#my room is unbearably hot i open the window the cold air makes my knees hurt

[dnangelic]

hurts .

[pascalpanic]

Fixer Upper PART ONE (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: Nothing seems to go right in your new house. When yet another thing breaks, a certain handyman comes to your rescue.

W/C: 2k ish

Warnings: language, joking mentions of a house being cursed (it isn’t), reader has dirty thoughts bc it’s Frankie and he’s hot

A/N: this one goes out to my anons who’ve been sending me stuff about frankie as a repairman! I loved the idea and I thought it would be super fun to write! This will be part ONE of three-ish! ps idk if any references to reader’s gender are in this part but there certainly will be some in the future so.

It’s been a while that you’ve lived in this house. Since that day you hauled in the cardboard boxes, you’ve been feeling that your life is the epitome of Murphy’s law. Or rather, this damned house is.

Nothing ever goes right. The heat breaks in the winter and the air conditioning breaks in the summer. The plumbing needs work when you need it to work, and the oven only ever breaks halfway through cooking something. Seriously, you swear this place is cursed by some hex determined to pester you out of living here.

You’ve never exactly been the handy type. You don’t know much about mechanics, heating or cooling, the electricity and wiring in your house, any of it. By now, you wish you’d taken the time to learn it at some point rather than hiring someone every time.

The first sign was that the June heat seemed inescapable. You’d been outside all day, and you figured it was just your body taking its time to adjust to the cooler, indoor temperature. Then you never cooled down. When you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower and found the air to be nearly as muggy as that of the steamed bathroom, you realized that the air conditioning must be off.

Well, it was on. The problem was that it wasn’t working. You opened all the windows, and figured the night breeze would cool you, then you became worried about serial killers and crimes and promptly shut and locked all of them again. With the fan in your bedroom on, the air at least moved, but was still thick and heavy.

In the morning, when you wake with no blankets on and sweaty sheets, you dial the repair company as fast as you can. You inform them of the situation, and they tell you they’ll send someone out your way in the next hour or two.

The air is still somewhat cool outside, so you give the front porch a shot once you get changed out of your pajamas and take yet another cool shower. The heavy dew is an indicator of just how humid the air is, and you relish every little breeze that passes by and cools you down. You conduct your morning business outside, hoping to have this problem fixed before the sun reaches a height where the temperatures will rise exponentially.

About an hour after the call, the repair van rolls up into your driveway and parks. “Thank God,” you murmur to yourself.

Your focus returns to your computer, but you hear the door slam shut and look up to find the repairman there. He wears khaki cargo pants and a gray t-shirt, complete with a ball cap on top, with dark brown curls peeking out from the bottom. He fastens his tool belt around his waist as he walks up to the porch. “Hey there. I’m Frankie. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he informs you, a kind smile on his face. You already like him. “I got the basics from the boss, but can you tell me more about the problem?”

Looking up at him from the seated position you’re in, you give an awkward smile. Suddenly, you wish you’re better dressed, fixed up and looking nice. Even in work clothes, this man is beautiful. It makes you a little nervous, you in your pajamas and him looking like a god even in cargo pants. “I wish I could, but I don’t know anything about the air conditioner and how it works other than how to change the settings. All I know is that it isn’t working.”

He gives a good-natured chuckle, a soft bounce of his chest beneath the shirt. He looks down at his tool belt and his scruff brushes against the collar of the gray. “Well, let’s go give it a shot. I’ll need you to show me around, show me the control panel and the main system.” God, he’s handsome.

“Oh, of course,” you nod and stand, leaving your laptop on the small table. “Well, right this way. And please, you don’t need to take your boots off. Those look complicated,” you laugh as you look at the heavy tan boots at the bottom of his body.

Frankie nods and looks around as you lead him through the house. He doesn’t take his boots off, since you insisted, but he does give them a generous wipe on the doormat, careful not to track anything in. “It’s a beautiful place,” he tells you honestly, with a half-smile that just tugs at one of the corners of his ridiculously soft-looking lips.

“Thanks,” you shrug and show him to the control panel. “I try. Okay, here’s the button thingy.”

“The button thingy?” he teases, which leads to laughter from the both of you.

“If I knew what it was called, you wouldn’t be here,” you tease him back and shake your head.

Frankie uses the tools from his belt to take off the casing. You lean against the wall as he works, admiring the way his hands nimbly check the wires and paneling behind it. He holds a small flashlight between his teeth to look into the wall cavity.

“I can hold that for you,” you offer, and he moves his mouth for you to take it from him.

“Thanks,” he says, popping his jaw slightly to adjust from the awkward angle of holding it between his teeth. “You don’t have to. I’m just here to fix it.”

You point it at the same spot. “I might as well be some help, considering I don’t know shit about my own house.”

Frankie laughs at that, stealing a glance your way that makes your face warm before his gaze returns to the electrical situation. “Well,” he declares after a few seconds. “The wiring must not be the problem here. This all is working fine, so it must be with the actual system.”

“Great,” you groan. “The part I know even less about.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles and screws the panel back into place on your wall, making sure everything works properly and he didn’t mess with any functions.

Leading Frankie to your basement, you show him the cluttered laundry room and the central air conditioning unit. He’s already analyzing the system, and you back off to let him work. He looks focused. “Holler if you need me,” you tell him as he gets on his knees to look at something, daring to gently pat his shoulder. It’s strong, muscular beneath your palm.

Heading back to the kitchen, you open the fridge and sigh. For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and just enjoy the cold air it produces. Hopefully, your house will be the same soon enough. Grabbing two tall glasses, you fill each with ice before pouring half sweet tea and half lemonade into the glasses.

You stand in the kitchen with the freezer open, sighing at the cool air it provides. Not sure how long he’ll take, you scroll through your phone. It’s surprisingly quick, you find.

“Hey, I found it!” Frankie calls from the basement.

Carrying the two glasses, you return to the laundry room to find him reorganizing his tool belt. “Here,” you tell him with a smile as you hold out the drink. “Least I could do. It’s unbearable in here.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and lifts the glass to you in a miniature salute before taking a sip. Frankie then launches into a detailed explanation of the issue with the A/C unit, using all kinds of terms you don’t understand and mentioning parts you didn’t even know were included in the machine. “I got it all fixed up, though, and it shouldn’t take long before it’s working just as good as normal.”

You sigh in relief, swallowing the sweet drink and smiling at him. “God, thank you so much. You don’t even know how awful it was in here.”

“If it’s anything like right now, I do,” he chuckles. The man takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe his face, revealing a muscular but soft body beneath it, with a beautiful little trail of dark hair leading to beneath his belt. Is it terrible that your first thought is that you want to lick it?

You force the image from your mind with another swig of the drink. “Yeah, just about. Well, how much do I owe you?” You ask the man, leading him out of the laundry room and into the basement that’s already feeling cooler.

“Oh, nothing right now,” he shakes his head as you lead him upstairs and to the kitchen. “I just tweaked some things for you, didn’t need any parts or anything, so it’s just gonna be labor.” He seems to remember something. “Ah, shit. I gotta have you sign something. I’ll grab the paper from the van and be right back,” he tells you and leaves his drink on the counter, half-jogging outside.

While he’s outside, you lean against the cool kitchen counter and let yourself daydream. This Frankie guy certainly is attractive, and his personality is definitely something you’re interested in. What if the situation right now played out like a porno, and he fucked you on the countertop? You certainly wouldn’t complain. You noticed his hands and feet are large. Certainly he must be big somewhere else too. “Oh Jesus Christ,” you murmur to yourself. Why did my mind have to go there? And why is the thought so hot? He’s a sweet man too, clearly goofy and sweet. Why is your mind going there then? Really, upon further pondering, you just want to hug the man, admire his strong body pressed to yours in an intimate but innocent gesture.

“Sorry, what was that?” Frankie calls out as he walks into the house again.

His voice snaps you from your daydreaming. “Oh, just talking to myself,” you say quickly and cheerfully, taking the paper from him. The top is printed with repairman name: Francisco Morales. Francisco. That makes you smile. What a cute name. The rest is filled with the details of what he did to the machine to fix it, and you sign and date at the bottom. “Here you go, Francisco.”

His tanned skin turns a little pinker on the cheeks. “Great,” Frankie smiles and takes it back.

“Before you leave,” you tell him quickly, darting to grab your purse from the entryway, “here.”

Frankie walks to you and you hand him a generous cash tip, with a stupid smile stuck to your face. “Thank you, wow,” he says, voice honest in its surprise as he notices the total of the money.

“Of course. I really can’t thank you enough. God, it’s been painfully hot in here and I really just can’t stand the heat,” you ramble, your voice speeding up. “And… yeah. Thank you. For your company, too.”

“Just doing my job,” he tells you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh, here.”

From his pocket, he pulls a little rectangle of paper with his name and company on it. “The shop number is on here; if anything changes, just call and ask for Catfish.”

“Catfish?” You ask with a smile, puzzled.

“My old military nickname. It’s what the guys around there call me,” he shrugs, shy at the nickname.

It makes you laugh a little, and you tuck the card in your purse. “Well, Catfish, thank you. I’ll be sure to use this next time I have some stupid thing I can’t repair myself.”

“Please do,” he chuckles, a shy smile on his face. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks!” You call again and cringe. That’s, what, the ninth time you’ve said that now? He walks to the van and you give him a wave before retreating back inside. God, now you can’t wait for this shitty house to need another repair. You’ll certainly be asking for Catfish.

-

taglist:

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[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

In the Middle

One of your boyfriends tries to rile up the other.

You get caught in the middle in more ways than one.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None really

AO3: Here |  Want to support me? I have a Kofi

There were pros and cons to having two boyfriends.

You fought a never ending battle pulling hair from the shower drain. You had double the texts to reply to; double the calls to return. No matter how comfortable you were when you fell asleep, you always woke up with a crick in your neck and someone’s elbow in your face.

Hizashi craved attention more than oxygen and sulked if he felt even slightly neglected. He spent just as much time chasing kisses as he did styling his hair. He sang in the shower, the bathtub, the rain and was only too eager to drag one or both of you in for a duet. You learned the hard way not to stand next to him in front of the bathroom mirror, for he would bump his hips against yours until you sang along to the radio with him and you’d ended up with eyeliner halfway across your face more than once.

He would spend the day pouting if no one gave him a good morning kiss and drew smiley faces in ketchup if left to plate up at dinner. He was a handful and a terrible influence; the polar opposite of your other boyfriend in every possible way.

Shouta was neither loud nor demanding. He could go days without talking, much less singing, and was happiest dozing off on the couch with his head in someone’s lap. His affections were subtle and easy to miss, while the emotions behind them were anything but. He met you halfway when you reached out to touch him and smiled in his sleep if you kissed him on the forehead. He would complain if you wriggled into his arms while he was working, but rearrange his position to accommodate you nonetheless.

Hizashi needed attention, while Shouta rarely sought it and nine times out of ten you and Hizashi were the ones who did all of the seducing.

Today was no exception to that particular rule.

Summer had hit Musutafu seemingly overnight. It was too hot to sleep or even snuggle on the couch. All you seemed to do lately was curl up on the floor in front of the electric fan in as many clothes as you could bear, while Hizashi stood on the balcony in a tank and shorts, stretching like a cat and mopping the sweat from his brow. It was too hot for leather and too humid for hairspray- sacrifices he had had to make, but was far from happy about.

Shouta remained relatively unchanged. He still went out at night to patrol the streets and continued to plan classes on his laptop on the couch, changing into thinner clothes, but remaining otherwise unaffected.

He was on his laptop, in fact, on this day in particular, drafting out a plan for 1-A’s future training exercises. In the meantime, Hizashi had opened up the box of popsicles you’d been keeping in the freezer and the pair of you took turns in front of the electric fan.

It was only a matter of time before the quiet, heat and lack of attention got to Hizashi and he had rested his head on your lap, golden hair splayed across your thighs. At first it was enough to snake one of his hands under your shirt and cup your breast, but before long that too lost its appeal. He shot side glances at Shouta every so often, sighing and running his tongue over the popsicle.

And so it was you found yourself caught in a battle of wills.

Hizashi waited for Shouta to look over before touching his tongue to the ice. If his gaze lasted longer than a couple of seconds, Hizashi would curl his tongue. Shouta made a point to catch his eye and not react.

Both sides were too stubborn to cave and, as usual, it fell to you to break the tension.

You took the popsicle from Hizashi and leaned back, running your own tongue over the ice. It was on the verge of melting and syrup dripped onto your shirt, causing you to gasp most theatrically and pull the shirt away from your body as if it wasn’t in the least bit planned. At first Hizashi had pouted when you stole his popsicle, but now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“It’s rude to take things without asking, (Name),” he said, sitting up. “The least you can do is share.”

You held out the popsicle and he sucked at the end, leaning back to allow you to do the same. You made sure to moan far louder than was necessary, as if it was something far less innocent than a popsicle.

“Ahhh, it’s getting all over my mouth,” you said, wiping the syrup from your lips and chin. “What am I going to do?”

“I can help with that,” said Hizashi, seconds before grazing his lips over yours, checking to see if Shouta was watching before deepening the kiss.

His lips were cold and he tasted of mangoes, the same flavour as the popsicle you’d been sharing. It was sweet, but the realisation that Shouta had stopped typing was far sweeter.

Shouta didn’t seek attention out, that much was true, but he sure as shit hated being left out of the action.

~~~~~

It was only a matter of time before you ended up on your hands and knees in the bedroom. You dug your nails into the bedcovers as Hizashi gripped your hips and took you from behind, all while Shouta bunched your hair in his hands, kneeling in front of you and thrusting into your mouth.

You barreled forward every time Hizashi slammed his hips into yours, moaning from the sensation of his dick hitting the one spot that made your toes curl.

The sounds Shouta was making were obscene. The vibrations of your moans against his dick combined with the way each thrust sent it deeper down your throat left him trembling. He could do little more than hold onto your hair and even then his hands were shaking.

Hizashi was absurdly quiet, all things considered, though you couldn’t turn your head to see why. You got your answer when he made a wet sound behind you and let out a moan, something icy landing on the small of your back.

“Hizashi...are you...are you still eating the popsicle?”

“No.”

More syrup landed on your back.

“Maybe.”

You heard the smack of his lips as he put it back in his mouth only moments before he took up such an ungodly pace that you took Shouta’s cock into your hand and jerked him off, grabbing onto the bed covers so tightly that your knuckles went white. The tension inside of you was too much to bear. You felt like you were going to explode.

You squeezed your eyes shut and squealed as you came undone, mind falling blank and legs shaking. It was like an electric shock burning through your core, leaving you unable to do anything but absorb each pulse.

Hizashi slowed down to enjoy the feel of you cumming on his dick, but the reprieve lasted only a few short moments. He guided you down onto the bed and over onto your back, shifting positions with Shouta, who lifted your knees over his shoulders.

He didn't have remotely the same stamina as Hizashi. You doubted any human did. He was, however, girthier and only too happy to torment you with it. He took you slow and deep, dragging sighs from your lips at the overstimulation. You were still having aftershocks from cumming the first time and saw stars each time his hips hit yours.

You turned your head to lick the tip of Hizashi’s dick, matching the pressure and speed of Shouta’s thrusts. Hizashi sucked in a deep breath, leaning over to grab Shouta by the hair and moan into his mouth.

The first time you had ever had sex with Hizashi, he shattered every window in your apartment building. You had laughed it off as an earthquake, though got the feeling no one believed you.

You had learned the hard way that he was loud when he came and the easiest way to prevent it was to stifle the sound before it could leave his lips, be it with a gag, by sitting on his face, preoccupying him with a blowjob or, as was the case now, with kissing.

You lay on your back and watched them nip at each other’s lips, waves of pleasure rushing through you. You were glad Shouta was holding onto your legs, for it felt as if the bones had left your body.

Hizashi was the next to come, whimpering into Shouta’s kisses as his dick twitched. He sat up and gave himself a final couple of tugs before spilling over your chest. Shouta followed suit, sitting up onto his knees and coming across your stomach.

Double the boyfriends, you considered fleetingly, double the mess.

~~~~

You stayed in bed for at least an hour after that, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. It was still unbearably hot and no one was particularly enthusiastic about putting on clothes, even though the heat from one other’s bodies swiftly overpowered any relief from the electric fan.

“Why is it that whenever you two have shenanigans I end up in the middle?”

You could hear the fatigue in your own voice; the perfect compliment to how heavy your eyelids felt.

“I thought you liked being in the middle,” said Hizashi, only to squeak as you poked him in the ribs.

“I suppose I should take a bath,” you groaned, peeling Shouta’s arms from your waist and untangling your legs from Hizashi’s.

Your legs were more than a little floppy, but you disguised it by dropping to your knees to pick up your discarded clothes.

“(Name),” said Shouta, “wait.”

You turned to him, heart fluttering. Ordinarily he tolerated hugs at best, but on the rare occasions you managed to keep him awake after sex he was the biggest cuddler you’d ever met.

Maybe he wanted you to go back to bed.

Maybe he wanted to join you in the bath.

“Yes?”

“You’re blocking the fan.”

You turned to the fan behind you, heart sinking.

“And they say romance is dead,” you muttered, stepping out of the room.

Hizashi and Shouta closed their eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool air against their exposed skin. The peaceful moment was soon over, though, for seconds later you slipped your arm back through the doorway and flicked the off switch.

“Hey!!”

“(Name)!”

“Switch it back on, switch it back on!”

“Make me,” you said, sticking out your tongue and closing the door behind you.

“Oooooh,” Hizashi huffed, climbing out of bed. “When I catch you…”

He ran out of the bedroom and chased you through the apartment, paying little heed to the fact that you were both as naked as the day you were born.

Shouta turned over onto his side and fluffed his pillow.

He could sleep through just about anything; a fire alarm...hot weather...

...and, apparently, the sound of his two idiot lovers spraying one another with water.

[house-of-galathynius]

Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!

@jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @tomtenadia @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @fredweasleyhasadhd @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival 

Chapter Fourteen ~ Secrets

Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fifteen

The snow came soon enough. It covered everything in it’s white blanket and brought a bitter chill to the air. Aelin had lived through twenty-one of these winters, but every time the weather turned, taking the last remnants of autumn with it, she found herself mourning the loss. 

She surveyed the snow covered courtyard from her window, watching as the staff in charge of the garden swept the snow from the paths, small mounds of it building to the side. She could remember the times her and Aedion would push each other into them, making forts and snowmen from the massive mounds and when spring would begin to emerge those forts would be the last thing to disappear. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a winter like this.” Rowan had snuck up behind her, his arms coming around her in a loving embrace. “I suppose I will have to get used to them if I’ll be living here.” 

Aelin huffed. “If it was my choice I’d spend my winters somewhere hot and sunny. The cold is horrid.” She rested her hands on Rowan’s, snuggling closer. “I know you said Doranelle never felt quite like home… but do you think you’ll miss it?” 

He seemed to think a moment. “No. I don’t think I will.” 

A knock at the door had them breaking apart. 

“Aelin? Are you in there?” 

Lysandra’s voice was shaky on the other side of the door. Aelin looked to Rowan who had also noticed the slight tremor in her voice. 

Aelin strode to the door and opened it to find a teary Lysandra, her face red and blotchy. She was clutching a handkerchief and sniffling as she looked at Aelin. 

“Can I come in?”

“Of course, Lys.” She beckoned her in, leading her to the bed, Rowan exiting the room as she did.

“I need your help.” She let out a small hiccup and fell back onto the pillows. She wiped her nose and sniffed, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. 

“You’re starting to scare me.” Aelin crawled beside Lysandra, crossing her legs and watching as Lysandra held back the tears. “What is it?” 

Lysandra hesitated for a moment, wiping more tears from her face. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Aelin tried not to let her shock show as she struggled to find words. Despite Terrasen being one of the more forward-thinking territories in Erilea… unwed mothers were still a taboo and Aelin hated to think it, but with Lysandra being so close to the royal family… it would make the situation more difficult. Not to mention how Aedion would react— assuming it was in fact his, Aelin hated to even think those thoughts. 

“I wanted to tell you sooner… but I had hoped it wasn’t true.” Lysandra brought the handkerchief to her nose once more. “The healers confirmed this morning.” 

“I don’t… have you told Aedion?” 

Another sniffle. “I don’t know how.” She sat up, turning to sit knee to knee with Aelin. “I’m terrified because once he knows we have to tell everyone else, and then there is going to be a huge debate on how it’s dealt with, and I just—“ Aelin leant over and held Lysandra and began stroking her hair as she cried. 

“We’ll figure it out Lys. Whatever happens.” 

“I’m so scared.” 

Aelin held her tighter. “I know. But you’re a member of this family and you’ll have all our support.” She let go and faced Lysandra. “Do you want me to be there when you tell him?” 

Lysandra hesitated and then nodded. 

“Today?” 

Another nod. 

“Okay. Stay here whilst I organise a couple of things. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

Aelin hopped off the bed, tucking Lysandra in. She threw on the nearest dress and combed through her knotty hair before heading down the breakfast room. 

When she entered the room her family were already sat there. She could see the snow clouds rolling in through the windows, small flakes already floating down. Her father greeted her as she came to stand at the head of the table. Aedion was flicking through some papers, uninterested in her arrival. 

“I’m not going to be able to meet with the planners today. Lysandra isn’t feeling well, so I’m going to look after her.” 

Orlon paused his sipping. “We have healers, Aelin. There’s no reason to abandon your duties.” 

“She doesn’t need the healers. It’s more of a woman thing.” She had used this card too many times to count— trying to get out of royal duties and snag a few extra hours in bed. 

Her mother gave her a knowing look. 

“I promise I will put in extra hours tomorrow to make up for it.” 

Orlon didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyway and went back to sipping his tea. Aedion had not looked up once from his papers, completely unaware of the shitstorm that was coming his way. 

Rowan on the other hand was giving Aelin a curious look. 

Is everything okay?

She gave a subtle nod. Lysandra just needs me. 

Did I scent what I think I did?

Shit. She had forgotten about the fae sense of smell. The castle was still crawling with other Whitethorns, not to mention Aedion who had been gifted the fae abilities too, if any of them got close enough to scent Lysandra…

“Aedion?” 

He finally looked up. 

“Can you come up when you’ve finished? Lysandra wants to see you.” 

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Does she need a reason? She just asked me to get you.” 

“I’ll be up soon.” 

She stole a couple of pastries and walked back up to her room. She found Lysandra in the same spot she had left her in, her body curled into a ball, the sheets tightly pulled over her. 

“I asked Aedion to come up when he was done.” Aelin stroked her hair, placing the stolen pastries on the side table. “Do you want anything?” 

Lysandra shook her head. 

Aelin left her and went to sit on the sofa instead. She used her flame to light the fire, filling the room with a comforting warmth. Neither of them said anything, Aelin picking up discarded papers from the day before, trying and failing to read what was on them. The words blurring into each other the more she tried to focus. 

Trying to keep a pregnancy hidden in a palace full of humans was hard enough, but in a palace full of fae… it was going to be impossible. Aelin glanced to Lysandra who was still hidden beneath the covers. She knew what her parents would want, and she knew what Orlon would say needed to happen. But Lysandra was a free spirit, and the options she would be given in order to remain in the palace would not be desirable to her. 

She nibbled on the stolen pastry, barely tasting it as she swallowed it down. She should’ve told Aedion it was urgent and dragged him up with her, waiting for him was unbearable. Aelin picked up and immediately put back down the book she had been meaning to read. Her mind too worked up to focus on anything other than Lysandra. She stood up, going to the window and watching the snow fall, heavier than it had been earlier. The paths that had been swept clear only thirty minutes ago, were now covered with a white blanket. From her window she could almost see the city beyond, then the mountains in the distance which were layered with clouds. 

Aelin tore her gaze from the outside and back to Lysandra, who was know sat up and stating right back at her. 

“Your fidgeting is making me nervous.” Lysandra patted the spot beside her. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, stop worrying so much.” 

She huffed. “You’re one to talk — coming in here crying and then hiding under the covers. Of course I’m going to be worried Lys.” 

“I just found out I’m pregnant, I’m pretty sure my reaction is normal.” She brushed her hair to the side. “I’m pretty sure if you found out you were pregnant right now you would react a similar way.” 

“My situation is slightly different.” 

“But it wasn’t a year ago.” 

Aelin felt the words like a punch to the stomach. “Was that necessary to bring up?” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” Lysandra sighed and laid her head back on the pillows. “I’m just scared and I’m acting out. I didn’t mean it, Aelin.” 

“I don’t want anyone else knowing what happened last year, okay? With so many Fae in the palace, anyone could hear.” 

“You mean Rowan could hear?” 

She shrugged. “Any of them. If just one of them found out, there’s no doubt in my mind they would tell Rowan.” Aelin went to the door and peaked into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when no one was to be seen. “I’ll tell him eventually, I’m sure.” She pressed the door closed quietly and went back to the chair. 

