskel wants, then a friend he shall be.

The rumble of the tavern fills the air as Eskel stares at him a little wide-eyed. Jaskier gives him a slight smile. As a close, he pushes the platter of cheese forward with an encouraging, “now eat your fill, my friend.”

Once Eskel returns his smile, he thinks that, well, that everything will turn out alright.

And they’re happy eating their food when Geralt shows up for the griffin that’s already dead.

At his distinct silhouette, Eskel stands up. “White Wolf.”

“Eskel,” Geralt calls back gravely.

They clasp arms and pat each other’s shoulders in sync. It might not seem like much to outsiders, but what a rare sight to behold—two witchers, two mirrored grins on both their faces.

Eskel is the first to part from the hug with a chiding, “You didn’t come for winter.”

“I know. I had a lot going on. Saw your handiwork hooked to your horse’s saddle.” Then he looks down, and spots Eskel's table company. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt.”

Their held eye-contact feels longer than it is. Looking away, Jaskier half expects the whole tavern to be staring at them, but as it turns out, no one cares to pay the witchers and their odd bard any attention now that the monster's been dealt with. It's just him, imagining his heart hanging out of his sleeve for everyone to judge.

And maybe Eskel senses something's up between them, because he leaves them with the excuse to collect his coin.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jaskier says after Geralt takes Eskel's abandoned seat. “Have you really been so busy that you couldn’t let your friends know you were alive?”

Geralt's silence is its own answer—a little shame, a little remorse. He remembers how Eskel had said that as time went on, Geralt just, lost touch. There had been something heavy in Eskel’s eyes when he said it, and Jaskier had felt it in his soul. Now he understands why. Him and Eskel, they'd both gone through the same impossible task of loving someone who doesn’t believe he can be loved.

By gods, he still loves Geralt, but Geralt's heart is a rusty cage, and neither of them can coax the old bird that lives in it anymore. Soft words and gentle promises have run their course.

“So,” the witcher starts, “you and Eskel? Didn't know you knew each other.”

“Maybe if you’d met either of us during winter you would have heard.” The phrasing's rough, but there's no resentment in his voice. He would have liked to know that Geralt had been safe in his wintering home, with Eskel.

“Yeah. I’m...surprised.” Jaskier raises his brow at him. Which just earns a quick shake of Geralt’s head. “He doesn’t make friends easily.”

“Neither do you, and yet look at us.”

“Look at us,” he echoes, staring at the empty plates.

“We missed a lot of opportunities together, didn’t we?” It doesn't make the truth any easier to swallow, but acknowledging the what-could-have-beens has always made him feel better afterward. Like closing a book, and getting ready to open a new one. He hopes Geralt knows that there's no bridges destroyed between them. Only those missed moments.

He still very much cares for Geralt, and he knows that Geralt does as well. They just have to come to terms with what's over—and what might come next.

“I won’t lie to you,” Jaskier adds more seriously. “I don’t want to miss any opportunities with him.”

The 'him' in question is unmistakable. Geralt nods. He looks down, one end of his mouth drawing up to dimple his cheek.

He says, like an olive branch offering, “His favorite flower is yarrow. Not because they’re pretty, but because they’re useful in the most surprising ways.”

* * * 

They spend the day catching up, all three of them, before Geralt is on the road again, taking his own path. Jaskier sees how it brightens Eskel’s spirits to have seen him off, and cheers up twofold. 

“I’ve known him practically my whole life,” Eskel tells him.

“I’ve known him half of mine.”

“So you understand.”

“That he’s a prat? Oh yes. Good at heart, backwards about verbalizing it. Cheeky when he wants to be. Oh by the way, here.”

From out of his little travel bag, Jaskier pulls a swathe of yarrows.

“Saw some at market street,” he explains, presenting them. “Thought you might find use in them for your potions.”

Eskel turns to him, his bright witcher eyes bouncing between him and the yarrows. Jaskier feels his heart climb up his throat, wondering what runs through Eskel's mind that makes him pause for so long.

Then Eskel takes them with one hand and with the other, he touches Jaskier’s face. It's big, warm, calloused against his skin. And sudden.

“‘Cheeky when he wants to be’, right?”

Jaskier stutters to say, “Well, yes, I mean, but this isn’t about him—”

He forgets how to speak after Eskel kisses him. It’s the lightest peck on the corner of his lips, so light that once he draws back, he wonders if he's not still dreaming back in their rented room.

“Thank you. I know just what to use them for.”

The yarrow gets tucked away with the other herbs in Eskel's saddlebag. A few glasses clink together as he moves things around so they don’t get crushed. And then, as Jaskier stands there, stupefied and slack-jawed, Eskel mounts his steed, a soot-black beauty that neighs softly at Jaskier’s face.

“Where are you headed for now?”

“Nowhere. Anywhere.” Wherever you’ll go, he thinks to himself. Wherever you'll have me.

Eskel grins wide at him, and it's the most beautiful sight, his smile, with all his teeth gleaming.

“That sounds like trouble.”