“What do you think Aedion will do?” 

“I think he loves you and he’ll support you in any way he can.” 

Lysandra thought for a moment. “I don’t want people to know, Aelin. I can’t deal with the stares and the whispers. People already think less of me because I don’t come from noble blood… I don’t think I can deal with the looks that I’ll get.” 

Aelin’s heart squeezed. Lysandra was right. She had always been looked down upon from the other nobles in the palace, and in Orynth in general. People were cruel and this would fuel their dislike for her even more— especially since Aedion was seen as one of the most sought after males in the city. 

There was a knock on the door and Aedion strode through, assessing the two of them as he did. 

“I don’t have long, I’ve got a meeting with Lord Allsbrook in ten minutes.” He took another look at Lysandra who had paled in the face and looked like she could pass out any second. “Is everything okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

Lysandra jumped from the bed and half ran to the bathroom. Aelin tried not to wince at the sounds of her vomiting. Aedion started towards the bathroom, but Aelin stood to stop him. “Leave her for a moment.” 

“What is going on? Should I get a healer? If she’s sick she should be getting help.” He moved around Aelin’s hand. Aelin slipped in front of him, her hands going to his chest, pushing him back towards the chair. He narrowed his eyes at Aelin. “You said it was a woman thing, but that does not sound—“ 

“For the love of God, please would you just do as I say.” Aedion backed off slightly, his brows furrowing as another bout of vomiting could be heard. 

“If she’s not sick then why is she—“ Realisation dawned on his face as he put two and two together. He stepped back and slumped into the chair, his eyes glossing over. “Gods almighty.”

“Aedion, please don’t freak out yet. Lysandra needs you, and if you’re freaking out it won’t help anyone.” 

The sounds of shuffling came from behind and Lysandra chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. One hand rested on her still flat stomach, her gaze on Aedion. He didn’t move as she made her way towards him, eventually coming to crouch in front of him, her hands gripping his own. 

“I found out this morning. I had suspected for a couple of weeks… but the healers confirmed it.” 

“I thought you were taking a tonic? I mean… this is not possible.” He shook his head. “The healers told you it was effective, that the chances of conceiving whilst taking it were low.” 

“Low, but not impossible.” 

Aedion turned to Aelin. “And you knew about this? For how long?” 

“I found out this morning. I haven’t known much longer than you.” She put her hands up in defence. 

Lysandra stood from her crouch and went to the bed again, her hands immediately going back to her stomach as she sat. “I don’t want anyone to know yet. Not until we figured out the next moves.” 

Aedion shook his head. “You’ll never be able to keep it a secret here.” He stood too, starting to pace. “We could go to the cabin in the mountains, or go to the summer palace.” 

Aelin shook her head. “The cabin is too far and too isolated. If she needs healers it will take too long for them to reach her, and the summer palace is impossible to reach during the winter.” 

Aedion groaned. “So we find an apartment in the city and stay there. The healers can get there easily and its safe.” 

“What are you going to tell everyone, Aedion? You can’t just leave the palace for nine months without a valid explanation.” Lysandra’s voice cracked as she spoke. 

Aedion went to her side, his arm snaking around her waist as he pulled her in closer, Lysandra’s head resting on his shoulder. He placed a kiss on the top of her head before he looked to Aelin. “I’m not leaving her alone. What if something happens?” 

Aelin hated the thought of Lysandra being alone too. But it would be too suspicious if Aedion suddenly left the palace, and she couldn’t even begin to think of the complexities of trying to find an apartment in the city without someone catching on. 

They all looked to the door as someone knocked. Aedion went white as he started to panic. Lysandra quickly crawled back under the covers, hiding her non-existent bump. 

Aelin got up and opened it, the tension in her shoulders easing when it was just Rowan. She ushered him in and Aelin saw Aedion and Lysandra relax. 

The four of them remained in silence until Rowan cleared his throat and started to speak. 

“Should I be congratulating you?” 

Aedion glared at Aelin. “You told him?” 

“I am a full-blooded Fae male. I scented it on her when she came here this morning.” 

Lysandra groaned into the pillow. “If Rowan already knows, then how many others do you think can scent it on me? I can’t stay here!” 

“Could you and Rowan not say you want somewhere private to stay? Then Lysandra could stay there and if we visited it wouldn’t be as suspicious.” 

Aelin tried to hide the blush that crept up her cheeks as thought of it. She cleared her throat. “It would never be approved, Aedion. You know we couldn’t do that before a mating or wedding ceremony. The Lords would go crazy if they knew Rowan and I were living away from the palace alone.” 

They fell into silence again as they all thought. The only sounds came from the crackling fire and howls of the wind from outside. 

“What about asking Sam?” 

Aelin’s head shot up to stare at Rowan. 

“That’s out of the question. He won’t speak to me.” 

“Lysandra is still friends with him. I’m sure if you explained the situation, he would let her stay. It would be perfect. It’s somewhere close by, she wouldn’t be alone and it would give us good excuses to go into the city to see her.” 

Aelin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Except no one would believe me if I said I was going to visit Sam. My parents know everything, they would know something is up.” 

“Then we tell your parents about Lysandra. Then the four of us and your parents will be the only ones to know. And Sam.” 

“The last time I saw him he told me I was dead to him.” Rowan brushed his hand against her own. A silent gesture of love between the two of them. “It would be better if it came from you Aedion.” 

Aedion froze a moment. “I don’t think Sam will want to see me either. I may have paid him a visit after everything happened.” 

“Aedion.” Lysandra swatted his head. “You idiot.”

“I didn’t realise we would need his help. I’m sorry for defending my cousin.” 

Aelin shushed him and hesitated slightly before speaking, her hand rubbing her forehead. “I’ll go. If he knows it’s for Lysandra maybe he’ll feel more inclined to help.” She turned to Rowan. “You don’t mind?” 

“Of course not.” 

“I guess it’s settled then. I’ll go into the city and try and see him today.” 

Aedion gave her a smile and helped Lysandra out of the bed. “We’ll go and get her things together.” 

Aelin nodded. 

She remained in the same spot, picking bits of lint from her dress; unsure of what to say to Rowan. She felt the need to explain herself to him, but there was nothing to explain. Rowan knew most of the history between Sam and herself, and maybe that was it. He didn’t know all the history, and after Lysandra’s comment this morning… well maybe she did owe an explanation before they left.

“You don’t need to say anything, Aelin. I trust you.” 

“I know. But Lysandra said something to me earlier and now I feel the need to tell you because you’re my mate and I don’t want secrets between us.” She couldn’t look at him as she continued. “Last year during autumn I found out I was pregnant.” 

Rowan sucked in a breath. Her chest tightened as his eyes met her own. “I assume it was Sam’s?” 

Aelin nodded. “I didn’t tell anyone other than Lysandra and Aedion. I had planned on telling my parents when I began to show… and then I guess I would have either renounced my claim on the throne or Sam would have been given some fake title and we would get married.”

Rowan sat on the small couch, his hands clasped in front of him. “You didn’t tell Sam?”

She shook her head. “I was terrified of what he would do or say and then I got more scared of what other people would think and I just felt stupid that I had put myself in that position.” Aelin tipped her head back and leant it on the back of the chair. “It had been about a week since I had found out, and I was preparing myself on what to say to Sam, when I woke in the night and found a pool of blood on my sheets and I knew what had happened.” She wiped away tears. “The worst part was that I felt relieved. And maybe that makes me an awful person, but when I saw the blood… I really didn’t feel anything other than relief.” She sniffed, remembering the night it had happened, the wetness of her nightgown and the sheets around her, the momentary panic and then the weight lifting from her shoulders when she realised what had happened. She hadn’t hesitated before cleaning herself up and burning the sheets and replacing them herself before someone asked questions. She hadn’t shed a tear the entire time, not even when she told Lysandra who sat there and cried enough for the both of them. Perhaps she was an awful person, but even now, she still feels relief when she thinks back.

Rowan interrupted her thoughts. “You’re not an awful person.” Rowan still hadn’t looked at her, his gaze focused on the fire. “But you’ve never told Sam?” 

“I didn’t know how. He already had these grand ideas of us running away together and starting new lives away from Orynth, if I had told him I was expecting his child he would have got carried away and I— I don’t know. I just didn’t want that.” 

“You’re not an awful person for feeling relief. But if it was me… I would want to know. Sam deserved to know, Aelin.” 

Her voice wobbled. “I know he did.” 

Rowan shifted in his seat, finally meeting her eyes. “I will never question your past because I did not know you then, and you knew what was best for you at that time. But please, Aelin, as your mate, don’t keep me in the dark.” He came to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I love you unconditionally and I will support you through everything. But never be afraid of sharing things with me. Whatever is thrown at us we will manage together, as a pair. There will never be a burden too heavy that I can’t help you carry, okay?” 

Aelin could only nod as she brought her mouth to Rowans, holding his face in her hands as she poured her love into the kiss, hoping that Rowan would know what she was trying say. Rowan pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you, Aelin. No matter what happens.” 

“I love you. Thank you for being patient with me, I know I’m a handful and come with a lot of baggage for someone so young.” Aelin let out a laugh.

Rowan grinned in response. “I don’t care about the baggage, Aelin. We all have it, it’s just part of life.” He kissed her forehead once then pulled her up out of the chair. “Let’s go do this before you overthink it all.” 

She laughed and swatted his arm, the two of them heading for the door. 

[jaskierswolf]

What Form Love Takes

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier return once again to Kaer Morhen, only this time they're travelling high in the skies.

- Can be read as stand-alone - Part 8 of my Shapeshifter!Jaskier AU

CW: Non-sexual/non-graphic nudity (they take a bath)

___________

The fire in Jaskier’s lungs burned as he flew over the mountains. Another year on the path had come and gone. Winter was creeping in, a slow frost carpeting the Continent, tendrils reaching further south with each day. Both Jaskier and Geralt were anxious to return to their home in the Blue Mountains. They’d spent most of the year searching for Yennefer of Vengerberg with no success. Sorceresses were funny people and hard to track down. Jaskier had no doubt that the witch would turn up when she was ready. He roared as the crumbling keep came into sight, a pillar of flames bursting free from his lungs. The colours of the flame danced in front of his eyes, more vibrant in this form than any other. He could see the heat haze rippling through the air and he had to resist the urge to dive and spin through the air, dancing in the waves his flame had created.

But he had a rather fragile witcher on his back who would not be able to hold on if he were to dive the way he wanted. Geralt’s arms already had a death grip around his neck and the flight had been pretty steady so far. He heard his mate groan and felt the slight pressure of Geralt’s head pressing into his scales.

He snorted a smoke ring and flew through it. Flying was a phenomenal feeling. Geralt was just whining for the sake of it.

“Jask…”

Jaskier snorted again. There wasn’t much else he could say to his darling mate in this form without using telepathy, and he had never quite mastered that skill. He had a habit of barrelling into memories instead of placing his thoughts in the other’s mind. So he preferred to avoid it. Instead he just sniffed the air. The scent of roasted venison hit his senses, making his stomach rumble. He peered out over the horizon, a small smoke stack was puffing above the keep. Vesemir already had dinner on the go. Jaskier let out a happy rumble, not too dissimilar to a purr, and he felt Geralt’s finger brush the scales of his neck.

“What have you seen?” Geralt asked, still sounding a little queasy from their flight from Oxenfurt.

He pointed his snout towards the keep that was growing larger the closer they approached. Geralt should be able to see it now with his witcher senses.

“Kaer Morhen,” Geralt hummed and Jaskier nodded. He resisted the urge to dive towards their home. Instead he started a slower descent. When they got closer he still he began to circle the keep, getting lower with every turn.

He roared when he spotted Eskel and Vesemir waiting for the in the courtyard, another pillar of fire tore through the sky before he landed with a heavy thud on the ground. The two witchers waved them down.

“Always a dramatic entrance, bard,” Eskel laughed, reaching out his hand so that Jaskier could bump his snout against the palm of Eskel’s hand.

“We were late setting off.”

“We were starting to worry,” Vesemir huffed, arms crossed in front of his chest. Jaskier felt a swell of bitter pride in his chest. How dare this witcher insinuate that he couldn’t look after his mate? He was a dragon! He let out a low snarl, warmth heating up in his lungs.

“Easy, Jask,” Geralt rubbed the back of his neck in a warning. It wasn’t enough to incapacitate him but it did send a slight ripple of warmth down his spine. He blinked, forcing down his more draconic urges, and focussed on the voice of his mate. “Where’s Lambert?” Geralt asked, not removing his grip from Jaskier’s neck.

“He got caught up in Nilfgaard with that cat of his,” Vesemir grunted “they’re alive.”

Jaskier snorted, tail flicking against the ground. He was looking forward to having his family back together again, the disappointment was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t fair. They already had to walk the path alone throughout the year and now he couldn’t even see them for winter. Geralt must have sensed his distressed as he nuzzled his face against Jaskier’s neck.

“Wintering in Nilfgaard seems pretty cushy to me,” Eskel noted. “A lot less cold.”

Jaskier hissed at the blond witcher, earning himself a laugh from Geralt. “We miss them too, Jask.”

“We’ll get together in the summer for one of the festivals?” Eskel suggested. “There’s always plenty of contracts around then, I think the wine gets to everyone’s head.”

“Good idea.”

Jaskier let out a rumble of agreement before shaking Geralt from his back. The smell of venison in this form was too much, it was making him hungry and he had to dig his craws into the stones to stop himself from charging through the keep to the kitchens. He needed to change from this form, and fast.

Geralt landed next to him and pulled off the makeshift saddlebags with their belongs. Jaskier closed his eyes, letting his magic loose, rippling out in waves over the shiny red scales until pink skin morphed back into view. He landed on his hands and knees on the stone, the chill of the mountainous winter breeze quickly seeping into his bones. “Bollocks,” he hissed and launched himself into Geralt’s waiting arms. “It’s fucking freezing.”

Geralt chuckled and wrapped his arms around Jaskier, shielding him from the wind. Jaskier felt the press of Geralt’s lips on his hair and he sighed happily. The wind might be like shards of ice cutting into his skin but his lover was attentive and Jaskier felt safe in his arms. “We’ve had a long journey, we’ll be down for dinner,” Geralt told the oldest witcher before pulling Jaskier inside the keep. They dumped their bags in the entrance hall before making a beeline for the hot springs that lay deep within the keep, the only part of the building that remained unscathed from the battles of so long ago.

Jaskier shivered violently in Geralt’s arms. He should have transformed into something with fur first but he’d been stuck without words as they flew over the continent for hours, barely taking a break.  His back and shoulder were aching from the journey, a phantom pain where his wings had been. The hot springs would do wonders for the aches. “H. Home,” he stammered through chattering teeth.

Geralt hummed, fingers rubbing circles into his upper arm as they walked. The corridors grew darker as they walked further down, soon the light from the windows and cracks in the wall faded away and the only light left was the glow from the torches along the wall. Geralt held his hand out in front of them, a tiny little ball of fire in his palm. It wasn’t much but the heat from the flames was blissful.

Fuck, humans really weren’t meant for the winters of Kaer Morhen. This year must have been colder than usual, as Jaskier could have sworn that he could usually at least stand outside long enough to strip out of his clothes, perhaps the weariness from the journey had worn him down more than he thought. Now that he thought about it he eyes were starting to droop and Geralt was practically carrying him through the corridors.

“‘M tired…”

“I know.”

Jaskier wanted to make a joke about Geralt’s ever eloquent ways but his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. Bath, food and a good sleep. That’s what he wanted.

The air was thick with steam as they pushed the door open into the springs. Jaskier sighed happily as the heat prickled against his skin. He took one look at the pools of water and shifted. Geralt’s hand reached up to hold his medallion as Jaskier’s magic whipped out around them, the crack of bones bouncing off the walls. The room grew bigger and he fell to the ground on four paws, scratching against the wet stones as he scurried to the water’s edge. He chosen this form well. He knew he was too tired to bathe without falling asleep and he would really rather not drown. He squeaked up at Geralt before diving into the water.

It was warm, hotter than the water he’d usually have liked in this form. The otters of this species were used to cold open sea water but he wanted to float. He swam under the water for a while, letting the warmth seep into his fur before breaching the surface. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, keeping his paws tucked into his chest.

“Jaskier,” Geralt chuckled and Jaskier felt himself float a little further, the water rippling as Geralt finally joined him. “We can’t stay here for too long, love.”

Jaskier squeaked, not opening his eyes. He would stay here forever if he could.

“Are otters really that fluffy?”

Another squeak, and he cracked one eye open to glare at Geralt. His anger didn’t last long when he saw the look Geralt was giving him. It was unbearably fond, head tilted and a soft smile on his face. His hair had come loose from the leather hair tie on the back of his head, and water was clinging to his chest, caught in the dark grey tuffs of hair. Jaskier felt a swell of love in his heart, it was almost too much. He’d spent so many years worrying that he would never find a partner that would accept his true self, hiding his magic away like it was a dirty secret. If he felt himself falling in love then he would sneak out of the window in the dead of night, never to return.

He’d been convinced that no one would ever love him when they knew what he was, and he wasn’t willing to give his heart away to someone that couldn’t accept him. Geralt had blown past all those walls in an instant, and somehow Jaskier had managed to worm his way past the witcher’s own defences, finding both a lover and a new pack to call his own.

He pushed at the water with his paws and floated over to where Geralt was sat at the edge of the pools, he didn’t want to lose Geralt. He couldn’t loose Geralt. He reached out to his partner with his paws, with a quiet squeak.

“I love you too,” Geralt breathed in a soft voice, like he was in awe of Jaskier. As if the witcher wasn’t the most incredible creature on the whole Continent.

Geralt let Jaskier hold onto one of his fingers, tiny paws wrapping around the digit as if it were a lifeline. Jaskier chattered happily before closing his eyes, finally letting the exhaustion wash over him. He was safe, he was home, and Geralt wouldn’t let him float away.

He woke up to a gentle rocking movement, his face pressed against Geralt’s chest as the witcher carried him back to his room. He blinked, flicking his tail out behind him. It was only when he started purring that he realised he’d shifted forms in his sleep. His ears flicked out and he pawed at Geralt’s shirt.

“You only changed once I picked you up,” Geralt answered his unasked question, scratching him gently behind the ears. “I don’t think cats like the water very much.”

Jaskier meowed softly and nuzzled against Geralt’s chest. A gentle bite against Geralt’s collar was all the warning the witcher got before he let his magic ripple out over his skin. Geralt grunted under the sudden weight of the human in his arms, changing his hold so Jaskier was being carried bridal style up to their rooms. “Hey,” he mumbled sleepily “how long was I out?”

“Nearly an hour. Vesemir came to find us a few minutes ago. he’s keeping our food warm.”

Jaskier yawned and then pressed his lips to Geralt’s shoulder, sadly now covered by the tattered black shirt he wore under his armour. “I love you, darling.”

Geralt’s laughed rumbled in his chest and Jaskier smiled, still half asleep, as he buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s hand cradled the back of his neck, carding through his hair, and Jaskier was asleep again in seconds.

The next time he woke they were back in Geralt’s bedroom, the witcher was now fully dressed in his thick winter clothes that the witchers preferred to wear in the evenings once training was done for the day. Jaskier was buried under thick furs on their bed, still naked. A roaring fire was blazing in the hearth, filling the room with its heat. “Dinner?” he asked as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. His stomach rumbled as if to repeat his question.

Geralt chuckled and crossed the room to kiss him on the top of his head. “Ready when you are.”

His stomach growled again and he grinned sheepishly. “I’m starving,” he whined. “why did you let me sleep?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You just flew us halfway across the Continent, Jask, you needed the rest.”

“But I’m hungry,” he pouted.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Bloody bards, never win.”

Jaskier grinned and pulled his boyfriend into a kiss, cupping Geralt’s face in his hands. “Au contraire, my love, I think you win every single day.”

“So modest,” the witcher grumbled against his lips, rubbing their noses together.

“You love me,” he purred.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier giggled and kissed Geralt again, lazily, pouring all his love into the kiss, but he blasted stomach rumbled again before the kiss could get anywhere. He whined as he pressed his forehead against Geralt’s. The witcher laughed, stroking a thumb along his cheek. “Let’s go find the others,” Geralt suggested.

“Hmm,” Jaskier replied, still pouting then with a heavy sighed he pushed Geralt away. “fine, spoilsport. Just let me get dressed first.”

Both Eskel and Vesemir were finished with their food by the time Geralt and Jaskier made it downstairs. Jaskier was wrapped up in thick wool lined clothes, a vibrant turquoise compared to Geralt’s dark navy blue ones. It wasn’t as thick as the fur he could have but he really did want to say hello to his family properly. He’d not seen Vesemir since last winter and they’d only run into Eskel once on the path.

“Greetings,” he waved at the two witchers “sorry we’re late.”

“He fell asleep again.”

“Well I’m sorry! You’re the one that lost Roach in a game of Gwent. It’s not my fault we had to fly all the way here.”

Geralt’s growled at the reminder. He’d been so sure that he could beat the arsehole but the bastard had cheated and they’d practically been run out of town, leaving Roach behind. Eskel gave a full bellied laugh, his tankard of ale crashing onto the table. “I wondered what had happened to her, it was a little soon to be replacing her.”

“She’s not dead,” Geralt grumbled, shooting daggers at Jaskier.

“We’ll find you a new horse in the spring, dearest of hearts,” he cooed, fluttering his eyelashes at his lover in attempt to soothe his anger.

“Not the point.”

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier laughed, pulling his plate of food towards him. It was venison, of course, with thick gravy and roasted vegetables. On the side was a freshly baked roll, now a cold sadly but he really had needed to rest so he wasn’t too upset. “Grumpy witcher.”

Geralt growled again, which only made Jaskier laugh and this time Eskel and Vesemir joined in. Jaskier reached across the table to poked Geralt on the nose. “You know you don’t scare me, love.”

“Hmm.”

The dining hall echoed with the laughter of witchers, and for a brief moment Jaskier could imagine what Kaer Morhen had been like before the siege; full of witchers, brothers in arms, loyal friends and family. It made his heart ache. As much as he adored his pack, they didn’t deserve the pain of losing so many. Contrary to popular belief, these wonderfully kind beings were not meant to be alone.

He gazed around at his family, a pang of regret that Lambert and Aiden were not with them for the winter, and smiled fondly. He took Geralt’s hand under the table. The witcher raised an eyebrow at him but he shook his head. There were no words to describe this feeling, the warmth in his chest for finding the place that he belonged, the bitter pain of yearning. So many different and conflicting emotions in one single moment. How could he possibly find the words that could encompass all of that? He settled for holding Geralt’s hand under the table as they ate, joking and laughing with their family as if they’d never been away.

_____

Next

[amiwritesthings]

young dean hooking up with older men at truck stops. when john witnesses one of these encounters, he's furious, wants to step in, but doesn't, can't, d. on his knees with a cock in his mouth too much of a turn on, so he just watches in secret, maybe even jerks off to it. feelings of guilt. eventually confronts d. about his hook-ups. anger, drama, angst. d.: it's you, i just want you, i'm thinking about you when they fuck me, please let me suck your cock, dad. what will j. do? you tell me.

i am so so so sorry this took me so long and technically this isn't exactly what you asked for but it's where my brain wanted to go today so hopefully you still like it

link to ao3

_______

It’s dark when Dean walks back the short distance from the truck stop to the adjacent motel. He pulls his jacket tighter around his body against the cold, prays that John is still out somewhere drowning in cheap whiskey.

His jaw aches, his knees are sore, there’s a wet patch in his jeans, but there’s also 50 bucks in his pocket and his mind is pleasantly fuzzy with post-orgasmic endorphins.

He slides the key into the lock as quietly as he can, eases the door open carefully to keep the salt line intact. He feels his heart skip, pure rush of adrenaline, when he sees it’s not just Sammy in the room; John’s passed out in the ratty loveseat in the sitting area. It’s the next best thing to John not being here at all. If Dean’s lucky, John was too out of it to remember Dean not being here when he got back.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, takes a second to make sure the salt line is indeed intact. Sammy snuffles softly in his sleep, turns over to his other side, and Dean shrugs out of his jacket, lays it down at the foot of his bed, before tip toeing to the bathroom, thankful for the small window, the moonlight from outside illuminating the room just enough that he doesn’t need to hit the light.

He leans on the sink, doesn’t dare to look at his own reflection in the tiny mirror that’s already gone half blind. He reaches for the mouthwash, takes a swig, lets the liquid sting his mouth and get rid off the taste of dick. He spits into the sink, blue remnants of mouthwash running into the cracks in the porcelain, rinses with water and spits again.

He freezes when there’s a rustling sound behind him, and he knows it’s John, just from the prickle of heat where John’s gaze rests heavily on the back of his neck. Fuck. Dean forces himself to look up into the mirror, to acknowledge his father’s presence. A cloud passes over the moon outside, making the room darker for a moment, casting John’s face in shadows.

John takes a step forward, eerily silent, and with how small the room is, it only takes another half-step for John to be close enough to him that his body tenses with awareness. There’s a moment of silence, unbearable seconds of uncertainty, and Dean averts his eyes, lets his head drop forward, hands bracing against the sink.

A soft puff of air against the back of his neck, warm whiskey breath, is his only warning before John’s hands come down next to his on the sink, his father’s body hot and looming behind him. ‘What’re you playing at, boy?’ John asks gruffly, voice low and dangerously quiet, and Dean swallows against the dryness in his throat, that raw sting just behind his tongue.

‘Sir?’ he asks, voice raspy and wrecked. Best to let John tell him which transgression he’s angry about before Dean accidentally adds more fuel to the fire.

‘Saw you. Out there, on your knees.’

Fuck. Dean feels like is heart is about to beat out of his chest, pulse echoing loudly in his own ears. ‘I can expl-‘, he starts but stops the moment he sees John’s hand moving, body bracing for the inevitable blow.

It never comes.

John runs a hand up Dean’s arm, a barely-there touch, hovering just close enough to give the illusion of contact while still keeping Dean acutely aware of the underlying threat. He shivers when the hand comes back down to cage him in and John leans in closer, stubble brushing his cheek, the ghost sensation of lips right up against the shell of his ear.

‘God, boy, looked so good,' John breathes, words just the tiniest bit slurred, tongue heavy with whiskey. ‘Wanted to kill that asshole for taking advantage of you like that. Old enough to be your father, that guy.’ There’s a trace of anger to the words, that sharp edge that usually has Dean bracing for a verbal lashing.

Dean exhales shakily, dares to press back just a bit into the weight of John’s body behind him. Whatever he had expected to happen if John ever found out sure wasn’t this. ‘Why didn't you?’ he asks quietly, and John drops his head forward with a sigh that fans hotly over Dean’s skin.

‘Too pretty, your lips stretched wide like that. Fuckin’ hot. Could just imagine-,' he trails off, pushes his hips forward into Dean instead, and oh. For the first time tonight, Dean wishes John was less drunk, that there was a chance this was real and not just some drunken mistake John would pretend had never happened the next morning, if he even remembered.

‘Wished it was you,’ he confesses, quietly, and behind him John draws in a sharp breath that shudders out of him in a tortured groan only a few seconds later. ‘Always wish it was you.’

At his sides, John’s knuckles go white against the sink, fingers flexing once, twice, before resettling on the cold porcelain. ‘Don’t say shit like that. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There’s no heat to the words, no reprimand, and Dean presses back, into John’s body, until they are flush, until he can feel the bulge in John’s jeans riding high against his ass, John’s lips dragging messily, uncoordinated, down his cheek.

‘’s all I think about. ‘s why I started doing it in the first place.’ It’s not entirely true but Dean sure as shit isn’t going to fess up about needing the money to buy food for him and Sammy when John had been gone way longer than planned a couple of years ago.

Dean tilts his head to the side when John mouths down his neck, on purpose this time, wet-hot, tongue teasing against the sensitive skin. ‘Always pretend it’s you,’ he continues, moves his hand to cover John’s, drags it to the front of his jeans where there’s still a wet spot from when he’d come in his pants earlier while sucking off some faceless stranger.

John growls, a sound that’s rumbling up from so deep in his chest, Dean can feel the vibration of it against his back. ‘Gonna let me have the real thing?’ Dean asks as he uses what little space he has to turn, face John, and he isn’t prepared for the look of sheer hunger in John’s eyes, pupils blown wide in the darkness of the room.

He drops his hands to John’s belt, fingers the buckle, waits for John to stop him, but he doesn’t. His voice is raw, low and raspy when he says, ‘Goddammit, baby, gonna be the death of me,’ and Dean can feel the flush spreading up his chest, crawling up his neck, making his cheeks pink. He deftly undoes the belt, thumbs open the button, draws the zipper down, watches as John’s eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open in a soft pant. It’s even better than he could ever imagine.

He tugs, fingers on each side, shimmies the jeans off John’s hips, takes the boxers underneath right with it as he drops to his knees, one fluid motion, perfected with years of practice. It stings a bit, his knees still sore from kneeling in gravel earlier but he breathes through it, focuses on what’s right in front of him. And boy, when he wraps his hand around John’s dick, his mouth fucking waters. He knows that John is big, they’ve been living in each other’s pockets all of Dean’s life, he knows, but from down here, on his knees, even only half-hard, it’s impressive and his jaw already aches with the anticipation of what’s to come.

Above him, John white-knuckles the sink with one hand, the other dropping to cup Dean’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone and down to drag over his lower lip, dark eyes watching his face intently. Dean tongues at the digit, just a tease, hand softly squeezing on John’s dick, a slow stroke up to the crown, and John breathes a soft ‘fuck’ as he closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering darkly in the shadows.

The hand leaves and John takes a half-step forward, trapping Dean between his body and the sink as he braces against the wall, the mirror, and Dean takes it as the invitation it is, opens his mouth wide to take John in. He closes his lips around the head, takes it flat onto his tongue and Dean can’t stop the groan at the feeling of John’s dick finally in his mouth, at the salty-sour taste.

This is nothing like all those strangers, he thinks, this is what he’s been waiting for all along. John keeps chubbing up in his mouth and it stretches his lips, wide. He sinks down a little deeper, gets John wet, then pulls off to slick his spit down the length with his fingers. John’s breathing is heavy above him, body tense, curled tight, like he’s preparing for a fight.

Dean strokes him, once, twice, before licking around the head, wicked curl of tongue, and taking him back in, spit slicking the way as John pushes deeper with a slight flex of his hips, rubbing over the soft palate of Dean’s mouth. And fuck, Dean wishes his throat wasn’t so raw already, the drag of John’s dick almost too much when he takes a deep breath through his noses and pushes down further.

John’s hips stutter forward at the sensation and Dean pulls away with a choked cough, tries to catch his breath, as John mutters softly ‘sorry, baby, sorry’ but then his hips hitch forward again, into the loose fist Dean has curled around him. He keeps his fingers around the base this time as he sinks down, relaxes his jaw, to let John fuck into him with impatient little thrusts.

The noise his wet mouth makes is obscene in the quiet of the small room and he drops his free hand into his lap to where he’s already hard again in his jeans. He gives himself a squeeze, hums softly at the spark of pleasure, and John’s breath hitches as he flexes forward, pushing right at Dean’s throat again. Dean lets him this time, gets his own dick free, still sticky from before, and jacks himself in sync with John’s movements.

John curses under his breath, dick jumping in Dean’s mouth, and Dean redoubles his efforts, slides his mouth, wet and open, down as far as he can go, focusing on breathing through his nose. John stills on his next downstroke and the first pulse of come on his tongue almost makes Dean choke.

He pulls back, mouth open, John’s dick on his tongue, jacking him through his orgasm and he holds it there for a moment before swallowing, the hand stripping his own dick almost a blur. He hunches forward, rests his forehead against John’s hip, nuzzling at the juncture of his thigh, as he chases his own high.

When he finally comes, it’s with a high, breathy whine and a ‘fuckin’ Christ, Dean’ from John who cradles his skull, holding him close.

It takes a moment for his breathing to slow, for his heart to stop racing and when he finally pulls away, John takes a step back, the look in his eyes unreadable as he looks down to Dean. The hand slides around to cup his face, and the thumb traces his lip again, slowly, reverently, before John releases him with a pat to his cheek.

‘Get cleaned up, it’s late,’ he says, voice rough, before he steps back, away, swaying gently, leaving Dean on his knees and suddenly feeling cold.

By the time he’s cleaned up and dressed in a sleep shirt and fresh underwear, John is passed out on the bed, jeans still undone, snoring the way he only ever does when he drinks. Dean grabs a bottle of water, takes little sips – it burns to swallow – before sitting down on the edge of the other bed. He nudges Sam, all long lanky limbs sprawled out, taking up all the space, and his brother huffs in his sleep but shifts over anyway, making just enough room for him to slip into the bed beside him.

When Dean wakes the next morning, it’s to Sam already bitching about something or other and John at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, brows furrowed as he tries to make sense of something. The last night feels like a fever dream now and as Dean sits up on the bed, he tries to make eye contact with John, get some kind of acknowledgement, but he has no such luck. John pointedly avoids looking at him, busying himself with squinting at the newspaper with bleary eyes as he takes another sip of coffee.

‘You want coffee?’

Dean blinks at the question, at Sam who’s holding up an empty cup at him in question. ‘Yeah,’ he croaks, voice breaking on the just the one syllable and across the room he can see John stiffen in his seat, while Sam just looks at him funny. ‘You coming down with something?’

Dean clears his throat, tries to ignore the burn as he swallows. ‘Nah, I’m fine.’ He doesn’t sound much better, voice still all scratchy and raw, and his jaw still aches dully, and his knees protest when he pushes to stand. He excuses himself to the bathroom, taking the coffee cup Sam hands him with him. He sets the cup down on the sink, lets his eyes come up to look at his reflection in the mirror.

And there it is, the proof it was real, the smeared handprint on the mirror. Dean touches a finger to it before bringing his hand to his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, chasing the sense memory of the night before.

[up-to-some-good]

Part 6: ...and 1 time I did the opposite

I will warn you, this one is bad. If you want to save yourself some pain, don’t read below the cut.

Previous parts: 1 2 3 4 5

The Potters had been cooped up for over a year when they were finally given a break. It was Halloween, the anniversary of their first date, and Sirius and Remus offered to babysit Harry for one night so they could have some alone time. Dumbledore approved the idea and they couldn’t be more pleased. They loved their baby, but they needed a break.

“Don’t let him eat too many sweets,” Lily said, kissing Remus’s cheek.

“Lily,” he said calmly. “You’ve gone over the rules and routine about a hundred times and it’s pinned to the refrigerator. Go, have fun, stop worrying.”

She looked over at Harry, giggling from Sirius’s arms and sighed.

“I hate it when you’re right,” she said, joining James at the car. “I’ll see you three later.”

Remus waved and closed the door before turning back to his boyfriend, who was tickling his godson’s stomach and muttering nonsense at the giggling toddler. He would make a good dad, one day. Remus moved over to the pair and kissed Sirius’s forehead. Sirius handed the toddler over and turned to the kitchen.

“I’ll make us some dinner, you handle the baby,” he called as he walked away.

A few hours later, Remus finished drying the dishes and walked back to the living room where Sirius was with Harry. He was telling his godson about their first Halloween at Hogwarts, casting small pumpkins and bats out of sparks to illustrate the finer points of the story. Harry giggled and tugged at his hair, before swiping at the sparks and causing them to dissolve.

“Stop lurking, Moony,” Sirius said. “Come sit with us.”

He smirked before sitting with the two, joining in on the story telling until a clock somewhere in the house chimed eight times and both men gasped.

“It’s past your bedtime, Haz,” Sirius said, tickling his godson again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“No!” Harry yelled, barely getting the word out through his giggles.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “Uncle Moony’s gonna take you and get you all snuggled up, okay?”

“Story?” Harry asked, now looking over at Remus earnestly.

“Of course,” Remus answered, dropping his wand on the coffee table.

He took the boy into his arms and started up the stairs. Halfway up, he heard Sirius’s footsteps clunking quickly into the entryway and his blood ran cold.

“Remus! Take Harry and run!” he yelled. “He’s here!”

He heard the front door opening as he entered Harry’s room and barricaded the door. His wand was downstairs on the coffee table. Dumbledore had the invisibility cloak and Sirius had the mirror. He was trapped.

He heard a muffled voice and a flash of green light refracted under the door. There was a loud thud.

“Sirius,” he whispered, falling to his knees. “No.”

He heard footsteps on the stairs, to quiet to come from Sirius’s heavy boots and moved to brace himself against the crib.

“Mooey?” Harry asked, too quietly.

“I’m here, Harry,” he said, barely holding back his tears. “It will be okay.”

The door was blasted off its hinges and Voldemort stepped into the room. Harry started crying. Remus didn’t turn to comfort him – he had to protect him first.

“Please, don’t,” Remus choked out.

Voldemort sighed.

“Black is dead,” he said mildly. “I could use a spare werewolf, Lupin. Step aside and you will be welcomed into my army.”

“I’d rather die,” he spat.

“As you wish.”

A flash of green light illuminated the room. Remus Lupin fell to the ground. Harry continued to cry as Voldemort turned his wand on the boy.

“Avada kedavra!”

The curse rebounded and the room exploded, leaving a crying toddler in the wreckage of his home, alone.

***

Lily was laughing as James drove home. It was the first time she had felt so calm in months. Her laughter died abruptly as they pulled up to their street and she saw flames. She grabbed James’s thigh and he sped up.

Their house was in flames, a hole in the left side where Harry’s room looked into the street. James was out of the car in a second, running to open the front door and falling to his knees as soon as he opened it. Lily was right behind him.

“Pads,” he choked out, sobbing.

Sirius was in the entrance hall, dead. His eyes were wide open, and his wand was nowhere around. Lily thought back to him at Hogwarts, laughing loudly with his arms around James’s shoulders, at their wedding, dancing with Remus, on the battlefield, eyes fierce and wand drawn. It was strange to see him so still.

A baby’s cry drew her attention. She squeezed James’s shoulder before turning to run up the stairs, shaking as she stepped over Sirius’s body.

She found Harry in his cot, the sole survivor in the house. Remus’s body was in front of his crib from where he had clearly tried to protect her son. She picked up the toddler and rocked him gently, willing herself not to collapse next to Remus and sob until she couldn’t breathe.

Remus, who had helped her with Care of Magical Creatures when she was struggling, missing a Hogsmeade weekend with the marauders, who had walked her down the aisle at her wedding, the first person she told she was pregnant, was dead.

She walked back downstairs to find James standing at the door, clutching the frame for support. He turned when he saw her and rushed to take Harry from her, wiping the blood off of his son’s forehead to reveal a curse scar.

“If I ever see Pettigrew again,” he muttered. “I’ll kill him.”

The funeral was a painful affair. Neither Sirius nor Remus had any family beside the Potters. The whole Order attended and praised them as heroes, but it didn’t dull the ache in James’s chest. Sirius, his brother, was killed. Remus, the love of Sirius’s life, had had to listen to his body crumple to the floor before he succumbed to the same fate. It was all Peter’s fault. They had trusted Peter with their lives, with Harry’s life, and he had betrayed them, for what? Power? He couldn’t make sense of it.

He tried to comfort himself that Lily was alive, that Harry was safe, but he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if they had been home. He had lost almost everything and gotten so close to losing it all. It was unbearable.

Lily was quiet as they walked home. The house they were renting was empty. They had left Harry with Frank’s mother for the funeral and would pick him up later. For now, they needed a moment alone.

He knew something was wrong when he opened the door, year of war had given him instincts for that sort of thing. He didn’t have time to react before he and Lily were roughly tied up and brought to their knees, their wands taken.

Before them stood Bellatrix Lestrange, flanked by her husband and his brother. Behind them, a young boy stood quietly, thrumming with excitement. Bellatrix pointed her wand at James, one of the brothers pointed his at Lily. White hot pain rolled through James’s body, and he heard Lily cried out next to him. It stopped suddenly.

“The pain stops when you tell us where the Dark Lord is,” Bellatrix said.

Four wands now pointed at the Potters. No one would look for them for hours. They had no way out.

“We don’t know,” Lily panted out.

The pain started again.

James thought of Lily, laughing at Harry smashing the vase Petunia had given to them. He thought of Harry, mesmerised by his father’s animagus form. He thought about Sirius and Remus and his parents and everyone he had ever loved before he blacked out.

***  

Petunia Dursley did not like the wizarding hospital – St Muggo’s or whatever it was called. It smelled like a normal hospital, but off – something unidentifiable in the air. Her nephew clutched on to her shirt, especially quiet for a three-year-old. She didn’t like bringing him here, but the letter from Dumbledore had emphasised that she must, and she was rather afraid of the wizard. She couldn’t understand why the Potters were here in the first place, and why they didn’t ever seem to get better; no one had ever explained it to her, and she didn’t bother to ask. She had enough on her plate between Dudley and her nephew.

Lily Potter didn’t recognise them when they walked into the room. Her husband – Jack? – never even acknowledged them, staring out of the window and humming some inane tune. Both of them looked terrible, their skin sunken and grey, their hair dull with premature grey hairs. Both had lost the light in their eyes that Petunia had seen years ago.

Harry babbled at his mother while Petunia read a magazine. Her sister didn’t say a word and didn’t seem to hear her son either. Today, Lily’s husband seemed to be paying attention, his eyes flickering between Harry and Lily with what might be mistaken for interest if he weren’t completely insane

After half and hour she stood up to leave. She stalked into the corridor with Harry holding her hand. He was big enough to walk now, so she ensured he did whenever possible. A sound from behind her made her turn around.

Lily stood in the hallway and reached out to her son. Harry walked wearily over to her. She took his hand and placed and candy wrapper in his palm, squeezing his hand around it, before kissing his head and wondering back into her room, humming.

It was something, Petunia thought with a strange feeling of relief, something that looked like recovery.

[kingexpl0sionmurder]

Clouds - Shirakumo Oboro

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder​ Rating: 16+ Words:  5,674 Pairing: Shirakumo Oboro/F!Reader Warnings: Nudity, sexual innuendo, kissing, Oboro has no shame honestly. No spoilers here, I just mention his friends and his quirk a little! AN: Here is my entry for this month’s BNHarem server collab! The theme was Fantasy, so have this Greek Mythology AU where I basically floundered through ancient Greek customs and got to think about EraserCloudMic being best friends and Demigods. I don’t promise that any of this is historically accurate but I did try to get some things right! It’s all in good fun anyway, I just needed some nice fluff and some time to play around with Oboro because I love him a lot. Listen to the song Clouds by Borns pls and thanks. As always, the masterlist to check out everyone else’s stuff is HERE. My masterlist is HERE.

Buy me a Ko-Fi HERE.

--

You’d never experienced a drought this severe before.

The weather had become so unbearably hot. Even your lightest tunic was too much, and you had resorted to wearing as little as possible when you were home, spending as much time as you could in the nearby river to keep cool. 

However, the river seemed to be getting shallower, the lack of rain causing the water source to dry up.

The entirety of the small village that you resided on the outskirts of was in a panic. Crops were drying up, which was affecting people’s livelihood. The agora was nearly barren when you went in to sell the cloth you’d dyed and embroidered, the food stalls empty of the usual grain and barley you would typically find this time of year. 

Most people had taken to making the trek past your house and down to the small temple there, praying to Zeus for rain, hoping that he would smile down upon you and bring good fortune, and maybe a storm cloud or two.

You knew that it was probably fruitless, but you decided that maybe you should leave an offering to appease him. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Wanting to wait until it was cooler so you didn’t die of heatstroke while you leaned over the boiling water, you waited until the sun went down before you dug out your best fabric and dyed it a pretty blue color. You pricked your fingers with a needle more than once while embroidering the edges with clouds and raindrops, using white thread so it stood out against the cerulean fabric. A few days later, you deemed it ready, attaching pins so the person wearing it could fasten it and folding it gently. You slipped on your sandals and headed out with the garment draped over your arm.

It was late, so no one was around, but you weren’t afraid. The breeze was cold now that it was dark out, making you sigh as you listened to the leaves rustling in the olive trees that lined the path. You hoped Zeus would be pleased with what you’d made. Garments that you’d crafted and sold in the agora were always highly sought after and praised. The attention to detail and the small embroidery work you did on the fabric caused you to get lots of commissions from high-class women who lived in the city. It was something you were good at and took a lot of pride in, so you hoped that he would be impressed by your hard work. 

When you arrived, you noticed there were a lot of offerings waiting just inside the door. You bowed your head and dropped to your knees in front of the statue within, closing your eyes as you placed the folded tunic at Zeus’ stone feet. “Please help us and send some rain. I made this tunic by hand. I hope you like the color. I chose it because it reminds me of the sky.” Whispering, you spoke aloud, feeling kind of silly, but willing to try anything to gain some relief from the sweltering heat.

Finishing the rest of your prayers in silence, you stood up and bowed, hurrying out of the small shrine and back up the path toward your home. When you laid down to sleep that night, you sent up one final prayer, hoping that things would get better when the morning came.

--

You woke up hours later to the sound of thunder. Sitting up in your bed, you felt tears well in your eyes, relief flooding through you. The rain was finally coming!

Briefly, you wondered if your gift had been the one that Zeus had deemed worthy enough to grant your village’s prayers. Swinging your feet off the bed, you dashed from the room, wrenching the front door open and running out into the night, bare feet slapping against the dirt as you made your way down the path towards the temple.

You didn’t know what you expected to find when you arrived. Would all the offerings be gone? Or would it be just as you left it hours before?

Dark clouds were rolling in overhead, and you laughed when you felt the first few drops of rain pelting on the bare skin of your arms as the temple came into view. You slowed to a stop, breathing heavily; the smell of petrichor in the air as water finally touched the dry grass and soil around you. 

Stepping forward, you entered the temple, lingering in the doorway. Zeus’s proud statue stood in the center just as before, offerings still sitting untouched at his feet. They all remained, except for one.

The sky blue tunic you had crafted was missing.

--

It rained for three days straight, the constant onslaught of water on the parched ground, causing puddles to appear in every dip of the landscape around your home. You stayed inside, leaving the windows open to let in the fresh air, breathing deeply as your worries melted away. You were excited to visit the river, hoping the water would be rushing and kissing the edges of the riverbank as it always had before. 

When the fourth day came with clear blue skies and a gentle breeze, you gathered up your towel and set off to the river. You skirted around the slowly drying puddles on the path, your sandals sinking into the soft earth as you made your way to your destination.

You arrived to see the river looked as you had expected, the water back up to its normal height, the current gentle, leaves floating along its surface. You looked around, making sure you were alone before you removed your tunic and laid it across a rock on the riverbank, before slipping into the cold, clear water. Most people from the village didn’t bother to come out here, so you weren’t too worried about being seen skinny dipping, but you always kept your ears open, just in case.

Time passed as you relaxed against the river’s edge, head tipping back to bask in the gentle sunlight filtering through the trees surrounding you. The weather was beautiful and was a welcome change compared to the unbearable sweltering days you’d been living the past few weeks.

A gentle splashing caught your attention, and your head snapped up, eyes scanning the water’s surface, assuming it was a fish. What you weren’t expecting to see was a man a little ways up the river, crouching down with his hand in the water, a serene smile on his face. You didn’t know if he saw you, but you suddenly felt self-conscious, dipping lower and crossing your arms across your chest to hide yourself. The plan had been to keep quiet and wait until he left. But then you saw what he was wearing.

The sky blue tunic was unmistakable.

“Where did you find that tunic?” You called accusingly. You had assumed that the tunic was missing because Zeus enjoyed your gift, and had given yourself credit for pleasing him enough to send the rain. To know that you hadn’t done anything at all, and a thief was the reason that your hard work was missing from the temple, was disheartening.

The man stood, his eyes searching for the source of your voice. When they landed on you, huddled against the side of the river, your head barely visible on the water, he smiled at you brightly. “It was an offering from the temple! Honestly, this is the nicest tunic I’ve had the pleasure of wearing.” He pulled on the bottom of it, pointing to the embroidered clouds. “The detail here is exquisite.”

Huffing, you frowned. “I know. I’m the one who made it.” His eyes lit up, and he opened his mouth to reply, but you interrupted him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but that tunic was made for Zeus. It’s extremely disrespectful to steal something from the gods. You must be crazy if you don’t think he’s going to strike you down with a lightning bolt the moment he finds out what you did.”

The man chuckled, raising his arms and folding them behind his head. You tried not to stare at his tan and muscular legs, or his equally muscular biceps. “You think I’m a thief? I’m offended, sweetheart.”

Blushing at the term of endearment, you shook your head. “Well, that’s the only logical explanation-“

“That’s where you’re wrong.” The man walked closer, and you shrunk back, trying to preserve your modesty. “It was a gift from Zeus himself.”

Your jaw dropped open, eyes wide. You weren’t sure how that was possible, but looking at the man before you now, you realized there was no way that he was mortal. He was too perfect.

Not to mention, his hair was like nothing you’d ever seen before.

It was a beautiful light blue, similar to the fabric draped around his body, fluffy and soft looking even from a distance, and it floated back and up, away from his head on its own.

“You’re a…” Trailing off, you got lost in the blue of his eyes as he stepped closer.

“Demigod.” He dropped his arms and shrugged. “My name’s Oboro.”

You were suddenly reminded of how very naked you were. “Could you, uh, turn around? So I can get dressed?”

Wiggling his eyebrows, Oboro smirked. “You sure? I mean, it’s nothing I’ve never seen before.”

“Ugh, please.” Annoyed, you glared at him. Demigod or not, what a perv.

“Kidding! I’m kidding!” Holding up his hands in defeat, he turned around, chuckling.

You took the opportunity to lift yourself out of the river and hurry over to where you’d left your clothes. You dried off quickly with your towel and wrapped your dress back around your frame.

When you were decent, you cleared your throat. “Thank you, Oboro.” You tugged at the fabric that was clinging to your semi-wet skin uncomfortably, watching as he turned back around and shot you a grin.

“So, you made this thing, huh?” Stepping closer, the man was suddenly towering over you, his smile charming. He reached out and plucked the towel you were still holding from your hand, bringing it up and over your head, his fingers rubbing your scalp as he dried your hair for you.

Speechless, you stuttered. What was he doing? 

The towel lifted, and you watched as Oboro gathered your hair and squeezed out the water that was sitting at the ends of it. “That’s better. So, you going to answer me?’

Blinking up at him again in shock, you watched the laughter dancing in his clear blue eyes, the way his nose crinkled when he smiled, the white bandage across the bridge of it making him look boyish and handsome. You were swooning. You needed to get a hold of yourself. “I...yes. I made it myself. I make clothing to sell in the agora all the time.”

Nodding, he handed your towel back to you. “Zeus is a pretty busy guy, you know? He asked for my help, told me to check into some of his temples to see if anyone needed help. He said if it was something we could do, I could take care of it and help myself to anything left for an offering as a reward.” 

“And you picked my tunic?” You felt a weight lift from your chest at his story.

Grinning, he pushed a piece of your hair off of your forehead. “It matches my eyes; how could I not?” He let his arm fall to his side. “I’m an altruistic guy. I like to help people, so I always jump at the chance when my father asks for my assistance. As soon as I saw that blue fabric, I knew I had to do something. I always say that handmade gifts are much better than jewels or gold because they come from the heart. So I called upon the Nephelae to come and bring some rain.”

You hummed, your face turning pink as you blushed. His innocent touching and compliments had your skin feeling warm. “Thank you, Oboro. I’m glad that it was well-received.” Clearing your throat, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “If you like it, I could make you another.”

“You’d do that?” He always seemed to be smiling, and you briefly hoped you’d never have to see him frown, knowing it would look out of place on his face. “I couldn’t ask-“

“I’m offering! I want to, honestly. You did so much for us with just that little bit of rain. I feel like that one tunic isn’t enough to show my gratitude.” 

It was his turn to blush, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Okay. Only if you want to.”

“Great!” You clapped your hands together. “Do you have anything you want specifically? I have lots of different fabric to choose from, and I can dye it any color you’d like.”

“Surprise me.” He winked, lifting his hand to poke the end of your nose playfully. “You know, when I saw that thing, I figured an old lady must have made it. Didn’t think a beautiful woman like you would have done it.”

Scoffing, you folded your arms across your chest. “Do you have no shame? Flirting with me, and you don’t even know my name.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I like you, you’ve got guts. What’s your name then, sweetheart?”

“It’s Y/N.”

—

After Oboro left you at the edge of the river, promising to come back and see you in a few days, you went home and sifted through the piles of fabric you had collected, trying to find something that you thought would be fitting for the handsome Demigod.

The original tunic you’d made was linen, and since it was still early in the summer, you surmised that it would be best to stick with that fabric. Your other choices were wool or silk, and neither would do well in the hot weather. 

You worked on dying the fabric a dark grey, the color of the sky before a storm. This time you embroidered the edges with golden bolts of lightning and white stars. You were very proud of it when it was finished, thinking it looked as lovely, if not better, than the one you’d left in the temple.

A few days later, you were outside tending to your garden when you heard footsteps approaching behind you. 

“Good morning, sweetheart.” 

The timbre of his voice made you shiver as you stood and turned to meet him. “Morning, Oboro! You’re here just in time!”

“Finished already?” His eyebrow raised. “Did you even sleep?”

Rolling your eyes, you smiled at him. “Of course! I slept some.”

Shaking his head, he stepped towards you, ruffling the hair on your head. “Don’t lose sleep on my account, okay? I can wait as long as I have to.”

You wished this man would stop making you blush so much. “Okay, fine. It won’t happen again. Would you like some wine?”

“Why would I say no to that?” He chuckled, following you into your small home, sitting at the table when you pointed to the chair, watching as you flitted around the kitchen preparing his drink.

“What have you been up to? Helping out your father?” You asked conversationally, setting the glass down in front of him.

Humming, he picked up the glass and took a sip. “A little. I spent some time with my friends mostly. I don’t get to see them too often since they’re always so busy.”

“Oh? Are your friends Demigods too?”

He hummed, sipping his wine again. “Shouta is the son of Hypnos, god of sleep. Hizashi is the son of Apollo, god of music.”

“Wow. I’ve never met anyone important like that. Well, besides you.” 

He snorted. “We’re not important, our fathers are. We’re just regular people.”

“Except you’re half god and incredibly handsome.” Huffing, you blushed, realizing what you said.

“You think I’m handsome?” His cheeky grin was too much to look at, so you turned away. 

Changing the subject seemed like the best option for your sanity. “Let me show you what I made for you.” 

He didn’t push it, which surprised you, but also made you feel grateful. You didn’t want to think about the man any more than you already had been. He was funny and kind and gorgeous, but he was also a flirt and a Demigod, and you really didn’t know what to make of all of that. You realized that some people might think the way you acted with him was disrespectful, but he was just a person like he’d pointed out. Mostly.

You walked over to your work table and unfolded the tunic, turning around and holding it out towards him. “I was trying to keep with the sky theme. What do you think?”

Oboro stood up from the table, leaving his wine glass behind. He stared at the fabric, taking it into his hands, his fingers tracing the embroidery. When he looked up at you, his face was filled with wonder. “Are you sure you’re not magic?”

You blinked at him. “What? Why?”

“This is amazing, Y/N. Truly. Thank you.” Grinning, he handed it back to you, his hands moving to the pins keeping his tunic fastened around his body.

“Oboro, what are you doing?”

The pins opening let the fabric around him fall free. “Trying it on.” 

You covered your eyes with your hand as he pulled the garment off his body, resisting the urge to peek through your fingers when you caught a glimpse of his chiseled abs and the swell of his pectorals as you heard his clothing fall to the floor. He took the tunic from your hand, taking his time pinning the fabric at his shoulders and under his arms. 

“How do I look?”

Removing your hand away from your red face, you moved forward, redoing the pin at his shoulder to sit straight. Stepping back, you walked around him. “It’s missing something.” 

He looked at you curiously, his brow furrowed. “What?”

You looked puzzled, finger tapping your chin before your face suddenly brightened in recognition. “I’ve got it!” You scurried away to your work area, coming back with a golden colored braided cord. 

Oboro watched as you reached around him, passing the rope between your hands. He lifted his arms as you tied it around his waist, cinching the fabric a bit and moving back to look over him again. “Perfect.”

His arms dropped, his head tilted down as he looked over the fabric again. Teeth pressed against his bottom lip, he looked up at you. “Another masterpiece, Y/N. I’m going to look better than all the gods in Olympus when I visit my father later.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Oh please, I’m not that great, Oboro.”

He huffed, stepping forward and surprising you when he wrapped his arms around you in a hug. “Just accept the compliment, would you?”

Hesitantly, your arms moved around him to return the gesture, your voice horse as you replied. “Okay.”

—

Oboro became a permanent fixture in your life after that. He appeared nearly every day, treating you to picnics and taking you for walks through the forests and down to the river. You looked forward to seeing him, his face the last thing you thought of before you fell asleep, and the first thing you imagined when you woke up. You were in too deep.

It rained more often, but it was welcome after the hell of drought you’d been through earlier that month. The weather didn’t stop Oboro from visiting, his strong arms dragging you out into the storm so you could watch the dark clouds above roll past. He made you laugh, his bright smile infectious as he carved himself a place in your heart.

You didn’t know what this was. Did he like you more than just a friend? He was a flirt, but you assumed he was like that with everyone. You weren’t sure if you should read into it any deeper, but there was a big part of you that wanted him to want you just as much as you found yourself wanting him. 

He was gentle and kind, going out of his way to help the people in the village when he visited, hefting large bags of grain in the agora. He never hesitated or asked for anything in return, and it made your heart flutter. The old ladies would stop you to tell you how wonderful he was, that he was a keeper, and whenever you tried to open your mouth and correct them, he would grin over at you and wink, and you’d lose the ability to speak. 

When he showed you the power bestowed upon him by his father, you couldn’t help but giggle. He waved his hands around, creating a cloud out of the air’s moisture and pushed it towards you. “They can’t do much but float around, but if I make one big enough, I can sit on it and ride it where I need to go.”

“You aren’t able to make them do anything else?” You poked at the cloud, watching as it broke apart and drifted away. 

“No, but they’re fun to look at.” He made another one shaped like a bird. “What do you think?”

“I think they look like your hair.” You teased, watching it float up above your heads. 

He starting making another one, bigger than the ones before. “Come on.” He brought it down low, sitting on it and crossing his legs underneath him. “Want to go for a ride?”

You shook your head, frightened at the thought. “No way, that’s too scary.”

“Come on!” He held out his hand. “I can show you the world this way.”

His smile was disarming, and you felt yourself stepping forward before you knew it. “You better not let me fall.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

--

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked, kicking his feet in the water. 

You were sitting side by side on the riverbank, leaning back and basking in the afternoon sun. “Mm, probably this?” You opened one eye and looked over at him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “My father wants to meet you.”

You sat up so fast you almost flung yourself into the river, Oboro’s hand grabbing onto your arm the only reason you didn’t fall in. “Excuse me?”

Snorting, he let go of you and rested his palms on the grass beside him again. “He wants to meet the woman who made the outfit I wore to dinner a few weeks ago. Remember, I said I was going to show up everyone in Olympus?”

Nodding, you shut your jaw, which had been hanging open since he’d told you his father, also known as Zeus, the god of the sky and thunder, the king of the gods, wanted to meet /you/.

“Well, Aphrodite commented on it, and then father asked who made it, so I told him about you. Will you come?”

You swallowed thickly, trying to find your voice. How could you say no? Could you refuse to meet Zeus if he asked you to? “I…”

His arm moved around your shoulder, pulling your closer. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous? Are you kidding me? I know he’s your father, but to me, he’s a god.” You sputtered, feeling yourself shake at the thought of being face to face with him. 

“Well, I mean, I’m half-god, and you’re not nervous around me.”

You decided not to point out that he made you incredibly nervous. You were just good at hiding it. You pressed on instead. “What do I even say to him? What do I even wear?”

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “What do you wear? Clothes would be a start, Y/N.”

“I hate you, have I mentioned that before?”

--

You barely slept that night, your thoughts racing as you went over scenarios in your head, trying to imagine what it was going to be like when you were face to face with the king of the gods. For some reason, you were worried that he wouldn’t like you. You weren’t sure why it mattered so much to you. You tried to push the little voice in the back of your head away when it started pointing out how you were probably worried because of how you felt about Oboro.

It was ridiculous to fight it anymore. You knew you liked him. You weren’t sure what to do with that information, but there it was. And now you were going to meet his father. 

Oboro came to get you after breakfast, his cheerful smile falling when he saw your face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

You laughed. “I haven’t.” Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you sighed. “I’m just worried I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

Shaking his head, Oboro pulled you into a hug. “You’re not going to make a fool of yourself. You’re going to be fine. He’s not as scary as you seem to think. Plus, I’ll be right there with you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Letting yourself melt into him, you buried your face into his chest. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m probably just making things worse.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s fine.” You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his chin leaning on the top of your head before he pulled away. “Come on, let’s go. He’s going to meet us at the temple.”

“Do I look alright?” You stepped back from him and looked down at the dress you’d made; the fabric dyed a deep burgundy. 

Oboro didn’t say anything at first, making you doubt yourself, your head falling forward to gaze at the sandals on your feet. 

“No, you don’t look alright.” He said finally.

Eyebrows furrowed, your head snapped up to look at him. “What?”

He was grinning widely at you, holding out his hand to take yours. “You look beautiful.”

Your entire face felt like it was on fire when you realized what he said, your expression melting into a small smile. He wrapped his hand around yours and tugged you towards the door, his eyes crinkled merrily, trying not to laugh at his trick. He was such a lousy flirt, but his compliment made you feel better, even if you didn’t think he meant it.

--

Zeus was waiting inside the temple when you arrived, gazing up at the statue of himself with his hands folded behind him. “Sometimes, these things don’t look anything like me, but I’d say this is a pretty accurate one, don’t you think?”

When he turned around to face you, you had to agree. The statue looked just like him. “Y-yes, sir.” Bowing your head, you brought your hands in front of you and pressed them together. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Zeus laughed, stepping forward. “You don’t have to do that, though I appreciate it.” You looked up at him, meeting blue eyes the same color as his son’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard so many things about you. Oboro talks of you often.” He took one of your hands in his and kissed the back of it, his gaze moving to the man beside you. “You weren’t kidding when you told me she was beautiful, son.”

Your cheeks turned pink as you turned to look at Oboro, his face tinted red with embarrassment. “Father, please.”

“Please what? She’s beautiful and talented as well.” He turned back to you. “Oboro’s tunic was all anyone could talk about at dinner a few weeks ago. Aphrodite was impressed, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish.”

“Thank you, Zeus. I’m humbled. I never thought what I did was anything extraordinary.”

“Nonsense! Quality work like that should be appreciated.” You heard Oboro telling you to accept a compliment in the back of your head, so you just smiled and nodded. ”Oboro showed me the blue tunic you made as well, and I would like to ask a favor of you.” 

“Anything, sir.” You felt your heartbeat quicken in anticipation, relaxing minutely when you felt Oboro place his hand on your shoulder and squeeze.

“I would like for you to make something for me. I know that the first tunic was originally an offering for me, but I think it better suits Oboro. I can give you whatever materials you desire. Color and pattern don’t matter to me; I just want something like what you’ve done for my son. Do you think you could do that?”

Your mouth worked without a sound coming out, your brain trying to process what was happening. Zeus wanted you to make clothing for him. “Yes, of course! I would be happy to.”

“Wonderful.” Zeus clapped his hands together and smiled kindly at you. “You’ll be paid for your work, of course. Anything you need, you let my son know, and he’ll get it for you.” He turned to the man beside you, a severe look on his face. “Don’t be a fool, Oboro.”

“Father, what do you-”

“You know what I mean. Have some courage.” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed before turning and nodding back at you. “I hope we meet again soon, Y/N.” 

Before you could say goodbye, a clap of thunder sounded in the temple, causing the ground to shake slightly, and he was gone.

--

You weren’t sure how you made it back to your house, your thoughts elsewhere as you tried to imagine what you could make for Zeus that would impress him.

Oboro was uncharacteristically quiet beside you on the entire walk, his mind obviously elsewhere as well.

“You okay?” You asked him, cocking your head to the side as he stood in the doorway to your home, his shoulder resting on the frame.

He nodded, smiling at you. “Never better.”

Not believing him for a second, you pressed on. “Did your father say something that’s bothering you?” He looked away, his eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t have to tell me, you know. I’m just worried about you.”

His eyes met yours again. “You’re worried about me?”

“You always have a smile on your face, no matter what, so seeing you without one is a little worrisome.” You stepped towards him, craning your head back to look up into his eyes. “You can talk to me if you want. I won’t judge you too hard, I promise.”

Oboro huffed a laugh through his nose. “You’re funny.” His fingers traced along your jaw as he stood up straight, gazing down at you. “You want to know what he was talking about?”

Nodding, you swallowed thickly, feeling the mood in the room shift, the tension between the two of you was palpable. 

“He was telling me not to be a fool about you.”

Blinking, you tried to focus on the feeling on his fingers on your face, moving down to your neck. “About me?”

Humming, his thumb brushed across your chin, moving up to tug on your bottom lip. “He knows how much I like you. He just doesn’t want me to miss my opportunity.”

Eyes wide, you stared at him, not sure what to say, more content to watch him and see what he would do next.

“Ever since I saw you at the river that day, your face is all I can think about when I’m not with you. Spending time with you is all I want to do. I would be content to sit there and drink wine and watch you sew all day, just because I get to be with you.” He chuckled under his breath. “Shouta and Hizashi are tired of me going on about it. Well, Shouta is always tired, so that’s nothing new.” He pushed your hair behind your ear with his other hand. “They all just wanted me to tell you how I feel.” 

You closed your eyes briefly, breathing in deeply. You let your hands rest on his chest, smoothing the fabric of his clothes beneath your fingers. “I like you too, Oboro. A lot.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping in pitch and volume when he spoke. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You felt his breath on your face, and you closed your eyes again when his lips met yours. Letting yourself melt against him, your hands slid up and over his shoulders. He kept his warm palm against your neck, his other hand moving to your waist to pull your body flush against him. He smelled like petrichor and sunshine, and though you were used to the smell because of all the time you spent with him, somehow it was different when he was kissing you, making your knees weak and your heart pound against your ribcage like it was trying to break free. You sighed when you felt his tongue press against your lips, your mouth opening to deepen the kiss, inhaling through your nose, not wanting to let the moment end.

When it did, your chest was heaving as you sucked in air, but you were still pressed against him, your fingers toying with the hair by the nape of his neck.

He looked down at you, his eyes bright and his lips twisted into a smile. “You okay?”

“Better than okay.” You were still out of breath, but you returned his bright smile. 

“Good.” He leaned down to kiss you again, but this time the kiss was chaste and left you chasing his mouth for more. He chuckled. “Come on, let’s have some lunch, and then I think you should take a well-deserved nap. I know you’re exhausted.”

Humming in agreement, you took a step back, your hand moving to cup his cheek. “Alright. You’re going to stay, right?”

His smile got impossibly bigger. “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”

[i-donot-forget]

First Conversation - Leiftan

Eldarya New Era Words 1531

An awkward conversation with my beloved Daemon, oh Leiftan, when will you return to my arms?

I really want to see that "magic connection" in action.

First Conversation - Lance

Second Conversation - Lance

Giggles and whispers perfumed the air of the Guard of Eel, its inhabitants had spent the afternoon curiously observing the comings and goings of the last Aengel, assisting the giant of the Light Guard, Jamon had spent the whole day with a serious expression, letting out an occasional soft growl when someone approached with the intention of interrupting his assistant's work, even though inside he was enjoying Erika's simple company a lot.

When the armory was impeccable and every weapon and tool in place, Erika gave the giant a wide smile full of emotion that he returned, it was time to receive her reward. She almost hopped around Jamon, while he carried a heavy wooden tub over his shoulder in the direction of the young woman's room.

After spending more than three-quarters of an hour moving buckets of hot water and adding the contents of a few small jars Huang Chu gave her, Erika finally relaxed.

She stripped off her clothes in the privacy of her room and looked at herself in the mirror, inspecting every corner of her skin. Since she left the Crystal, everything had been travel and emotions, not a single moment of respite or distraction, not even to assimilate everything she had experienced, she simply had not had time but she could no longer continue to neglect herself, after her awakening she felt different. She knew that she was no longer the same, and yet she had no idea of the extent of this change in her mind and body.

Tracing the surface of her skin with the tips of her fingers as she followed them with her eyes through the mirror, she noticed something that disturbing her, all her scars had disappeared. The "L" -shaped mark on her knee from when her father taught her to ride a bike. The oval burn on her forearm from when her mother tried to teach her how to make caramel. The almost lightning on her thigh, from when she escaped from the institute jumping a wall with her best friend ... And others more than her conflicting emotions did not allow her to remember. Even the dozens of injuries she had suffered since she came to Eldarya. She searched her back, near her kidneys. Naytili's stab had also disappeared, that which almost cost her her life. She pressed the place where the wound was hard as the flashes of that fight surfaced from her memory, she felt a familiar pain, the wound was still there, only it was no longer written on her skin.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind, not wanting to embitter her evening. She sighed deeply and slid into the hot bath, leaned back slowly allowing the water to embrace her nakedness, threw her head back and struggled to blank her mind. She rambled between emotions and familiar sensations, she felt that her body wanted to talk to her so she gave in when the need to fully immerse herself arose in her. In the fetal position, almost floating to the bottom of the tub, she let that pleasant warmth cradle her.

She felt happy, safe and protected, far from the outside world, as if she were returning to her mother's womb, she forgot everything, she abandoned herself to that familiar warmth. She couldn't remember images, but she had certainly felt that way before, she just couldn't remember when or where, but sooner rather than later she came to her, the Crystal, that's how she felt while inside the Crystal, discovering this. little mystery. She smiled and returned to her pleasant trance. Suddenly she stretched out her arm and her hand searched for something that she felt should be there but that she did not find, that absence of this caused her great emptiness and anguish, she felt desperate and her soul cried out for him.

She got out of the water, she had had enough, too many sensations went through her head so fast that she did not realize how long she had held her breath, she took a deep breath until she stabilized and put on a light robe, even being completely soaked, she sat on her bed staring at nothing.

A tingling in her hand brought her out of her coma, she looked at her fingers curiously for long minutes until another stimulus caught her attention, she walked slowly towards the door, without conscience and at the same time with a strange knowledge of the cause. In front of the door she hesitated a moment before extending her arm to the surface, she stretched out her fingers and her entire palm pressing softly and almost fearfully against the wood. It was cold, hard and immovable, she waited impatiently until a subtle burning caressed her skin causing a slight start in her. She moved her hand from the surface to the doorknob and in one slow motion opened it.

Leiftan was outside her room with his hand floating where the door was and with the same confused and certain look as Erika. They stared at each other until she took a step back and he entered the room without saying anything, closing the door behind him. The young woman was sitting on her bed, with her hands on her thighs, she hesitantly she did not know if look at him. An unpleasant sensation began to grow in her stomach, a strange and abnormal discomfort in her. She clenched her fists on the thin fabric of the robe over her legs.

- You are ok? -

His voice breaking through the tense atmosphere only increased her discomfort. She turned her head from side to side, stood up, and walked doubtfully around the room, looking at him helplessly from time to time for help.

- I ... took a bath and ... -

Rubbing her hands that were beginning to feel damp and shaking, Leiftan crossed the roo  to the window, looked at her, and nodded, encouraging her to continue.

- T-the water. It's feel like to be back in the Crystal, but I-I ...-

She could not continue speaking, a blockage in her throat prevented her from uttering a word, it almost hurt, Leiftan approached her cautiously, waiting for her approval with every step he approached.

- I-I feel strange ... And every second more ... -

Hearing her words, he took a step back and sighed, she didn't know it but they both had the same heaviness in their hearts. Leiftan also had problems with his hands, tangled the threads of his clothing between his fingers uneasily.

- I have been practicing my meditation, I remember not long ago you asked me to find a solution for ... our situation. -

Erika tried to process the information and her feelings, she understood then that discomfort, that horrible anguish ... that unbearably unpleasant feeling was not hers, it was what Leiftan was feeling right now. That fact made her cheeks flush with shame, she felt humiliated ... She had called him and he didn’t want to be there.

- Could you please not do that. -

The young woman's tone sounded even more aggressive than she had planned, like a low, subtle growl. He looked at her in surprise and bewilderment, he didn't expect that reaction from her at all.

- I thought it was what you wanted. -

- I want to get rid of this that ... unites us, but your meditation is definitely useless. -

- I do not understand. -

- I didn't think that I would go through this again, that you would make me feel that way again. -

- What are you talking about. -

- Stop lying Leiftan! -

The man was shocked, completely paralyzed by Erika's violent reaction, he stepped back, he was in her territory, cornered.

- I-I really do not understand. -

- I can feel your discomfort Leiftan, whatever you are trying to hide… I can feel it. If you don't want to be here, go away, but stop pretending and liying, it's disgusting ... -

- Sorry. -

Leiftan couldn't keep holding her gaze, he needed to get out of there as quickly as possible, he felt a stab in the chest. He flinched when he passed her, she looked hyperventilated, shaking and glassy-eyed, but she wasn't done.

- And if ... I call you again, I don't want you to come, I'll learn to control it. -

Those words had been like a gunshot, Erika felt her heart so tight that she couldn't breathe. Leiftan's expression winced and she exploded at her pent-up emotions.

- So you can leave me your cynicism now! We no longer have to see or be together! Was not that what you wanted !? Am I not just a part of your evil plan ?! -

- Erika! Things are not like that, I always made it very clear that you are all that matters to me. -

- SHUT UP! Shut up Leiftan! Don't you understand that I'm beyond your deceptions? Haven't you lied to me enough? I DON'T KNOW YOU AND YOU STILL KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ME! You can read me and feel me! I'M NAKED IN FRONT OF YOU. And you? I do not even know who you are… -

Erika hadn't noticed when Leiftan had turned his back on her, but without turning to her, he walked to the door and said goodbye to her before leaving.

- Good night Erika… -

[some-dr-writings]

Gundham and Kokichi get Hanahaki

Gundham Tanaka:

·       Gundham stared down in disbelief at what he had coughed into his hands. No longer was it flower petals but full, pink, camellia blossoms… longing. His loyal generals scurried about in panic. “Hmm, so the curse you sensed on me. Is this it? … not just Hanahaki but these blossoms... their meaning…” He wanted to keep denying it like he had been for the past month but no longer could he.

·       He had heard of Hanahaki before, but he thought it was but a rumor. He knew of the only three cures, death, a surgery that removes that wretched plant at the price of the feelings it bloomed from, or confessing… He bitterly chuckled which swiftly morphed into that booming laughter. “So the world now seeks to end me by any means necessary. Whether it be by my body, or my spirit…” Clenching his fist he crushed those soft pink petals. “Fine! Let it try, for all those efforts will be in vain. I’ll carry on these emotions and live! I shall not sacrifice my life in this world nor lose my spirit in doing so.” Immediately after that hacking started up again as he felt that irritable scratching crawl through his throat and lunges. Concerned, his generals cuddled up to him, wanting to help him in some way.

·       As he was lacing up his boots that winter morning, he heard a knock, knock, knocking from his door. “I’ll be but a moment my Emperor!” He called out, hopping on one foot towards the door, making that last knot. Swinging the door open he was happily greeted by your pale smile. “Running a little late I see.” “My apologies should I have kept you waiting for long.” “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just used to you being ready before me. Like, seriously, how do you get all that makeup done every day and be ready before me?” He smirked seeing your genuine curiosity. “Ibuki helps Gundham get ready on date day!” “Ibuki!” The girl merrily slipped past you and Gundham. “He always goes on and on about ‘not keeping his beloved waiting’ how ‘on the days of courting rituals he must be as presentable as possible as to-” “ENOUGH IBUKI!” His face was absolutely flushed as he began to chase after her. She dashed away wishing he and you well. “I-ignore those words. They were but nothing!” You had your arms crossed, a sharp smirk creasing your lips. “Suuuuuuuure. Absolutely nothing. Heh.” “E-enough! We must get our ritual started.” Still chuckling you took his bandaged hand and lead the way. How was it that even thinking of your laugh send his heart a flight.

·       He strolled down that path, getting absorbed in the light sound of his footfalls against the stone. It was a particularly hot and muggy day, not helped by there not being a single cloud in the sky, allowing the sun’s harsh rays to beam down in it’s full glory. Sighing, he loosened the scarf around his neck. Holding up his hand to shade his eyes just a bit from those rays, his gaze lingered on the dull red and black bandana tied around his wrist.

·       “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to wander around like this?” “I’m fine! Don’t worry so much! I got permission from the doctors and everything!” You trotted on ahead down the trail, spinning around loving the fresh air. You had been cooped up there for far too long under observation. It was good to see you out and so lively at that. All too quickly you got winded and started to collapse. Gundham dashed to you, cradling you against his chest. “My Emperor don’t be so demanding on your body right away. You’ve yet to be released fully. This is but a day to get fresh air.” “I know, but… I want to enjoy being out… even if it hurts a little. But I won’t do anything stupid!” Snow gently fluttered down and Gundham pulled you closer. “All I ask is you be careful.”

·       Sitting under a lone tree he felt that awful sweltering heat suffocating him. He felt his heart beating just a little faster than usual. He looked out to the lake, the blue sky reflected on it’s surface. Mindlessly he fiddled with the ends of that bandana.

·       “… Gundham.” “Yes?” “What do you think it means to survive?” He looked to you, raising a brow at the question. He was intrigued why you’d ask such a thing, but his own questions could be saved for later. He looked out to the horizon to ponder, though an answer had already sprung to mind. “To survive is to do anything and everything in your power to stay in this realm. To survive in some cases may even mean to allow your own life to extinguish so the majority may live on and prosper even in your absence.” “… Is there a difference between surviving and living?” “Surviving and living you say… Hmm.” He shivered as the cold wind rolled past. “… Living is making the most of each moment you have. Even if it’s something small like being awake in a dream or merely being near a cherished one. Living is appreciating the moment.” “So… can you live and survive?” “… That depends on the circumstances.” “If you had to choose one, which would it be.” “Me?... I’d choose survival.” “I thought so.” “And you?” “… Don’t know. I… I think it depends on the circumstances.”

·       Survival…

·       Placing a hand on his propped-up knee, he tried pushing himself onto his feet. Even merely standing up caught his breath in his throat, those accursed blooms clogging his windpipe. He desperately tried repressing those blooms, keeping it all in, even covering his mouth with his hands. He couldn’t let them out. Not just yet.

·       “Hey, there’s a street market! Let’s go check it out.” As the two of you entered you were immediately hit by the wafting sent of fried food and incense. Hand in hand the two of you wandered from stall to stall, admiring the unique items. In one such stall as Gundham was looking at some plain furin bells you approached him. “Hey, I got you something!” “Oh? What sort of charm have you procured?” “Hold up your not bandaged hand.” Obediently he did as told. “I thought this’d look good on you!” You then tied the bright red and black bandana around his wrist. “Hmm, you have a good eye. I can already feel the power you transferred into it, radiating brilliantly!”

·       Sitting at one of the stalls Gundham ate a tin box of jam and powdered sugar covered aebleskivers with a small paper bag of newly bought items. He watched as the thinning crowd almost dissipated entirely as the midday heat made being outside too unbearable. He watched as the wind rustled the leaves of the trees. Unable to take it anymore he took off his scarf and instead tied it around his waist. He reached for his wrist, flinching, feeling the fabric. He felt that cough seemingly puncture his throat.

·       As he walked, he slowly came to a stop. For a moment, he looked to the hospital that stood just across the street. He continued to walk. Down the street, down the sidewalk, up the hill, across the road, past the temple and into the large, lush green forest. The wind seemed to howl the deeper he went. The cool air and shade complimented the calm of the forest. His eyes wandered from the treetops to the moss-covered stone walls. Off in the distance he heard, assumedly a monk, playing a tibetan bowl. The stone pathway was neatly cleaned, hardly even any dirt on it, clearly well cared for. Down the stone stairs he had but needed to take a left to arrive at his destination. As he offered incense, he couldn’t keep it in anymore coughing and hacking up pink, bloodied camellia blossoms between raspy gasps for air.

·       Shaking he fell to his knees before the snow-covered stone.

·       He clutched a hand on his chest that prickling pain seemingly wanting to burst through and break his rib-cage. He managed to force himself up, ladle out water on the grave from a wooden tub.

·       His eyes blurred only seeing a haze of gray and white when he poured the water.

·       He placed a hand on the grave.

·       He…

·       “It’s not winter, but summer.” Looking to the dates he sighed, only for that coughing to start up again. Taking a deep breath, he put his hands flat together in prayer. “It’s been a year and a half since you’ve passed on my Emperor.” His scratchy voice began to crack. “I… I’ve come to you today to apologize. I wish to live, but more so to survive. I can no longer confess my love for you, for your everything over and over as I once had done when you were beside me in this world. Even if I continue to do so in my dreams this curse won’t leave me be… so… it seems…” His breath trembled just as his body did, tears streaking down his cheeks. “My… my Y/N… I thank you, for spending your time with me when you were here. I… I love you so much, even now that you’re gone and can no longer love me back, I love you… And… goodbye… for… forev-…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish that last word. Hiccups, raw sobbing, gasps, and coughing got in the way.

·       On unsteady feet he dragged himself away. He couldn’t be late.

·       As snow drifted down past the window, entering the room he saw how longingly you looked to him. “Gundham… I… don’t worry about me, please.” “How dare you say that! I always shall!” “No, Gundham. Look at me. I’m withering away here. All this stuff is just prolonging the inevitable. No cure is just going to suddenly appear! It’ll be at least ten if not more years before there’s even anything close to a cure. I don’t want to just sit here and wait to die!” “… W-what are you saying?” He clutched you hand tightly, interlacing your fingers. “I was told that I can give my body to research, but… I… won’t be here…” His eyes widened, staring at you in abject horror. “no. NO! Y/N YOU CAN’T! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” Tears cascaded from his eyes as he hugged you. “Y/N I… You… please…” He sobbed even harder feeling you hug him back, hearing your own cries. “I… I understand why, but… my Emperor, Y/N…”

·       Taking a deep breath, he wiped the tears from his eyes before entering the hospital. That oppressive summer heat seemingly choking him.

·       The surgery was successful with no complications, so he was able to leave right away. After collecting his belonging, he swiftly left, wanting to make sure his creatures were properly cared for in his absence.

·       Without a second thought he tossed his bag of items onto his bed to be placed away later. He needed to care for his creatures.

·       It was late into the night when he finally got the chance to put the bag of items away. His zodiac generals scurried up to him, bucking the bag and nuzzling into him.

·       The last item he had taken out was a worn out red and black bandana…

·       He hated this.

·       This was ridiculous. His vision blurred, and he hurt. He hurt knowing looking at the cloth no longer hurt him so deeply. It meant nothing to him now… that’s why it hurt so much… because he still knew it used to mean something to him… but not anymore.

   Kokichi Oma:

·       The moment he felt that tingling in his throat and he coughed up petals Kokichi already knew what had befallen him.

·       Hanahaki.

·       This… was a very cruel thing to pull on him, especially considering his situation. He thought it stupid that the universe or his own body or whatever made Hanahaki happen decided to set this into motion. He was content, even happy with the way things were and he didn’t care that you didn’t love him, as long as you were happy, he was fine. So, though he was fine with this, something he thought most people would not be, whatever made this happen forced him into the position of dying or getting rid of his feelings all together!? Those were the only options, he never even considered confessing to you. At heart, Kokichi was a clown, all he wanted was joy and laughter, confessing would only hurt you, so it was not an option to him.

·       Immediately he set to researching what accursed plant was entangling and clogging up his lungs and throat.

·       Scilla meaning loyalty and constancy… Truly the irony was palpable with this flower choice.

·       Sighing he flopped onto his bed, letting the sketchpad, papers, crayons, and colored pencils momentarily hopped up. “So… what am I to do now… Die, or throw away my feelings?” He stared up at the ceiling before gleefully hopping off of his bed. “I’ll make a game out of this!”

·       Having bought his bouquet, he skipped out of the flower shop. He mindlessly hummed to himself plucking the petals of one of the flowers. Then the next. Then the next. And the next, and so on. That was till he was down to the last flower. “… Die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live, die, live… I guess I’ll live. Maybe. No I will!” Dumping the stems and wrapping in a garbage can, Kokichi smiled, reminding himself that when lying to anyone you must be confident! No room for doubt.

·       Well, if he were going to live, he was going to have to get the surgery, to entirely remove his feelings for you… You were his best friend. He was not sure if his friendship with you was entirely removed from his more romantic feelings for you. If he were to remove his feelings, would you two still be best friends, or friends at all? You were very observant, it was one of the many things he loved about you, because of that, you’d likely notice he was acting differently. Maybe your friendship would end up breaking apart… He might end up hurting you because of that. he couldn’t bear that thought. So… by removing his feelings he decided to end your friendship while he still loved you. He wouldn’t actually end the friendship though, just make some excuse as to why he would be far away for the rest of his life and how you and he could only have very minimal contact. Yeah, something like that. You wouldn’t get hurt that way, the worst of it would be missing him, but nothing more.

·       Now that he had finally come to a decision, he had some planning to do!

·       He gathered all of D.I.C.E. at their headquarters in order to plan this out. He needed this to be perfect. They spent hours and hours on end planning, only taking short tea breaks for rest.

·       Kokichi was surprised at how quickly his condition had worsened in only a week. What had been single petals had already evolved into closed blossoms. He needed to hurry.

·       He had boiled down everything to two plans.

·       Plan A. Make you hate him so you wouldn’t care about him. There were… several problems with this plan. Even the mere thought of actively hurting you, to the point of getting you to loath and detest him, to not caring he no longer was your friend… He’d have to hurt you, but at least if you weren’t friends, you’d never miss him… But he was a clown. Even the mere though of this plan sent him into an awful wheezing, coughing fit. Tears would percolate in the corners of his eyes from all of the pain. He knew he’d act on instinct and rush to your side and make a fool of himself. He’d do anything to make you laugh and smile…

·       To hear that beautiful bubbly laugh that sent his heart a flight with fantasies of always being by your side, of no matter come what may, being there to make you happy after you indulged in the pain accepting whatever happened.

·       … He could never hurt you.

·       So all he could do was go for the other plan.

·       Plan B. Make a giant show for you. Endless pranks for an entire day and by the end tell you he was moving very far away, maybe to Prague or something he still hadn’t decided where he was going yet, and tell you all these pranks were to make up for all the lost future time together. You’d likely hurt from missing him, but it wouldn’t be anything major…

·       Maybe even after a while you’d forget about him. Then you wouldn’t care at all. You wouldn’t get hurt… Maybe… Maybe that would be for the best. Even if it made him feel sick, terrified even… maybe it would be what was best for you.

·       He just wanted you to be happy. He was determined to conceal you in a kind happy lie, surely it was better than a painful truth.

·       Reading over his plans his vision began to blur. That awful scratching pain clawed up his throat, erupting into that hacking and coughing. He shut his eyes, clutching a hand to his chest. Keeling over he gasped for breath. This was certainly the worst fit by far. Slowly opening his eyes his vision cleared. There were the full blue blossoms, red dripping from them and dyeing the pages beneath. “Already? I thought I had more time…” he then noticed which page got covered in red. Plan A. “Heh, plan B it is. Guess I’ll have to put this plan into action tomorrow.”

·       All through the night he made calls and plans with D.I.C.E. to have everything prepared for endless pranks. He needed this goodbye to be perfect. It was the last time you’d be seeing one another after all, and he wanted his last memory of you to be happy, smiling, and laughing. As long as you were happy, he’d be okay, no matter what.

·       Till the early morning hours, he and D.I.C.E. was running about preparing pranks in any and all locations you frequented and could possibly even go to, even if it meant breaking into your bank and some other places. It was no big deal, it was for very good reason after all, the best goodbye ever!

·       As he and two other D.I.C.E. members were trying to break into a rather stubborn vending machine, he got a call from another member saying you had left your place, awfully smiley in the way you only were when Kokichi pranked you. “Yes! Keep an eye on them! We need to know where they’re going!”

·       Dashing after you, he managed to catch up rather quickly. You were sitting at a park bench. He was about to run up and tackle you when he suddenly stopped himself and instead hid in a tree. You promptly stood up, running to your partner, hugging them… He desperately tried repressing that coughing. It hurt. It hurt so much. Just everything. The one thing that made you even happier than being surprised by Kokichi’s mischief or seeing him playing the fool or him telling you an off-hand joke was your partner. Your partner was the light of your life, what Kokichi wished he was. You were always so undeniably happy with them, you didn’t want anyone else.

·       … This was fine, this just meant he’d get to see more of your smiles on this last day together. He just had to pull back on the pranks as to not be overbearing and annoy you and your partner.

·       Kokichi’s plan had now changed slightly. There were still pranks through the whole day but now he and D.I.C.E. decided to help out the date.

·       When things were getting dull they’d add in a prank. When things were getting romantic, they start playing a beautiful song adding to the mood. They’d separate you from crowds so you could more easily steal a kiss. They’d dim the lights around you and place spot lights on you. They made sure you always had something fun to do. And with each time they intervened you’d catch a glimpse of Kokichi somewhere smiling that toothy grin, giving you a thumbs up. Little did you know that the moment your gaze shifted back to your partner, when they were the center of our world, capturing all of your attention Kokichi hid away, the pain of those cuts slicing deeper and deeper into his heart, lungs and throat came bursting out of his mouth as bloodied flowers, tears streaming down his cheeks as he clutched his chest. Yet moments later even with the red staining his lips and petals clinging to his chin he smiled, knowing he was helping to make this day great. After all, he was a clown. Clowns make others happy at their own expense, even if it hurt them. As long as others were happy, if you were happy, he was happy too. Perhaps, that was the one solid truth he had never lied about in any capacity to others or himself. One could lie just about anything, but that was the one undeniable truth that could never be obscured no matter how he tried, even if he wanted too.

·       And thus, the day went on, joyously, as it should have. Till you heard it. From his hiding spot under the bridge where he and D.I.C.E. set off fireworks for you, you heard that horrendous hacking. Kokichi crumpling over clamped his hands over his mouth. Just a little longer he had to keep it all in. But… he couldn’t breathe, no matter how he gasped, he couldn’t get anything. His vision was darkening and blurring. Everything was suddenly so cold. Even his hearing was muffled as if he were underwater. “Kokichi!” Suddenly he was in your arms, cuddled against you… You were crying. You… you had said something else but he could only clearly hear his name, everything else was a blur, like how only you were clear and everything was a haze. “s-sorry… I… want to… to leave you with… a smile… n-not this.” This was the first and only time he truly broke down before anyone, not trying to hide or obscure anything at all. All the pain and heart break was etched into his every feature. You screamed something… he thought… it was hard to even think.

·       … Even in the end he was a liar. He had to lie to himself to do this. He was a clown, it was in his nature to only make you smile, but… this was his only choice. He was loyal to himself and you alone. He would never throw away his feelings for you. It was simply not even an option he truly considered, even if he lied to himself saying he would. “hey… it’s… okay… you shou… laugh… i… want you too… it’s what I do… you’re alright… live happily… that’s… all I ask… and… that’s…… not…… a……… lie”

[operationcavill]

Just Fun

I’ve pictured a younger Henry x Y/N while writing this, but as always, please imagine whatever you please 🖤 This contains sexual content. Please do not read if you are not a fan of explicit material.

Henry wakes to the sound of a faint clinking and a smile on his face. The sun is peeking through the window and he can smell Y/N’s perfume. He turns where he’d hoped to find her sleeping, but he sees her sitting on the bed buckling her belt. “Why you always leave like that?”

Henry wakes to the sound of a faint clinking and a smile on his face. The sun is peeking through the window and he can smell Y/N’s perfume. He turns where he’d hoped to find her sleeping, but he sees her sitting on the bed buckling her belt. “Why you always leave like that?”

“What do you mean?” His arm wraps around her waist and his head rests on the pillow she was laying on just moments before, “Henry,” Her voice was a bit groggy and he loved that.

His hand rubs her stomach gently. “I mean; why don’t you ever stay with me?” She sighs at his question. She doesn’t want to give the answer; she doesn’t want to give anything away. “Am I that boring that you can’t even stand to sleep beside me?”

He feels her back straighten, as if she was suddenly tense. “No, I think you’re great. You’re fun. I just don’t wanna make a mess of something fun, you know?” Henry feels something inside him fall.

“So, it’s just fun for you?” Y/N adjusts her bracelet and clears her throat. No, it’s not just fun. It’s almost everything. She feels Henrys arm slip from her waist, immediately missing the warmth. She went into this for a good time, they both did, but when Henry started showing any other signs of affection or suggested dinner or a movie, she felt a ping in her chest. She felt it whenever he smiled or said even said hello.

She hangs her head and stares at her knees. “It’s a lot of things, that’s the problem.” He watches her abruptly get off of the bed and shove on her shoes, tripping and cussing her way down the hall as she walks off.

Henry throws off the sheet to go after her, not a care that he’s completely naked. “Y/N, wait,” He hears his front door open and his heart beats faster. “Y/N!” As soon as the door slams, her eyes pool with tears and Henry sluggishly walks back to his room. He flops down so hard that it hurts his back, what hurts more is that his eyes go straight to her necklace on the night stand. He takes it and twirls it in his fingers before putting it around his own neck.

As Y/N drives home she’s tempted to turn back around and tell him how she feels. She won’t, though. She’s too prideful. Henry’s voice calling out to her stings her ears and the lump in her throat has become unbearable. When she reaches her apartment she struggles with the lock, her teary eyes are blurring her vision which only makes her more frustrated. She finally enters and her roommate, Nora, jumps as she takes in Y/N’s appearance. “What’s wrong?! What happened? Are you ok?” Nora’s job was to take care of others. She was a nurse who works crazy hours and still made the time for their venting sessions.

“I’m fine. I just wanna go to bed, it’s late. Or early, or whatever.” She tries her best to hide her little sniffles but fails miserably.

“Y/N, it’s 4:43 am. Too early for bull shit. Come on, sit down. I’ll get coffee.” Nora sits her down on the couch and throws a quilt at her. She arrives with too mugs, hers being quite larger than Y/N’s. “Spill it.”

Her exhale is shaky but she explains the night before, trying not to get worked up again. “He called me around 8, asking me to meet him for dinner. I told him I’d meet him at his house instead. I could hear it in his voice, you know? That’s what’s so shitty. I think he feels the same way,” her voice breaks but she continues, “but I can’t tell him. I see him lying there and it’s like, I feel myself getting ready to explode. I just keep leaving him and I can never look at him when I leave because if I do, I won’t leave at all. I would stay there, I would stay there and tell him that I love him and risk losing it all.” Y/N looks back to Nora, who’s eyes have gone wide.

She takes the mug from her and sits it on the table. She grabs her hands, making Y/N look at her. “I’m not going to tell you to tell him but I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t. Maybe you just need some time away from each other to be sure what it is that you’re feeling.” Y/N nods and gives her a sad excuse of a smile.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed. Call me on your break?” Nora doesn’t further pry the conversation but promises that she’ll call. She looks in on Y/N before leaving and finds her asleep with a disgruntled look on her face. Her sleep is dreamless, restless. Every fifteen minutes she tosses and turns until she lies flat on her stomach with her eyes fixed on the clock. With her vision focusing in and out on the numbers, her mind goes back to Henry. Not that he wasn’t on her mind already but he was there, clear as day as if he was in the bed with her.

So many questions float through her brain, so many emotions. Why was she such a coward? Why couldn’t she just stay, just sleep there and wake up to him? Y/N is torn from her thoughts when her phone rings. The vibration on the wooden table makes her groan a ‘Hello?’ into the device. “Well, I guess you’re still in bed then?” Oh, she forgot Nora was going to call. “Jenny and I are gonna go out tonight and you’re coming with us. She met this guy at like, a spinning class or something and he asked her to meet him but she doesn’t want to go alone, so I got dragged into it. Meaning you are too.”

“Why does that mean I have to go? I don’t want to. I wanna stay here.” Her ear is filled with sighs and what could only be described as the kind of scolding that your grandmother would give you. “You can be such a dick; you know?”

Her roommate rolls her eyes even though Y/N can’t see her, “Yeah but so can you. It’ll be fun, we’ll have some frilly drinks and stuff.” Once she has Y/N agree she gleefully announced she’ll be home soon and hangs up the phone.

Y/N looks at the clock once more and decides she can wallow for a few more hours. She pulls the covers closer to her body and rolls around until a comfortable position is found. In what seems like the impossible, Y/N actually falls asleep.

Henry, however, hasn’t slept a wink. He can’t. How could he? He’s been playing with that necklace for hours now and he hasn’t stopped thinking about Y/N. She should be beside him right now, her cold toes poking at his legs. He blinks hard to try to relieve the tired burn of his eyes. Henry thinks if he can stare at the ugly dots of the popcorn ceiling just long enough, he may finally doze off.  He finds himself questioning the night before. He could’ve flat out told her he wanted whatever it was that they did have, to be more. He might even have said that he loved her. Why did he have to go get himself in this mess? And what did Y/N mean when she said it was a lot of things?

Buzz. Buzz. His feet sprint to his phone in hopes that it's Y/N but to his dismay it's a text from Jack, asking him to come out tonight. He responds that he doesn't think he's in the mood, which in turn makes his friend call in order to convince him. “Come on. Just stop by, drinks on me, aye?” He’s silent for a few seconds before finally giving into Jacks offer. Henry throws his phone back on the bed and walks to his bathroom, grabbing a towel on his way.

The hot water hits his chest and he sighs. He lets the water rain over his head, making his long hair cling to his forhead. Henry opened his eyes and focuses in on Y/N’s necklace. It sways back and forth, back and forth. His mind goes to the night before and he pictures her moving on him, for him, just like that necklace; back and forth. She dug her nails into his chest and his into her hips, her chest moving just out of reach in front of his face. His hand moves to his dick, now hard and begging to be touched. He moves slowly, just like she would. He thinks about that dirty image and replays it over and over until her mouth pops into his mind. Those lips wrapped around him, “Fuck,” She always moved her tongue in the best way, swirling it around and if he was lucky, licking him clean. He closes his eyes and continues to move his hand. Even though Henry has just started; he’s already finishing, gritting his teeth and grunting.

—————

“You look so good in this that it’s actually stupid.” Nora zips up Y/N’s dress and fluffs her hair. Before she can turn around to talk to her, she’s rummaging through her closet flinging shoes around until she finds the perfect pair. “These!”

Y/N dodges the heels and throws a pillow at her careless roommate, “Try to kill me, why don’t you?” She picks up the shoes and flails them in the air before flopping on her bed.

Nora just rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Shut up, put the shoes on. Cabs gonna be here soon.” Once she leaves the room, Y/N wiggles on the heels and involuntarily extends her arm to her desk to grab her necklace.

“Shit.” She looks in her unmade bed, under it, under the desk and even the bathroom but the necklace is nowhere to be found. Nora finds her on her hands and knees with her head under the couch.

She snickers at her and pokes her butt with her foot, “Y/N, did you pre-game? Are you already drunk?”

“What? No, I can’t find my necklace.” Then it clicked that she left it at Henry’s, “Fuck a duck.”

Nora laughs, “What?”

“I left it at his.” They sigh in unison and Y/N gives Nora an upset look. She pulls her up off the floor and drags her to the door.

“I bet it’s in the car. We’ll look for it in the morning, let’s get outta here and have some fun!” The ride to the spot was proven difficult for the driver, with the two in the back singing very loudly to a song that he doesn’t know, he was more than glad that they left him a nice tip.

Upon entering, the duo searches for their friend who seems to have not arrived yet. They order drinks and sit at the end of the bar. “So, where did she meet this guy again?”

Nora takes a drink before answering, “She told me she met him at a spinning class. Which is weird cause I’ve gone to that class and there are zero guys. His name is Jake, or jack or something.” They both laugh and Nora suddenly waves, “Oh, look! They’re here.” Before Y/N can turn, she notices her friends face fall.

“What? What is it?” Nora just makes a funny smile, just like she makes when she’s uncomfortable. She finally turns her body on the stool and her eyes meet Henry’s, causing him to freeze in his place. Her feet meet the floor and Nora grabs her wrist. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, Ok?”

“If you don’t come back, I’m kicking your ass later for lying to me.” Y/N reassures her that she’ll come back and heads to the bathrooms. She ignores the half-drunk girls and makes her way to the sink, looking at herself. She adjusts her dress and fixes her hair.

Back at the bar, there’s an awkward silence between Nora and Henry but she breaks it, “Okay, Cavill. Let’s get to it.”

He cuts her off with a nervous laugh, “You know, you can call me Henry.”

She gives him a blank stare and sports no amusement, “Listen up, Cavill. Y/N is my best friend so I’m obligated to tell you to get your shit together and tell her how you feel. Seriously, whatever you two have, talk about it.”

“Well, it’s not exactly easy when she’s sneaking out of the house every five-seconds.” He downs the rest of his drink and places it on the bar.

Nora guffaws and thinks she needs about 3 more drinks to get through this conversation. “You ever think to go after her, you freaking idiot.” Then it clicks, he was too worried about bothering her to go after her but was that what she really wanted?

Henry nods at the bartender for another round then returns to their conversation, “So, should I like go get her?”

“Sure. Good a time as any!” Nora pushes her empty shot glass away and laughs, “…I’ve had too many, startin’ to yell.”

“Well, Buzzed Nora is enlightening. Fingers crossed, eh?” Henry makes his way to the tiny hall where the bathrooms are located. He knows she’ll be right pissed with him waiting for her but Nora got him all determined and okay, a little nervous.

Y/N checks her ass out in the mirror and sighs, getting the attention of a girl applying lipstick. “If you’re worried about your ass, don’t. That dress is incredible.”

She is taken aback a bit but giggles, “Thank you. You look incredible yourself.” After a small chat, she leaves the bathroom feeling a little more confident and convinced that she’ll just ignore Henry the rest of the night. Her plan comes to a screeching halt as she finds him leaned up against the wall in front of the door. “Shit.”

Henry raises his eye brow, “Nice to see you too, Y/N,” She gives him a pathetic excuse of a smile and slowly begins to walk away from him but he follows. He gets close enough to stop her and to her disappointment, right in the middle of what looks like a sea of dancing bodies. His arm slips around her front and pulls her to him, “Always running away. I would complain a lot more but you’ve got such a nice ass.” He knew how to get under her skin, she abruptly turns and scowls. “I’m kidding, kind of.”

She shakes her head to get her hair out of her face and avoids his face, “I have to go find Nora.”

“Ah, but you don’t. She knows we’re gonna talk.” Y/N makes a mental note to get back at her but the thought fades when Henry kisses her cheek and her hand flies to his chest to stop him. A familiar glint dangles from his neck and her brows furrow.

Her fingers pull the charm from the necklace out of his shirt and he gulps at the feeling of her touching his skin, “Why are you wearing my necklace?”

“It was the only part of you that stayed.” Suddenly, she feels closed in and hurt all at once. That risk-losing-it-all feeling washes over her and she tries to brush past him, but his arm catches hers and he leads her to a dark secluded nook, where only a few people who are much too into their drinks and own conversations.

The close proximity of their bodies makes her heart race and the soothing touch of his hand on her back is almost too much, “Let’s go back to the bar.” She catches his eyes and he gives her one soft kiss before getting even closer.

“I may not know what’s going on in your head, but I know that when I do this,” He pulls her to him, looking her right in the eye, “you start to breathe heavy.” Henrys mouth moves closer to her ear and a hand slaps her backside causing her to moan, “and when I do that, you purr like a fucking kitten.” Her nails dig into his bicep and she attempts to turn her head away from his, but his hand moves to her jaw in order to keep it in place. “No, no, Look at me. I’m not finished.” Y/N’s eyes find his and she knows she has no chance. “If you wanna leave, fine. But not until I’m done talking.” His hand slips under her skirt and his chest connects with hers, pinning her to the wall behind them. Henry’s mouth moves to her ear as his hand ghosts over her panties.

Her teeth bite into her bottom lip in order to stop herself from groaning but she fails. “Now that I’ve really got your attention, I’m gonna start.” His lips barely touch the shell of her ear and she shivers. “I wake up every day wishing you were in my bed. You see, we have these incredible nights together where I get the privilege of making you moan for me, come for me.” His hand moves her underwear to the side and a finger teases her. “I get to do this to you, I can get you wet but I can’t get you to say you love me.” Henry lets the word slip from his lips and it travels through her ear then all the way down to the pit of her stomach.

Another moan escapes her but not only is it filled with pleasure, it’s filled with a new kind of desperation. “Henry, this isn’t fair.” He was being relentless. His fingers play with her clit and she can feel his heart beat, “This is, this is mean.”

This time Henry groans, “If you’re gonna pretend like all you want is a good fuck, then I have news for you; you’re a bad liar. Do you really think I don’t know? I see it every time you run off from me. I wake up feeling like it’s gonna be the day you tell me you love me and I finally get to say it back. Can you imagine how far you’d run if I said it first? ” His voice is low but his finger still moves. Her hand moves to the back of his neck and her forehead rests on his shoulder, “Not letting me love you? That’s mean.”

She’s overwhelmed in every sense of the word. Her body is hot yet she’s covered in chills. “It’s not that, god…it’s not that simple.” His pulls her closer and inserts two fingers inside her. “Oh my god, we have to go.” Henry smiles against her ear as her hips move forward. His fingers curl and she yelps loudly but his mouth lands on hers to silence it. She has no fight left in her. Her body loosens and their lips press harder together. Henry gets carried away and moves his hand faster. “There’s too many people…Someone will see.”

“No one’s looking at us. Maybe I should make you come right here. If that’s all you think you want from me, I might as well give it to you. That all you want from me? You want me to make you come? Huh?” He can feel her squeeze on his fingers, “I told you, you were a bad liar. Tell me the truth. Tell me what you want.” He moves so that they’re face to face again. “Hmm?”

Y/N clutches his arms and an angry look covers her face. “This is the worst way to get me to tell you I love you.” Henry smiles widely and releases his fingers. She hates how cute that smirk makes him. “What?”

“Gotcha,” He grabs her hand and pulls her away from the corner, through the club and out to the parking lot. He opens the car door for her and rushes to the other side. She can’t believe how fast this moment is passing. He had her up a wall only a few minutes ago and now they’re zooming towards his house.

Henry is still grinning and it further pisses Y/N off, why is he being such an idiot? “What are you smiling about? Where are we going?” He keeps his eyes on the road and continues to shifts gears.

“You told me you loved me and we’re going home to celebrate.” Her mind drifts off and her words from earlier shake her brain. She did it. Fuck, she said it.

Her voice is quiet and confused, “Celebrate?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m fucking crazy for you.” Even with him saying how he feels, she can’t help but think none of it’s real. Henry could be lying, there’s always a chance. “I love you.” There it is, it’s out in the open and Y/N kind of feels dizzy.

She’s not sure what to do, what does she say? Does she say it back? “Um…I, well, me too.” They hit a stop light and Henry cheeky grin falls.

He sighs, “Why won’t you say it? Said it before.” He doesn’t sound annoyed or disappointed, if anything he sounds a happy.

She plays with her fingers as she whispers, “I don’t know.”

He playfully returns the whisper, “Liar

She whispers even lower, “I love you.”

Henry now yells and actually makes her smile, “Baby, I can’t hear you.”

“You heard me.” Y/N shifts in the seat, adjusting her dress.

“Afraid not,” Henry accelerates, taking Y/N by surprise and falling back into the seat.

She sighs in annoyance, “I love you.”

“Good.” She stares at him blankly as his smile returns. She has no idea what else to say at the moment. All she can do his stare at Henry and that cute dimple.

——————

Y/N and Henry sit in his kitchen, her on a bar stool at the island and him at a table in the corner that he’s never actually been used. She fixes herself a glass of water and brings her fingers to her neck, forgetting that there’s no necklace to twirl. “It’s weird not wearing my necklace, weirder seeing it on you.”

Henry pulls the necklace out of his shirt and smirks at her, “Well, maybe if you didn’t run out of here so damn fast you’d still have it.”

Y/N scoffs, “How long you gonna hold that over my head?”

“I won’t, but you can’t pretend that there’s nothing to talk about.” He untucks his shirt and leans back into the chair, “I’m ready for whatever you want to throw at me. Whatever dumb reason it is that you think I’m a liar or using you, throw it at me. I’ll be right here saying the same thing; I love you.”

She groans quietly and looks down at her cup, “Why are you so straight forward?”

“Why aren’t you? You can fuck me like you love me but can’t say it?”

She begins to twirl her cup so she can distract herself from how good he looks, “Henry, don’t be rude to me.”

“It’s true, Y/N,” His eyes narrow and his voice lowers, “why can’t you tell me what you want?”

She takes a sip and taps her nails on the counter, “I want my fucking necklace back.” He smiles and cocks his head to the side. She looks down her dress and smooths it out, “Did I spill it?” Henry shakes his head and bites his lip. “What?”

“Come here,” She sighs before walking over to him and stops just at his knee, allowing him to stoke her skin. “You upset with me?” He looks up at her and gives her a slight pout when she doesn’t answer. His hand moves to the back of her knee and pulls her forward so she falls into a straddling position, “I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses her shoulder and up her throat, “You can have it back but you gotta earn it.”

His hands fall to her backside, pulling her hips to his own. “Earn it?” He knew just what to do to get her worked up.

“Mhmm, I’ll give it back if you tell me what you want.” He nibbles on her skin and she moans. “Pretty little kitty.” His nickname causes her to moan again. “Come on, what ya want?”

Her thighs squeeze around his torso and he closes his eyes, “I want you.” A small chuckle leaves his lips and she really wants to kiss him, she has to.

She tries to kiss him but he playfully dodges it, “I know you want me but that’s not what I want to hear.”

“I want you to want me, I want you to love me.” She brings her forehead to rest on his and he kisses her deeply. Her hands rake through this hair and her hips jolt to his. He bunches the fabric of the dress in his hand, groaning and growing harder.

He hoists her up, her legs wrapping around him as he makes his way to his bedroom. She unbuttons his shirt while he carries her, her mouth leaving small kissing in his neck every few seconds. “’ L‘Show you how much I love you, then I’m gonna do it all over again in the morning. Just fucking wait.” He falls on top of her when he lies her down on the bed, loving the loud of her giggle. He takes off the necklace and places it on the nightstand, “More than earned it.”

Henry takes off his shirt and gets down on his knees, pulling her thighs to the edge of the bed. “Oh,” Her skin erupts with goosebumps as his fingers glide up her leg to pull down her panties.

“May I eat your pussy, with love?” He sings the last words and if she wasn’t so turned on she would hit him on the side of the head.

“Henry, if it proves my love at all, it’s that I don’t mind you saying dorky shit like that.” Both of them smile but Y/N gasps when she feels the warm air on her. He begins to give her small kisses, knowingly teasing and further frustrating her.

He pushes the dress to her waist and locks his arms around her thighs, finally giving her a full lick. “Didn’t know you could get so wet, love.” He continues licking, kissing, and sucking, oh the sucking, on her clit until it gets even more sensitive and swollen. “Such a tasty little cunt, innit?” He sucks on it loudly making her yelp. “And you make the cutest noises.” He licks lightly again but grabs her hands and brings them to her center. “Spread yourself open for me.” She obliges and widens her legs as well. He peppers kisses all over her and watches her contract. “I  love this pussy.” Her legs shake and her hands grab his forearms.

“Oh my god,” Henry smiles into her, she can feel it. He was always so good at this, always so good with his mouth and always a tease.

“That’s my girl,” He then rubs her clit with her own finger and kisses her inner thigh, “I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.” God, why was he like this? His cheek rests on her thigh and two fingers enter her while he continues to use her hand. He knows how to read her; he knows that what she wants: she wants it to be dragged out. She was silent other than her whimpers but that was all he needed. His fingers stop just so he can feel her pulse around them, then he kisses her thigh before curving them just right. Henrys hand leaves hers but orders her, “Don’t stop playing with yourself.” He brings his now free hand to his jeans, unbuttoning them and tugging them down just below his bum.

Henry’s dick had gotten so hard that he had to let it out, he just had to give it a proper squeeze as well. He stands, removing his fingers and making sure to look her in the eye as he licks them clean. He smiles at the fact that she’s still rubbing herself in a little circle. “Take your pants off.”

He smiles again, “Take your dress off.” Both rush out of their remaining clothes and Y/N moves to the head of the bed. He swings his leg over her torso so that he’s directly in her face, “Hands up, open up.” Her arms rise and he grabs hold of them as he enters her mouth. The feeling of her wet mouth is unexplainable. She was always able to get him so deep in this position, he’s forever thankful for that day they googled ‘Fun Sex Positions.’ Her palms lay flat on his chest as he thrusts slowly into her mouth. “mmm, so good at that. Wanna know a secret?” She makes an attempted to nod but fails, “I thought about you sucking me off this morning, had to come all by myself, love.” He pulls himself all the way out of her mouth and drops her hands. The sight of her wiping her mouth is enough to make his dick jump. “I think you owe me one.” He pulls her legs down the bed so she’s flat on her back, smiling when he hovers over her.

“Oh, I owe you one?” He smiles but pretends to be serious.

“Mhmm, so, I think you better stay right here and make it up to me.” Y/N giggles at his dramatics and widens her legs to accept him. He doesn’t enter her right away. He instead flips them over, Y/N now on top of him. “Come on, love. Make it up to me.”

She sinks down on him and leans forward to whisper, “I’m not leaving in the morning.”

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message or ask!]

@igotkatiepowers  @xxxkatxo  @lunedelorient  @heartfelt-pen​ @omgkatinka​ @viking-raider​ @summersing69 @littlefreya​ 

HAPPY HUMP DAY! I hope everyone enjoys the rest of the week.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

“My dearest...“

Jaskier taps the end of his quill on his lips, watching the ink, curved into the runes of his delicate handwriting, dry slowly on the parchment. 

“My love,“ he adds, a smile playing on the corners of his lips as the runes form into words. 

It’s late at night and he’s alone in his room in the Academy, the entire wing allocated for the lecturers silent, everyone but him long asleep. 

The candlelight is not nearly enough to illuminate the entire room but all Jaskier really needs is for it to cast light onto his parchment, the flickering flame casting a distorted shadow from his quill. 

“I do hope that you’ve made it home safe and the winter had been kind to you. Now that I can call you mine, it’s truly unbearable to think that I won’t see you until spring. It’s only been a month and I already miss you so much that I know I won’t be able to let you go next time.“

Geralt did offer for the bard to come with him to Kaer Morhen this winter, for him to meet the other Wolves. 

And Jaskier would’ve gladly accepted that offer if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d already made an agreement with the Academy that he’ll be a guest lecturer on the winter term. 

“Every time I go to bed, I feel like it’s too big for me and, gods, I miss having you by my side at night.“

Jaskier leans back in his chair, bites his lip, fingers tapping on the tabletop in no real rhythm. A thought runs through his mind, making heat creep up the back of his neck.

“I couldn’t sleep yesterday, thinking about you. About the way you’d always kiss me after putting out the candles, the room so dark sometimes that I’d be unable to see you, lead by touch only. Thought about your hands all over me, impatient as always.“

Biting his lips harder, Jaskier looks away from the parchment, a little thrill going through him at the thought of Geralt reading this letter. He’s never the one to blush - Jaskier’s only seen colour in his cheeks a couple of times - but he’s sure that if he’s to choose just the right words, the witcher won’t be able to keep his usual compose. 

Feeling his breathing getting heavier, Jaskier sits up, dipping the end of the quill into ink and putting in back onto the parchment. 

“Do you think of me at night, Witcher? Do you think about my lips, my hands, the feeling of my body pressed up against yours?“

Outside, there is a snowstorm raging, knocking at the windows and howling in the corridors but Jaskier doesn’t notice any of that.

“If only we were together, Geralt, imagine. If you were here, in my bed. I have both morning and evening lectures but that would only make coming back to our bedroom feel even better, wouldn’t it? Every night when I get back, I just wish I could climb into bed with you, push you up against the headboard and saddle your hips.“

Jaskier bites the inside of his lip, undoes a few more hooks of his doublet, suddenly feeling hot. 

“Bite into your lips, deepening the kiss immediately to feel your taste, tug on your hair, coaxing all those little sounds out of you. Fuck, Geralt, if you only knew what those fucking sounds do to me. I assume, you’d be undressed by then? If not, I’d take my time with it, undoing the buttons of your shirt one by one before tossing it aside and running my hands down your chest.“

His hands are steady as always but he can still feel a little shiver run through his entire body. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, Witcher. Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of the way your breath hitches when I press my lips to your neck, right under the sharp of your jaw. I’d do that over and over again, suck a bright-red mark onto your throat, sink my teeth into it to hear one of those gorgeous broken moans that you always give me.“

Jaskier breathes out a raspy “fuck”, running a hand over his neck, carotid artery beating under the delicate skin harder and harder. 

“You know how much I love how impatient you always are. How much I love making you wait, until we both break. But fuck, love, I miss you so bad that I don’t think I’d be able to take things slow, like I usually do. I’d have the patience to take my time with your clothes but after finally feeling your skin on mine, all my self-control would be gone. Do you think about the way my body feels when you can’t sleep at night? Imagine that for me. Imagine me rolling my hips against yours, letting you feel how hard I am, how much I want you.“

Jaskier can feel heat spill over his cheeks and he has to put the quill down for a moment, standing up to cross the room and crack a window open, letting in the cold winter air. He’s breathing heavily, desire and longing mixing into one on his chest. 

Tugging his doublet off completely, Jaskier tosses it to the bed, feeling like he will not survive two more months of sleeping alone, of not having Geralt next to him. It’s never been easy to part for the winter, but now, when he knows how it feels like to spend nights wrapped safely in the witcher’s arms, it’s almost unbearable. 

It takes the bard a few long minutes to recollect himself and get back to the table. 

“Would you want to take control into your own hands or be good and compliant for me? Would you prefer to watch me stretch myself open for you or do that yourself, making me moan and whimper until I grow desperate enough to fuck myself onto your fingers, trembling all over? Gods, Geralt, I could come from just your fingers if you wanted me to.”

It’s long past midnight and Jaskier knows that he’s got a lecture to teach in the morning but he also knows that sleeping is not something that he can count on tonight.

“You know how sensitive and pliant I always become after the first orgasm. Imagine fucking me when I’m like that. Imagine the way I’d arch my back and whimper, scratching your chest and shoulders raw with my nails. The way I’d kiss and bite you, painfully hard again, leaking with precome just for you.” 

When winter ends and we finally meet again, Jaskier thinks, I’m not letting you out of bed for a fucking week. 

“Would you prefer to come inside me or on my thighs, marking me with your scent? I’d let you do both, if you wanted. I’ve had enough chances to learn that you don’t know what a refractory period is, and there’s nothing that turns me on more than the thought of letting you fuck me until I’m barely conscious, until I’m so exhausted with pleasure that I pass out in your arms.“

That thought sends a weakening wave of want through his entire body, and Jaskier almost whimpers, his cock throbbing under the fabric of his breeches. He’s dying to reach his hand down, to finally touch himself but if he doesn’t finish this letter now, he never will. 

“I’d let you find out firsthand how much is too much for me. Let you have me in all the ways you want: on top of you, under, on my knees, against a wall. I don’t care if anyone would hear us but if you wanted to, I’d let you hold a hand over my mouth, keeping me quiet. Do you remember that time we fucked in an empty hallway of that manor in Cidaris after you’ve stolen me in the middle of the banquet? It still makes my knees weak to think about how unforgivably risky that was, how we could’ve gotten caught at any moment for even your hand on my lips couldn’t silence me completely.”

Trying to find something to distract himself with, Jaskier runs his hands through his hair, moaning softly. There’s probably nothing he wouldn’t give to have the witcher there with him.

“Do you think we’d be able to let each other go by morning? You know how much I love it when you leave me absolutely exhausted and kiss me all over until I fall asleep in your arms. When you run your lips and tongue over all the marks and love-bites you’ve left on me, my hands in your hair, murmuring all kinds of affectionate little things that you would never tell anyone else.“

The room is getting cold but Jaskier doesn’t feel it, barely finding it in himself to breathe. 

“When you get this letter, I want you to read it alone in your room and, when you go to bed, spend the entire night, thinking of me. Thinking of everything that you’d do to me if I was there, everything that we will do to each other when we’re finally together again. I want you to think of me every night, Witcher. Every night.“

To stop his hands from shaking, Jaskier rubs his fingers together, telling himself that he will never agree to spend the winter apart again. 

“I love you,“ he writes carefully, every rune as perfect as he can make it. “Love you more than anything in this life. More than life itself.“

As soon as the ink dries, Jaskier brings the letter to his lips and touches a soft kiss to it, knowing that Geralt will be able to pick up the scent. 

“Yours, forever and always.“

“Jaskier.“

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗        toss a coin to your bard ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

[kiwi-bitchez]

hey love can you maybe do a shower smut one shot? don't feel pressured like if u don’t wanna do it it’s fine!

Water Pressure

Reader x Peter Parker

Reader and Peter are both college-aged. College!Neighbor!AU I guess?

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut, shower sex, oral sex, face sitting, dick sucking, soap getting in your eyes, unreliable landlords

New York City in the summer was a great place to be. The stress of school was lifted off your shoulders, and you were lucky enough to be interning at your dream job. You were grateful for the opportunity to stay in the city after the semester ended, not having to move back home to your small town. However, there was one thing about summer in the city that was unbearable: the heat.

It was like a wet blanket that hit you every time you stepped out of your apartment, not that the tiny window box unit you had made much of a difference indoors. It was oppressive and heavy and difficult. You managed to survive with ice packs and cold showers. That was… until this afternoon.

You hike up the seven flights of stairs to your tiny apartment. The building was under serious renovations and didn’t have a working elevator, flickering lights, strange noises in the night. But it was seriously cheap rent compared to the other buildings in the area, so you were willing to make the sacrifices. Not many people lived on your floor, most of the rooms had been occupied by college students whose leases ended at the end of the school year.

You press your sweaty forehead against the chipped paint of the door as you fumble with your keys for a moment.

“Hey y/n, you good?” your neighbor from across the hall asks as he steps out of his apartment to leave for the afternoon.

“Yeah, thanks Flash. Its just so damn hot out. I’d suggest bringing some water wherever you’re going,” you respond. You sneak a peak into his apartment for a second before the door swings shut, getting a glance of his roommate Peter who was playing video games on the couch.

You were grateful to have them as neighbors, they were nice enough, would let you borrow a cup of sugar every once in a while, and weren’t too loud like the previous people you had lived near in college. It didn’t hurt that Peter was nice to look at. He was incredibly nice, and a little dorky, which only added to his charm. It wasn’t long into the summer before you had developed a little crush on him.

You had seen him around campus before, but never really got to know him. His best friend Ned had been your calculus tutor sophomore year, so you saw him in passing but never more than a wave or a smile. Now that he was living across the hall you saw him almost every day, lucky you.

You finally make it into your shoebox apartment and drop your stuff down on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t much cooler inside as it was outside, unfortunately. You immediately shed yourself of your slightly sticky clothing, peeling the few layers off your damp skin. It had become routine to hop in the shower as soon s you get home, an attempt to bring your body temperature down a few degrees and wash the sweat from your hair.

A sigh of relief escapes you as the ice cold water hits your face. The air of the city left a certain layer of grime on you that always felt nice to wash off. You allow yourself to use a large dollop of shampoo, wanting to scrub the roots of your hair from any sweat and dirt that the city had left.

It was moments like this that you cursed your landlord, cursed the building that you lived in, and cursed whatever higher power was in charge of your utilities. Your water shuts off. You jiggle the knob, hoping the water would turn back on, but it only lets out a few sad drips.

This had happened before, and typically wasn’t too big of a problem, however you had a mound of soapy hair on the top of your head that was starting to drip down your body. You let out an exasperated groan, not knowing what to do. You hop out and stick your head in the sink, hoping to use the sink water to rinse some of the shampoo suds out of your hair.

Of course the sink wouldn’t turn on either, and now your head was upside down in your tiny bathroom sink, soapy wet hair all in your face. When you stand up, the suds drip into your eyes and mouth, making you frown and scrunch your eyes up tight.

You grab the towel from the door hook and wrap it around your dripping body. In a moment of panic, soap burning in your eyes and starting to drip onto the floor, you decide to leave your apartment. It was a last ditch effort, but you needed this shampoo out of your hair and maybe their shower was working.

“Hey Peter?” you yell as you knock a few times, your other hand holding up the wet towel, “I need some help.”

You feel a little relieved when you hear his footsteps approaching, however that relief turns to embarrassment very quickly when he opens the door and you remember your current state.

“Y/n…. um…” he is a little confused.

“Sorry, my water shut off and I have soap in my eyes and in my hair and all over the floor,” you start to ramble, not really able to see him through your scrunched up soapy face, “is your water working? Can I use it for just a second.”

He starts laughing, which makes you feel a little bit better, you let out a laugh too. “Sure thing, I think it’s working.”

He runs over to the kitchen and turns on the sink, “Seems to be working fine, feel free to use the shower.”

“I…um…” you stand blindly in the frame of his doorway, dripping water and your hair a soapy mess in your face.

“Here, let me help you,” he laughs again. He takes your arm and guides you into their bathroom, his apartment the same model as yours just mirrored. “I have to leave, but feel free to take your time and let yourself out when you’re done.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a life saver,” you hear the door close behind you and you step into the shower, fumbling with the knob for a second before the water shoots out. You feel your heart rate slow as the soap is finally washed from your face.

You had only started to run your fingers through your tangled hair when you hear the bathroom door open again. Your eyebrows furrow as you start to peek your head out of the curtain. You see a figure for a second, floppy brown hair that could only be Peters. His hand quickly moves to the curtain, closing it in front of your face.

“Peter, what the fuck,” you start to ask.

“Shhh,” he shushes you and keeps the shower curtain closed tightly with his arm.

“Peter, what-” you begin to ask again before hearing Flash’s loud voice from the hallway.

“Hey dude, you in the shower?” He asks Peter.

“Umm, yeah, what’s up?” His voice is tense. You’re incredibly confused and just stand there in the shower enjoying the cold water.

“Just forgot my wallet. You mind if I take a piss?”

“Uhh,” before Peter can respond the doorknob starts to wiggle. You wonder why he doesn’t just tell Flash that you’re using the shower, but the situation is hard to gauge from inside.

“Fuck-” Peter mutters as he swiftly hops into the shower with you.

You turn to face him, about to throw your hands up, but it all happens too quickly. Before you can even ask what the fuck is going on his hand comes up to cover your mouth. Your eyes almost pop out of your head and your knees almost buckle when you finally see Peter.

Standing in the shower in front of you from the neck up was your neighbor Peter, the science whiz, nerdy, cute, t-shirt wearing, floppy haired Peter you had come to know. From the neck down…was Spider-man. Tight red and black suit that hugged his body, hand covering your mouth was gloved in a strange material that felt cold against your skin.

His face was incredibly panicked, his eyes almost as wide as yours. His other hand frantically came up to his face, signaling you to be quiet with a finger to his lips. Not that you had a choice, his large suited hand was tightly covering the lower half of your face.

You didn’t even have the time or focus to be embarrassed about being naked in front of him. You were overwhelmed with confusion and were too concentrated on the superhero in front of you to bother covering yourself up.

He throws his head back in annoyance as you can hear Flash peeing a few feet away, humming all the while.

“Alright man, have a good day,” he yells as he exits the bathroom.

“Yeah, you too,” Peter tries to keep his voice cool but you can hear an underlying shakiness.

As soon as the door slams shut he removes his hands from your mouth, but is still frantically gesturing for you to stay quiet. A few seconds pass and you hear the front door shut, he lets out a sigh of relief, but you can’t say the same for yourself.

His eyes grow wide again, realizing that he’s in the shower with you, and you’re naked. He scrunches his eyes shut and quickly turns around.

“Sorrysorrysorry,” he runs his hands through his hair, a little damp now from the condensation of the shower.

Before he can continue you grab his arm and turn him around, “What the fuck Peter,” you were still absolutely stunned, “what…”

“I’m sososo sorry I didn’t mean to be a creep or anything, I didn’t know he was gonna come into the bathroom and I had to hide…” you could tell he was just as nervous as you.

“I…what…” your brain still could not form words, “you’re… you’re…”

“Spiderman, yeah, and I really need you to not tell anyone please,” his eyes were wide with worry. At a split second you had thought this was a joke, or maybe he just dresses up in his free time or something, but no. The way his hand felt on your mouth and the terror in his eyes told you this was real, too real.

You give him a nod, “of course, of course.”

“It’s my biggest secret, and I can’t afford for Flash to find out because, well, I don’t think he’s kept anything to himself his entire life.”

You laugh a little, but your body still feels rigid and your mind is still swarming with questions. “But I think I can trust you,” he says, somewhere in between a question and a statement.

“Yes, you can trust me,” you could see ease creep onto his face, the wide-eyed, fearful look was slowly melting away. “Ned knows?” Out of all the questions you had, why was this the one you asked? It just slipped out.

“Yeah, Ned knows,” It was weird that you two were still in the shower, but you were both still too shaken up to realize or care.

“And…” you start.

“And that’s it. You and Ned.”

A deep pit begins to form in your stomach, “You aren’t gonna kill me or something, are you? Cuz I promise I won’t tell anyone; I swear.”

“Nonono,” he panics, “No, I’m one of the good guys, I don’t kill people. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sorry, I- I don’t know why I said that,” you felt bad for implying anything, you were just nervous that your newfound knowledge of Peter would change things.

“It’s okay that you’re freaked out, I’m- I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

Without really thinking you turn around and face the water. You needed to feel something other than confusion, embarrassment, shock, and fear. You spin back around after a moment, Peter still standing there in the same state of shock and confusion as you.

“So you’re Spiderman,” you say with assurance, “wow.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out, I’m sorry if I’m being super weird.”

No part of you blamed him for his actions, you knew he wasn’t making up excuses to hop into a cold shower with you. And you didn’t blame him for lingering. He was just answering your questions, explaining himself. That was reasonable.

“No,” you weren’t sure what to say to get him to stay, “step into the water, it will make you feel better, I promise.”

He stared at you with a blank expression for a second, not knowing how to take your suggestion. He was also concentrating immensely on concealing the erection that was prominently poking against the material of his suit. He wanted to remove himself before you noticed before you could realize that he had been looking at you.

You had noticed. For a split second, while admiring how nice he looked in the skin tight suit your eyes wandered south and caught a glimpse of his hard on under the suit. He still looked nervous, a new kind of nervous though.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, making somewhat of a bold move, you reassure him, “It’s okay Peter, it’s just me.”

There was something lingering in the space between you. The fact that neither one of you had rushed to escape the shower at the first possible second was one thing. You hadn’t tried to cover yourself up. You looked him in the eye when speaking to him with an air of sincerity and understanding.

“How does it come off?” you ask, genuinely curious as it seemed to be air-tight against his body.

His hand slowly comes up to the center of his chest, pressing down on the spider logo. The material seems to evaporate off him, expanding and stretching until it pooled at his feet.

The wide look in your eyes had turned to something else entirely, they boy you had been stealing glances of for the past few months was naked and in the shower with you. Albeit, the circumstances that got you here were not ideal.

You take his hands and move them up to your face, encouraging his strong hands to cup your cheeks on either side. The way he was looking at you made something inside you stir. You tried to close some of the empty space between you, as he tentatively pulled your face to his.

The kiss was soft and gentile, your lips hovered over his for a moment before connecting. Your arms wrapped around his neck, a hand moving up to his damp curls. He pulls away slowly, eyes remaining closed for a moment after your lips had parted.

“This…” he whispers, “this isn’t just because you think I’m gonna kill you or something.”

“No,” you laugh, “I wanted to do that before I knew your secret identity. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“Me too,” he mumbles into your lips as he moves to kiss you again, this one was harder and more sure. His hands run up and down your body, wrapping around your waist and snaking up to your chest.

You couldn’t help but let out a whimper as his tongue met yours. Your hands were resting on his chest, toned and perfect.

“You’re really warm,” you comment with some concern, as his skin was burning underneath your touch.

“It’s a…spider sense thing,” he wasn’t quite sure how to go about explaining his abilities to you.

“Here, step into the cold water,” you had forgotten where you were for a second. You felt bad about his water bill, you had been in here for quite a while, and hopefully would be here for a while more.

You clenched your thighs together as you watched him step under the water and run his hands through his now wet hair. It was like a scene out of a movie, the way his muscles rippled with each movement, the way his lips remained slightly parted as the water washed over his face.

His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you under the stream of water with him. The sensation of his face pressed to yours, lips interlocking as the water rolled down your face was unreal. You shift your body towards his, pressing your chest flat to his. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach, making your thighs clench again.

“Will you touch me?” you whimper into his mouth, sounding desperate and weak. You move your hand over his, showing him where you wanted him most.

“Fuck,” he groans as his fingertips make contact with your wet folds. His hands are much bigger and stronger than yours, the sensation causes your eyes to flutter shut.

You move your hands down to his already hard cock, rubbing it up and down, somehow making it harder. Your mouth falls agape as he slips a digit into you, cool water still running over your body.

He takes your lower lip in between his, sucking on it in the process. He slowly pushes you back so your body meets the tile shower wall. One hand working between your legs and the other palming at your chest has you seeing stars. Your head rolls back, giving him access to suck and nip at your neck.

Fuck, why had you not done this sooner? He had been right across the hall all summer and only now were you finally experiencing what you had been daydreaming about.

“Peter,” you moan out, continuing to stroke his erection, “I need you.”

He mumbles into your neck, now littered with red splotches. He curls his fingers up into you, making your legs buckle a little, “Fuck,” you gasp out, “please.”

“Peter I need you to fuck me,” you can feel him smile into your skin, “but I’m worried about running u your water bill.”

“You don’t want me to take you right here?” he pushes against you so your back is flat up against the wall. All you can do is moan in response, his fingers still making work inside you.

Slowly detaching his lips from your chest and removing his fingers from you, he moves back into the water to turn the shower off. While he faces away, you slowly drop down to your knees, thighs spread apart and tongue laying flat out of your mouth.

You look up at him with big blinking eyes as he turns around to face you.

“Holy shit,” he hovers above you, “You’re gonna kill me, you know that, right?”

“Can I?” you ask as your head moves towards his cock. He nods and gives you permission before you lick a long stripe up the underside. His eyes closed and his head falls back as you take his tip into your mouth, rolling your tongue around his sensitive head.

“You’re sure this isn’t just because I’m Spiderman?” he manages to ask in between deep breaths.

“Peter,” you pause your sucking and continue to stroke him, “I’ve thought about having your cock in my mouth every day this summer. Every time we rode the elevator together, or passed each other in the hallway, I’ve wanted you.”

You go back to taking his length into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, loving the noises he makes as you take him deeper.

“Do you want to go to my room?” He asks, “the bathtub floor can’t be comfortable to kneel on.”

You stand up and place a gentle kiss on his mouth, “That’s very thoughtful,” you kiss him again between thoughts, “I would love to.”

He takes you by surprise as his arms quickly lift you up, wrapping your legs around his firm torso. He carries you with ease to his small bedroom, tossing you back onto his messy comforters.

Climbing back on top of you, peppering your body with kisses as he makes his way up to your face, your lips finally meet with Peter’s again. You bite down a little onto his lower lip as his hand tangles its way into your wet hair, the other resuming its place between your legs.

You let out a low moan, only to be cut off by him whispering in your ear, “Will you sit on my face?” You pull back, a little stunned at his question, mouth parted at the way his fingers continued to twist inside you.

“All those times we were in the elevator or the hallway, and you were thinking about my cock in your mouth, I was thinking about you sitting that pretty pussy of yours on my face, riding my tongue.”

That sent a shiver down your spine that pulsed in your already soaking wet cunt. “Holy fuck” you could not even begin to explain how turned on you are. Peter easily flips you over so that you are now straddling him, his lips moving to suck down on one of your hard nipples.

You grind your crotch down onto him, missing the friction of his hand.

“Come here,” he lays flat down and guides your thighs up to either side of his head. Your mind was spinning with lust, completely fucked out and unable to concentrate as he uses his strong hands to lower you down onto his face.

His hands wrapped comfortable around your waist, fingertips diffing perfectly into your soft skin. A deep moan escapes you as he starts to lap up and down your slit. His tongue moves easily across you, lapping up and down, around your clit, into your hole, all of it. Your eyes were permanently rolled into the back of your head.

His grip on your waist started to guide your hips back and forth, rolling your core across his eager tongue. Every time your hips buckled forward and your clit made contact with his tongue waves of pleasure shot up your body. You couldn’t help but lean forward, using his headboard as support as he completely owned you with just his tongue.

“Peter,” his name comes out as a strangled moan, “I’m gonna come soon, fuck.”

He hums into you, adding vibrations to the slick wetness. “I want to come on your cock, fuck. Please, Peter, I need you to fuck me.”

Although you couldn’t get enough of his tongue, the way he was taking control over you, you were dying to feel him inside of you. You wanted to feel your walls clench around him as you came.

He laps a few more times at your sensitive clit, almost pushing you over the edge. He can tell you’re close by the way your thighs shook around his head, pressing against his ears. He starts to move, replacing his tongue with his fingers against your clit. He gracefully changes position, coming up behind you so you didn’t have to move at all.

You were already at the perfect angle, arms pressed up against the headboard and hips arched back for him. He continues to rub tight circles against you as he starts to run his tip up and down your soaking slit.

“You’re sure,” he knows you’ve already said yes, but he just wanted to make sure.

“Fuck, yes Peter please, please fuck me,” your words came out somewhere between a whine and a moan.

He pushes his tip into you slowly, and you rock back onto his cock, letting him slip deep into you. His mouth drops open for a second at the sensation of fucking you mixed with the way you looked with your head thrown back and ass bouncing against him.

“Peter, I’m gonna come please don’t stop.”

He picks up his pace, fucking into you faster while his fingers continued to rub your clit. He had only been inside you for a few moments, and he could already feel your tight walls gripping around his length, your orgasm washing over you and dripping all over his cock.

You fall forward a little, letting out gravely moans of his name and profane language. He fucks you through your orgasm, not letting up as you start to come down. He can start to feel your legs shake, so he removes his hand from your clit and takes a firm grip on either side of your ass. He kneads your flesh as he continues to bury his dick into you.

You were almost flat down on your stomach, hips still angled up for him, face buried into the pillows to muffle your loud moaning screams. He wanted to see your face as you cried out his name, so he pulls out and gently rolls you over, kissing up your thighs to give you a second to readjust.

He thought you looked incredibly beautiful, with your hair sprawled out around your head, your lips puffy and eyes fluttered shut.

He takes your chin between his thumb and his hand to angle your face up to his, kissing you passionately and deeply as he slipped back into you. You moan into the kiss, hands coming up to his hair.

He held one of your thighs back with his hand, giving him perfect access. Through fucking you he never stopped kissing you, only coming up to gasp for air when he felt you clench around him in pleasure. His thumb rubbed across your cheek, hand tucked perfectly under your jaw.

He loved the way you would whisper his name in between kisses, rolling your hips up into his.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, the way his dick swelled inside you as you sucked a mark onto his neck was a dead giveaway.

“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck,” he whispers to you, only encouraging you to grind your hips up more and kiss him harder.

He jolts back up onto his knees, pulling his dick out and rubbing the tip across your lower stomach as his come shoots out. You lift your hips up, collecting his come all on your stomach and dripping some down onto your inner thighs.

You can’t help but gawk at him as you watch him come undone, the way his brow furrowed and lips parted, the veins in his arm bulging as he stroked his cock.

He takes his length in his hand and rubs his red tip up and down your thighs, rubbing his come into your skin, spreading it around from your stomach to your legs. He slips back into you, slowly thrusting a few times before pulling back out.

“Holy shit,” you sigh as he lays down next to you, “that was…fucking hot.”

“You’re fucking hot,” he laughs.

He buries his head into your shoulder, leaving soft kisses across your skin.

“Um, can you get me a towel,” you laugh, gesturing to all the fluid on your lower half.

“Hmmm, no I don’t think so,” he jokes, “I think I want you right here, just like this for a while.”

“You certainly earned it,” you joke back before he hops up, grabbing a warm wet towel to wash you off with.

“Damn, well now I hope my water never comes back on,” you quip as he flops back down next to you.

“You are welcome to come use mine any time, even if yours is working fine.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course.”

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Come Away With Me

Masterlist here

Characters: Tom Hiddleston x Female Best Friend Reader

Summary: The fact that you’re overworked is obvious. Tom takes matters into his own hands and whisks you away on a private holiday. Will your mutual pining finally make itself known in the secluded setting?

Warnings: A bit of swearing, some sexual innuendo, responsible alcohol consumption.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: This is based off a request from @sabine-leo for a caring Tom to whisk away his best friend on a short break away from it all! Congratulations on your 3k followers, sweetheart! They are all very much deserved. <3

Also, thank you to @just-the-hiddles​ and @nonsensicalobsessions​ for giving this a glance and being amazing cheerleaders!

“Are you at home?”

A groan erupted from somewhere deep inside you, unbidden and unstoppable, in response to the heavenly ache of your feet flexing after slipping out of your shoes after a long day at work. You reached underneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, pulling it through the sleeve of your top to drop it onto the bed beside you. Bliss.

“Just got here.”

“You are working yourself to death. You should’ve been home hours ago. Have you eaten?” Tom’s exasperation bled through the tinny speaker on your phone, laced with concern that spread a comforting warmth inside your chest.

Your free hand snagged your comfiest lounge clothes from their rightful place in a pile on your dresser. Food hadn’t even been a concern with the stress that overrode your thoughts, consuming you and eating away at your sanity piece by piece. “Nope. I think there’s a granola bar in the pantry. Not that hungry.”

The faint but distinct sound of a car door slamming made it through the phone. “I’ll be over in thirty with the usual. No friend of mine will take such poor care of herself on my watch.”

There was no arguing with the stubborn man; a grateful smile tugged on your lips. “Thanks, Tom.”

“Love you.”

Tossing the phone onto your bed, you shoved the mismatched pajama pants and ratty t-shirt into a dresser drawer. Perhaps something a bit more put together and flattering if Tom was going to pop over…

~

“We’re going on holiday. Next week, Friday, as soon as you’re free from work.”

You almost choked on the beer you’d tilted to your lips. Coughing against the burning liquid searing your lungs, you set it down, staring at Tom with wide eyes as he rubbed your back in soothing circles that sizzled across your skin. When you could gasp a breath, you managed to blurt out, “Delusional-celebrity-best-friend-with-all-the-money-in-the-world says what?”

He chuckled, a light, breathy sound that you couldn’t help but answer with your own quiet laugh. “You are working yourself to the bone. Ah ah,” he picked his hand up off of your back and pointed a stern finger in your direction when you opened your mouth to deny it. “From one chronically, albeit self-imposed, overworked soul to another, there is no use pretending that you aren’t exhausted and in need of a break. Do whatever you must do to get your affairs in order, but you’re mine for three days.”

Damn if the demanding timbre of his voice didn’t send chills down your spine. You hid it by shifting on the couch beside him, dropping your eyes to the takeout carton in front of you. “You know I can’t aff-”

His hand settled on your knee, large and warm while his thumb brushed the outside of your leg. “Don’t force me to go on a weekend getaway all alone.”

There wasn’t any use attempting to fight the hopeful expression lifting his eyebrows and crinkling around his eyes.

~

Keys. Underwear. Swimsuit. Presentable pajamas. Enough outfits to last the trip. Charger.

The doorbell rang, pulling you out of your mental checklist as you stared critically at the open luggage sitting by the door. “It’s open!”

Tom strolled into the room, letting the cold in with him, greeting you with a warm hug and a kiss to your temple before joining you in looking at your suitcase with his arm draped over your shoulders. “Are we waiting for it to put itself in the car, or…?”

You slapped his chest lightly, the soft knit of his crimson sweater taking most of the force, before kneeling down to gather your things. “Just making sure I have everything. My brain is still a bit fuzzy after work today.”

He swept your belongings from your grasp with a wink and a smile that sent your heart skittering in your chest for his earnest beauty. This time alone was going to be the death of you. “I’ll pop this into the boot while you grab your coat and lock up.”

Your entire body gave into the exhaustion that had tugged on you relentlessly for what seemed like ages as soon as you sank into the heated interior of his car, surrounded by the gentle masculine scent of his cologne and oiled leather seats. Tom’s face was only partially lit by the occasional streetlamp or the glow of the dashboard as he guided his sleek car out of the city proper and into the countryside.

You’d wanted to stay awake, to watch the glow of small towns passing by, count the stars uninhibited by light pollution, even just pester him about where you were going, but it was all too easy to fall asleep rocked by the gentle turns of the car and lulled by Tom’s rich voice humming along quietly to the radio.

~

The typical sounds of busy city streets were absent when you woke. You frowned, blinking against the gray light streaming in through the windows as you sat up in a bed that was decidedly not your own. The previous night came back to you in groggy snapshots as you rubbed at the sleep in your eyes.

Tom gently shaking you awake. Guiding you to bed with his arm around your waist. Helping you out of your shoes and socks before picking out some nightclothes for you. Tucking you in and pressing a kiss to your cheek before telling you that he loved you. The brush of his hand across your forehead.

You didn’t even know where you were; you’d been too tired to ask the previous night. Running a hand through your mussed hair, you stumbled out of bed, staring out the window to see nothing but dense fog covering gently rolling hills. Not the most helpful scene for determining your location, but the peace of it all allowed you to take a deep breath that rolled through your body to settle deep in your soul.

The steaming hot shower loosened the muscles in your shoulders. The soft clothes that you slipped into erased the lines in between your brows. A pot of coffee waited in the quaint, but well-stocked, kitchen next to a note covered in chicken scratch meant to be words, maybe. Some squinting allowed you to pick out:

”Off on a run. Enjoy the coffee and relax. Be back soon. - Love”

With a mug warming your hands and a throw from the gray cloth couch in the living room tossed around your shoulders, you padded out in your socked feet onto the weathered deck that wrapped around the exterior of the cozy cabin Tom had rented. A chilling breeze rustling through barren trees was the only sound that reached your ears besides the soft blow of your breath to cool down your coffee. It was absolutely still, gifting you with a peace that only air perfumed with moist earth, crisp frost, and fresh evergreen could afford.

The cold was just about unbearable, fighting against your thin socks to sap the feeling from your toes, when a figure jogged down a gravel road to your left. It was easy to recognize the graceful silhouette of the man who’d whisked you away on this vacation, the lean lines of his body hard to mistake for anyone else even shrouded in mist and fog not yet burned by the rising sun. He loped up next to you, his chest heaving beneath his black t-shirt that was absolutely stuck to his skin with the sweat he’d worked up from his vigorous exercise.

Cheeks flushed. Eyes bright and focused as he smiled down at you. Hands carding through his hair - a dull copper in the light of the gray day. He was a vision. It was like your heart forgot how to beat. The intense desire to hear that ragged breathing in a different, more intimate setting, welled up within you so powerfully that you were thankful for the excuse of another sip of coffee to draw your eyes downward.

“Good morning, darling.” He leaned against the wooden railing behind you, squeezing your upper arm in greeting along the way. “Did you sleep well?”

You placed your finished mug down beside him, wrapping yourself tighter in your makeshift cape as you studied the fine figure of the man before you with a grin. “I did. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time, thanks to a certain someone carting me off to the middle of nowhere and then helping me into bed.”

His face fell with a sudden vulnerability that nearly split your heart in two it was so complete. “With how little time we both had available, somewhere close was the best option. And with the propensity for paparazzi to find me, I wanted both of us to relax without worry of intrusion. I apologize if it isn’t to your liking…”

You reached out and grabbed his hand without thinking. A shiver coursed through your body at the chill the opening in your blanket let in against your practically useless pajamas, but you’d do anything, risk any discomfort, to ease any tension in that man’s life. “No, no! It’s perfect. How about you go take a shower and I’ll whip us up some breakfast?”

He pressed a quick kiss to your head. Your lovesick heart convinced you that his lips, wonderfully soft and warm, lingered a second longer than appropriate between friends, that he inhaled the scent of your still-damp hair, but that was a fool’s wish driven by unrequited pining. “You spoil me.”

You pushed at his chest and crinkled your nose with a laugh. “Says the man who bankrolled this whole thing. Go. Shower!”

A mischievous twinkle lit up his eyes before he pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you back and forth as he forced your face into his damp chest with loud laughter that shook you both. You expected to be repulsed, but the clean scent of his sweat was so masculine and heady that you had to work hard to force your hands to push away at his sides instead of tugging him closer. The urge to tear off his shirt and watch the muscles flexing beneath your fingertips clenched deep in your belly. “Now you need a shower, too!”

“Get off me, you brat!” You wriggled out from his hold, blanket falling to your feet, mouth pulled back into an easy grin. The weight that had lingered on your chest for weeks lifted fully from his antics, and you knew he saw the tension disappear from the warmth that suffused his thoughtful gaze.

He swaggered towards you, a cowboy from westerns long ago in holey athletic wear and a finely accented voice that made your knees weaken, dropping his chin to rest his forehead against yours. “We could save water and shower together.”

Did he know the effect he had on you? Swallowing against the sudden moisture in your throat, you shoved him in the direction of the door, shaking your head. “Go!”

The frigid air biting at your flushed cheeks was very much welcomed after he disappeared. You sank back against the wooden planks of the house. With a drop of your head against the siding, you groaned, closing your eyes and crossing your fingers that you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself alone with Tom. If he continued on the path he was on, you weren’t certain of that success.

~

After a dinner of his world-famous bolognese with pasta and garlic bread, you sat on the couch next to one another, him picking idly at his guitar and humming little tunes as you watched him and sipped at your beer.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” You softened the words with a broad smile, shifting so that you faced him with your legs tucked underneath you.

His brows quirked upwards as he looked up at you from his deft fingers plucking at the strings. The idle melody never ceased as he replied, “Am I, now?”

The drinks, the delicious food, the comfort that you felt in his presence all worked together to loosen your lips in a daring way you’d never risk otherwise. “For sure. You’re an amazing actor, you can cook, you dance, you’re so bloody handsome that it hurts to look at you sometimes, you saw that I needed a break and demanded that I come with you on this adventure, and if I recall correctly, you did have a movie that revolved a great deal of singing.”

A bashful flush spread across his cheeks, and his eyes dropped to his fingers which had slowly stilled during your tipsy admission. When he looked back up to you, heat darkened his gaze, and your blood pounded in your ears at the promises you read within. “Is that a challenge?”

“Is what a challenge?”

He rose from the couch and turned to face you fully. With a calming breath, he launched into Hey Good Lookin’. But unlike the movie version that you had watched religiously because of the haunting beauty of his character, this was slower, quieter, more intimate. Your fingers dug into the cushions beneath you as he held you captive beneath his powerful stare, all intoxication having melted away from him to deliver the song straight to the heart beating an impossibly fast drum against your ribcage.

You didn’t know how to proceed. Your body screamed at you to stand up, step into his embrace after taking the guitar from his hands, and give him what he’d asked for in roughly delivered song. But your mind cautioned you. It knew better. Knew that any flirting from him was most likely hope on your part. He was friendly, kind, affectionate in his trust. That was all.

So he moved for you, carefully placing the guitar on the couch before holding out his hand to you palm up in an invitation you would never turn down. “Did you bring your swimsuit like I instructed you to?”

~

“You’re absolutely mad!” Even just standing in the living room, staring out the glass doors at the hot tub that you honestly hadn’t even noticed throughout the day, you were shivering from the cold that seeped through the cracks to raise goosebumps on your exposed skin.

Tom stepped out of his bedroom, drawing your gaze with a dark chuckle that did terrible and wonderful things to your tummy. Especially in addition to the sight of him in just his swim shorts, the smattering of light chest hair drawing your attention down the middle of his lightly muscled chest to his abdomen before disappearing beneath thin black fabric. Very thin black fabric. You swallowed against the desire that had you imagining what you’d find if you followed that trail.

“You’ll be fine once you’re in the water!” he reassured you, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you outside. He released you to quickly hop into the bubbling water with a gasp and then a rumbled moan that was made of such sin you forgot how to breathe. The sight of the dimples at the base of his spine made your fingers ache to trace the contours of his body until you had the feel of him memorized. Steam billowed from the water in white clouds lit from underneath the bubbles sounding so loudly in the quiet of the night. You swore you saw Tom’s eyes dart to your chest where the unforgiving temperature made itself known through the thin fabric of your suit. “The longer you resist the colder you’ll get!”

Steeling both your electrified nerves and your raging hormones, you slid into the water beside him, sounding your own moan at the heat that slowly penetrated the layer of cold that surrounded you like a second skin. Your bare shoulders and neck still felt the brunt of the winter air, though, and you drifted closer to Tom. “I can’t dunk my whole body in here, Hiddleston. What’s your solution to that?”

With a questioning look over your flustered face, the draw of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again, he lifted his arm from between you to pull your weightless body in the water until you sat sideways in his lap. His arm curled around your shoulders so his thumb could tease your collarbone, ridding you of any rational thought as you tried to grasp the new turn of events.

Tom had always been affectionate, freely doling out hugs, kisses on your temple, and even words of praise when the opportunity presented itself. But this? The curl of his breath against your neck and the rasp of his thumb over the hollow of your throat, it felt like something more. A continuation of the unsaid words littered between you on the couch earlier.

“Is this alright?” he whispered, barely audible over the bubbling tub, but you felt the words just as you heard them, traveling through your side pressed into the planes of his chest to wrap around your heart.

If only he knew how very much it wasn’t alright. How the press of his thighs into yours and the feeling of his heart racing against your arm was sending so many mixed signals that your brain threatened to short-circuit and spill smoke from your ears. Hesitantly, you twisted your torso just enough to hook your arm around his neck, scratching idly at his scalp. It was far more comfortable for you, but judging by the sharp intake of his breath, perhaps it wasn’t for him.

“Yes. Is this alright?”

He dropped his forehead to rest on your bare shoulder and tightened his grip on you ever so slightly. But you’d notice any minute twitch of his body with how attuned you were to the wonderful man holding you close. “Perfect.”

Despite the anxious energy bordering on heartbreak simmering beneath your skin wherever you melted into him, you had to agree. What more had you wanted out of life than to sit in a hot tub in Tom’s tender embrace, staring at the stars and just breathing each other in?

~

“You continue spoiling me like this and you’ll have to move in with me whenever we get back,” you teased, hugging him from behind, your face finding a home in the dip of his spine between his shoulder blades, your hands smoothing over the flat of his abdomen.

“I think that if we ever moved in together, you would come stay at mine,” he chuckled, dropping the spatula currently tending to the eggs for a proper fry-up to close a hand over yours. His fingertips danced over your knuckles. “You needed a bit of pampering, and I am fully up to the task. Breakfast is about finished, if you could get a few plates?”

When you turned back to him after grabbing two plates big enough to handle the absolutely massive amount of food he’d prepared, Tom was right in front of you, the food left unattended on the stove. Indecision warred in his eyes, and his hands fidgeted with the edges of the apron he’d thrown on over his t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms.

The sudden shift in his mood was so immediate that you immediately put the plates down on the counter. “You okay?”

A shaky breath. The rub of his hands over his clean-shaven jaw. His lips pressed together and he settled his hands on his hips, dropping his chin to look up at you through golden lashes that caught the light trickling in through the small kitchen window. “I love you.”

Those three words, uttered with such a hesitant, low voice and a somber expression, kickstarted your heart into overdrive. You adjusted your robe around your shoulders. It was a strain to act as if you didn’t simultaneously fall to pieces and soar to the heavens each time he said it, especially so early in the morning and without caffeine. But you managed, plastering on a weary, if a bit confused, grin. “I love you, too.”

A tentative step forward so that you were only a breath away from each other. His hands sought the curve of your waist, skimming over them in a touch so gentle and yet loaded with tension that you thought you’d explode. The various shades of blue, green, and gray that made up his eyes were visible just before his eyelashes feel to caress the tops of his chiseled cheekbones, giving you just a moment to realize what was happening before he touched his lips to yours.

Oh. You couldn’t have stopped your hands from skimming up his torso to cup his shoulders for anything. He pulled away for just a second, unsure by the trembling of his fingers against your sides, panting out puffs of air against your tingling lips.

“I love you,” he repeated, a hoarse whisper caressing your skin. Worry creased in between his brows and the flutter of his jaw.

You silenced his doubts. Your body found a home flush against his, pliant curves to firm planes, holding onto him as if letting him go would wake you from the lusciousness of the dream. Molten heat scented with coffee and sugar spilled out from the hunger of your kiss. You delighted in the taste of his plush lips. The lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips before he sucked and nibbled on your bottom lip was almost your undoing, and you were grateful for his neverending strength holding you securely in the band of his arms.

An acrid odor that singed your nostrils broke through your feverish haze to mix unpleasantly with the aftershave that tickled at your nose along his cheek. Both of you sprang apart from the other, turning to see the eggs burning.

“Fuck!” he shouted, ripping the pan from the stove to throw it into the sink. He fanned away the smoke toward the window with flailing hands, but it wasn’t open, and the frantic sight of him after such an intense moment burst the bubble between you. You doubled over for a second, giggling at the ridiculousness of it all.

When you had managed to calm down after opening a few windows, you sank back against the counter, putting on the best pout you could muster despite the happiness singing inside of you. “But I love eggs.”

He quickly trapped you in his arms, spinning you around and peppering kisses up the column of your throat in a way that had you dizzy and breathless. He nipped at your earlobe and growled, “I’ll give you something else to love, darling.”

~

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[notagamersdey]

The Dream

Painting by: Henri Rousseau

Photo (2021) and Story By Tyler D. Ortiz

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k~

Warnings: bad language, panic attacks

A/N: So this story is inspired by the Pedro Pascal episode of the podcast Talk Art (31:14-34:15). Go check that out if you want to hear some fun stories by the hosts and pp.

Summary: Matias, after losing his chance to act in a popular TV show, is taken to the Museum of Modern Art by his sister where he realizes he has nothing to lose.

~~~

Today, I’m supposed to meet my sister Lyanna here at East Village Pizza. She said it was a special treat for getting my first “big” role on Law & Order. When I told her the news, she had jumped up for joy, squealing my ear off. It wasn’t a big deal, just another job for the bills, but she was adamant that this job was a life changer. She’s says that about every job.

I came to the pizza parlor early, grabbing my favorite seat in front of the window. We normally sat here when we came because it gave us the perfect view of cold, angry New Yorkers. I had ordered our pizza, waiting for her to arrive when my phone starts to buzz.

I open it up and put it against my ear, holding it with my shoulder, “This is Matias.”

“Matias, I'm sorry to tell you…” Fuck, “…but we’ve decided to go in a different direction...” It’s the fucking casting director, droning on, saying those same fucking words, “You have wonderful talent.,” “You didn’t fit the director's vision.,” etcetera. Etcetera. ETCETERA. It's all movie-talk for “You weren't good enough.”

Grabbing the scruff behind my neck, I slammed my phone shut and stuffing it into my jacket pocket. What the hell was I going to do now? Three hundred bucks – gone in an instant.

“Here’s your order, Sir,” A waiter places the small pizza in front of me, and you know, today was one of the rare days I was able to scrounge enough money to afford the luxury of a decent slice of pizza, and now I can’t even enjoy it.

“God dammit,” It’s moments like these when memories of my father came hit me like a freight train. He used to berate me about goals and aspirations, telling me, “It’s never going to happen, Matias,” and “It’s not a job. You won’t get anywhere with that.” In high school, I used to constantly fight with him, telling him my dreams were achievable. That I would succeed as an actor. He would laugh in my face; tell me they were unobtainable. I mean... Maybe he was right.

Now, I’m living in one of the most expensive cities with over 300,000 dollars in debt, 40 bucks to my name, and a dead-beat waiter job at Planet Hollywood that barely pays for food let alone the bills. I have no back-up plan, no emergency fund. I just had my bachelor's degree in acting, which won't pay for shit.

I shake my head. My neck and back start to ache, an oncoming migraine sitting on my temples.

Matias, the fuck do you want to do that for?

Matias, you’re not good enough.

Matias, you will always be alone.

I stand to leave, throwing the untouched pizza in the trash on my way out the door. The cold winter air bites at my nose when I step outside. I pull my scarf up closer to my neck and make my way down East 9th Street.

Leaving the restaurant doesn’t help. Hopelessness rushes over me like a tsunami. The texture of the wool sweater underneath my jacket scratched annoyingly at the exposed skin on my wrists. It’s a cold wintery day but I feel incredibly hot underneath the layers. A nervous sweat builds underneath my beanie. Everyone’s staring, I know it. They know I've failed yet again. They know I’m just a naïve child.

His voice repeats in my head like a tornado siren, yelling, screaming at me, “You will not survive.”

You will not make an income.

You will not have healthcare.

You are setting yourself up for failure.

…You will die- My phone starts to buzz again. I really want to fucking ignore it but if it’s Lyanna, she’d have every cop in the city on my ass within the hour.

“Hey.” I cough, trying to clear my throat. Act normal.

“Mat! I’m sorry I’m late, I’m-” She sounds like she’s running.

“Actually, Sis, I left…” I stop in the middle of the pavement, getting shoved and cursed at by the impetuous crowd around me.

“What? Why?” Her concerned voice seeps through the phone. Suddenly, heat shoots up my back. She’s going to be upset.

I move off to the side, leaning up against a wall of graffiti, “I didn’t get the job after all.”

I hear her let out a breath, “Different direction?” She asks, knowingly.

I nod, “Yea... said I could act the part, but I didn’t fit the type of Latino they were going for... whatever the hell that means.” I spit out, bitterly.

“Means they’re bigoted.” I can hear the annoyed twinge in her voice.

“Yea... probably...” Lyanna stays quiet. “Hey... So, I’m not really up for doing anything... Can we just go home?”

“Umm...” She hums, clicking her tongue, “No.”

“Lyanna...” Please.

“No, no, I’m serious, I know you. Once you get home you're going to sulk in your room for days. Let's bypass the self-pity and go have fun. Take your mind off it.”

I’m silent for a moment, feeling my anxiety subside as I focus on her words, “What do I get if your wrong?”

“A fresh slice of cheese pizza to replace the one you probably threw away...” She laughs, “Now, how ‘bout MoMA?”

“Sure… MoMA sounds good.”

I’ve always found it difficult to find the Museum of Modern Art. The only way anyone would be able to tell where this museum was is with the three bright red banners hanging off the side of the building holding their acronym in an even darker shade of red. This was basically every building in New York so, of course, I pass right by it. Lyanna managed to catch me before I got too far. She runs up to me and immediately linked her arm into mine.

“Hey stranger, took you long enough.” She greats, warmly.

“You know how it is.”

“Oh common, where’s that smile? We are celebrating!” She starts to pull me into the museum, warm air painting my face when she opens one of the doors.

“Celebrating a failure.”

“Celebrating life.”

We walk in and are bombarded with hordes of people packed in front of every corner of the room. It's as if every single person visiting New York had decided that they would all collectively visit the museum on this specific day. Maybe they were having an event. People of all shapes and sizes were packed in front of each art piece, creating a thick barrier preventing outsiders from looking in on their beauty. In the corner of the room is a balloon man handing out replicas of Jeff Koon’s Balloon Dog to children. I clench my teeth at the disgusting sound of rubber and latex rubbing together. I feel a hot prickling in my neck at the sight of a child squeezing the neck of their bright metallic green Balloon Dog, another child on the edge of crying as she violently hit her blue Balloon Dog onto her stroller seat.

Someone bumps into me. I feel myself tense up. Don’t touch me. I take my arms away from Lyanna, hiding them in my pockets. Lyanna looks up at me, “Hey, are you okay?”

Fuck no,“Yes.”

“You sure? You seem tense,” she raises her eyebrow.

“No. No... I'm good... There’s just.” Act normal, “A lot of people.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” Everyone is breathing my air - of course I’m not sure. “You wanna start off this way then make our way around?” she asks pointing to her left. I nod.

She guides me to the fifth floor, to our first painting. Shes pushing through the crowds so we could get a closer look. It’s a dark painting with a black, shadowy silhouette of an elephant trudging on an upwards incline. The air around him grey, as if he was pushing through a sandstorm. He is struggling to get to wherever he was headed. I’m suddenly pushed closer to the struggling elephant. Lyanna snaps at someone behind me. A balloon pop’s. A child's scream echo around the room. The dark clouds surrounding the elephant fill my edge of my vision as my eyes zoom into the lonely elephant. My throat begins to close. My heart hurts. A voice in my head whispers “You’re dying. You’re dying.” in a joyous chant. I try to breathe but nothing can get through. My hands prickle. My chest stutters. The elephant fades. Only the shadowing and silhouettes of people fill my vision. I still feel the pain in my throat, as I try to breath in air.

Lyanna speaks but her voice is muffled. The darkness that had overtaken my vision slowly fades away. I sit up straight, feeling the soft leather beneath me, becoming aware of my surroundings. We are in different exhibit. It's completely empty. I shift, feeling the leather bench beneath my finger tips. The silence is soothing.

“You feeling better?” Lyanna sits next to me with a cup of water in her hands, causing the leather beneath creaked.

I close my eyes. God. She grabs at my hand but I pull away. Please go away. I can feel her eyes burning into my soul. It’s unbearable. I turn away from her. Please go away. She grips at the cup tightly. The crunch of the cup is excruciating.

“Matias.” She attempts to grab my hand again. I see it coming from a mile away. Like in slow motion. The closer she got, the more I dreaded the contact.

“Fuck! Stop! Can you please just give me a God damn minute?” I stand up trying to get away.

“What is happening?” She’s mad. You’ve ruined everything.

“I don’t want to be fucking touched, Lyanna. Just stop. Stop everything. Leave me alone.” I’m staring at the floor. If I look at her, I’m going to lose it. Shameful. Embarrassing.

“I’m only trying to help.” You’re an embarrassment.

“You’re not!” She’s going to never going to forgive you.

“Okay…” She stands slowly, “Let’s relax for a moment… I’ll be back in a few minutes… Just text me if you need anything.” I don’t say anything while she walks away, the sound of her shoes fading. I sit back down onto the chair, head in my hands.

I take a few deep breaths, focusing on the ground beneath me. The floor is smooth, my hair is soft and messy, the pressure of my elbows on my knees grow. My eyes leave the floor only to be met with a flood of green. A naked woman waking up on a large red couch in the middle of a jungle. Light green paints the leaves towards the bottom of the canvas and becomes darker going up towards the sky. The bright flowers burst up in different directions as the moon peaks through the canopy. The woman is surrounded by hidden animals. I spot a few hidden tigers, a white bird on the top left, a person hidden in the shadows playing an instrument, a few monkeys in the trees and an elephant beyond the trees staring back at me. It was a paradise. So sure of herself, she sits there facing away from me as if she has nothing to lose. She sits unafraid of the world around her.

I can’t relate. I’ll never get my chance. I’ll never not be afraid. I continue to stare at her, trying to understand what she may have done differently. Maybe she kept going. Maybe she stopped caring. Or maybe someone gave her a chance. Whatever she did must’ve worked because she continues to sit as if she has nothing left to lose –

“Henri Rousseau’s The Dream,” I jump. Lyanna stands on my right, staring at the painting with a hand on her hip, “Most people hate this painting.”

“I don’t see why…”

“Eh… Everybody has their own opinions…” She approaches cautiously, “Do you feel any better?”

I nod. “S-sorry,” I look back to the painting, “I just needed a moment to myself.”

“Don’t apologize… I should’ve… I don’t know, been more mindful, I guess.” She sits down next to me. I can see her hesitate before she puts a hand on my shoulder, “Are you going to be okay?”

I don’t answer at first. I look back at the painting. The Dream she called it. Maybe, this was the woman’s dream. Maybe she is like me. Our chances will arise. She strives towards her peace with nature around her as I strive for success in the asphalt jungle. Just as she has nothing left to lose, I, too, have nothing to lose. We are the same.

“Yea… I think I will be.”

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! Let me know if I missed a tag or a warning.

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Till Next Time!

-Dey

[alldatwrite]

Waiting for the perfect storm

It was no secret that Regina and Snow hated each other. After months of living together in the same tiny apartment, there was no hesitation.

According to Regina Mills, law student and order freak, Snow was stupid. She had given her that nickname after some weeks of living together. The girl’s resemblance with the fairytale character of Snow White was striking, but she was far more annoying than a cartoon bird lover. She was too sensitive, too basic. She was a horrible cook, and her cleaning was useless if she kept bringing astray puppies over.

According to Mary Margaret Blanchard, future teacher and only child, Regina was a bitch. She was obsessed with cleanness and order, she didn’t like it when she invited her friends over, and she took too much time on the bathroom, one of their shared areas of the house. She was too perfectionist, too cold.

It was no wonder how happy they were when they heard that the winter break was coming, hoping they could rest on their last winter break of their whole college life, and how angry they were when two teachers forced them to stay on that small town called Storybrooke, taking a final exam.

Snow had to take Advanced Trigonometry; Regina had to take Criminal Law. Neither could leave until they finished it, even if the weather lady had already said that the following week would be full of storms.

Because of the scarce communication between the two students, both hoped that the other would leave soon the apartment. When both of them arrived that evening at the loft they shared, both felt like the Law of Murphy was hitting them like a fucking train.

The situation turned unbearable when they found out that: a) neither could leave the apartment due to the floods, b) several electric posts had fallen, leaving them uncommunicated, and c) they were going to have to spent their winter break together.

Not just Christmas, but the whole break, because Regina’s flight to Miami had been delayed, and Snow’s train to New York had been stopped. After those horrible months living under the same roof, they were forced to spend more time together.

Fuck the weather.

“We should light up the living room. You have candles and I have several lamps”, Snow proposed. The last she wanted was to fight this girl until one of them died. Regina couldn’t oppose, not when she was freezing and she couldn’t see past her nose.

She grabbed the tremendous amount of candles she had on her room, and Snow grabbed her salt lamp, her lava lamp, her flex lamp…

Then, they remembered that there was no electricity.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

They couldn’t heat the living room either, so they tried to stay close to the candles, that could only provide little warmth.

“Could you not do that? We can’t open the windows, Regina”, Snow said when the brunette lighted up a cigarette. Actually, she wasn’t sure if it was a cigarette.

“The candles will eat up the smell, Snow. Let me be”, she replied, turning around and facing the window, with a purple blanket over her body.

“Don’t call me that”, the younger girl (whose birthday was that same day) said.

“Then stop dressing like a damsel in distress”.

Whatever intent on having a normal conversation was futile. Regina was cranky and Snow was bored. Neither wanted to talk to the other anyway.

But then, Regina had an idea. The gas was still working, so they had warm water, and they could use it to their advantage.

“Hey, Snowflake, I have an idea. We can get into the bathtub and use hot water to keep warm. This month we’ve barely showered in here, so I don’t think it’s going to matter if we spend to much water right now”. Snow turned around like she had been whipped. Was she nuts?

“You sowant to see me naked”, she said, and Regina had to laugh. The nerve.

“You’re the lesbian here”, she told Snow.

“You’re not straight either”.

Both girls were right, and after some common rules and a huge thunder, they agreed to take the candles, the cigarettes, the cider and the ice cream (that was going to melt anyway) to the bathroom. Under the dim light of the candles, neither could see much of the other. They reasoned that they were both girls and they had the same underneath the clothes, but the air was still crisp.

They stopped worrying the moment the warm water hit them, and once the bathtub was filled and both girls were comfortable on their position, once the fog clouded the room and the cider had struck them, they felt good about it.

“I hate it that you hate me. I really do! I just want to get along with you!”, Snow said, taking a sip and staring at Regina, who had her head resting on her knee.

“I want that too! But you keep acting as if you lived in a hotel and I hate it! You keep bringing friends over, lost puppies that litter the floor…”, she replied. She closed her eyes.

“I only bring people over because I don’t want to be alone with you!”.

“You make it sound like I’m a monster!”

“It’s not because of that!”, she said, waking up Regina a little bit. “It’s because I like you! I want to kiss you all the time and it’s awful because you are way out of my league”. There was a palpable sadness in her voice.

She liked her?

“You like me? Like… romantically?”, Regina asked, astonished.

“You can be a Monica Geller wannabe, and you brag too much about your excellent grades, but you are cool. You cook like a goddess and your room is always clean, and you have so many interesting things to say!”.

It didn’t take much for her to kiss Snow. Stupid, stubborn, soft Snow.

And by the time they stopped kissing, the perfect storm had stopped.