#mywritting

[rykno-j]

Phonecall (j/jk)

Summary: Like the title suggests, G/ojo makes a call for help. From who? N/anami. OR G/ojo calling N/anami to bring shit over for his cold

Ship: n/anag/o? it's up to interpretation

Notes: Tried to write a snz > plot fic for once. N/anami calls G/ojo "G/ojo-s/an" in the anime/manga so I'll probably retain that. I'm kinda proud of this one, ahh- (like the angst parts only) Oh right there's some angsty parts but it's pretty mild.. I think.. like there's more fluffy & snz parts..

Actually wrote this whole thing in 1 sitting. Imagine that.

2.7k words.

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"..Hh-hH'!! hAH'ZZDcHh!! hA'DzcHH!!"

Fuck. Those were the roughest he's had for today.

Gojo stares burry at his ceiling. The fan in the middle has 3 blades. If Gojo didn't know better, he'd say there were 5 instead.

His head hurt, everything hurt. He was sure he was sweating, but everything felt so cold.

..Must be a side effect from the fever, then.

Gojo sighed. It's been awhile since.. since-

"..hiH'tcHH!! haH'zZdchH!!"

-Since he had fallen sick. The last time.. the last time he had fallen sick..

It was only bearable because someone had been there.

Of course.

Gojo turns over to his table, the action taking up most of his energy. With what little he had left, Gojo reaches clumsily for his phone. It almost slips out of his trembling fingers as he flips it open.

The brightness from the screen stung his eyes, causing him to turn to the side to muffle a fit of photic sneezes into the back of his palm.

At least.. at least those didn't ruin this throat as much as-

"..heH'EshH'iww!! ..snff-!"

-As those did.

All the sweating he was doing now was probably due to his fever breaking, but Gojo wasn't so sure.

His brain loved to overheat, and while he would gladly heal any damage done to it with his reversed cursed technique, he was pretty sure this damned cold did not count as an injury.

How unfortunate.

He ate the last of his fever medicine 5 hours ago.

How unfortunate.

Although he was never one to back down from a challenge, even Gojo knew he would never make it further than the front door, if he could even manage to stumble out of his room.

"..hih'tchh!! hAH'DzcHh!! ..hH'!! ..haah.. ..snff-!! hh.."

Great. It's stuck. His body must straight up hate him.

In all honesty, Gojo figures that he deserves it. Who was it again? That said his body would give in if he didn't get enough sleep?

Right.. it was Nanami..

Nanami..

Nanamin!

Squinting at his phone screen, Gojo selects the 'contacts' option on his phone. He slowly scrolls down to the 'N' section, eyes gazing over a few painful contact names that he had yet to delete.

Even after all this time, he still couldn't just let go.

His finger hovers over the call button of Nanami's contact. Would he pick up? It's his off day after all. He knows how much Nanami treasures those.

Small breathers from the hectic world of Jujutsu. In fact, 'hectic' was putting it lightly.

Well, it's not like he was ringing Nanami up for anything stupid, like he normally does. Though, with that being said, this would count as something utterly stupid.

Nevermind that.

-----

Stepping out of the bakery, Nanami feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Stopping in his tracks, he pulls it out, scowling at the name that appeared.

What did that annoyance (affectionate) want this time?

He lets a few more rings pass before picking it up, expecting to hear Gojo's obnoxious voice seep through the phone, no doubt to ask him out on another infuriating shopping trip.

Instead, he was met with silence.

Sensing that something was wrong, Nanami made his way to a more secluded area. Was there trouble?

"Gojo-san? Are you there?"

Nanami listens to the other side of the line carefully. But all he hears is soft, even breathing.

"..Gojo-san."

The breathing slowly turns into the sound of ruffling cloth, before a small string of inaudible mumbles could be heard.

"Nanamiin..?"

Nanami felt a pulse in his head. Seriously. Did he just wake up or something?

"..You called me?"

"I did..? Oh.. right I.. I dihH-..G'xxt!! ..did, didn't I? ..ahh, wait.. let me remembHh'!! ..h'NgxXt!! hh-G'nt!! ..aggnh, Nanamin I'm s' srry, haah-"

Instead of replying, Nanami's eyebrows furrowed. That voice was definitely Gojo's, but just what was he blabbing on about?

And those sudden, breathy sounds, punctuated by.. a weird, heavy noise. What were those?

"Are you okay?"

"Mm, no. Not really. Actually.. Nanaminn, can you come over?"

"No."

"..P-G'nXt!! ..Please?"

"I'm not falling for your tricks again."

"N-No tricks.. Nanamiin, pleease.."

Nanami sighs, wondering why he even decided to go back as a teacher in the first place. Why didn't he just delete Gojo's contact all those years ago?

"Fine."

"Yaay, Nanamin!!"

Nanami sighs again (he does this a lot when he's dealing with Gojo), finger reaching over to end the call when-

"Naanaminn, can you also bring some fever medicine overr? I.. ran out."

Fever medicine?

He opens his mouth to ask about that, but was only met with the monotonous beep of an ended line.

-----

The phone slips out of his fingers, dropping onto the floor with a thud that thankfully sounded like the item didn't crack into pieces.

All he had to do now was wait.. huh.

Gojo felt his eyelids slide shut. He tried to force them open to no avail. Seriously.. when was the last time he felt this bad?

..It was probably way back then, when he had gotten stabbed through his neck down to his knees, left bleeding out on the ground.

His eyes slowly slid shut, plunging him into darkness.

Darkness..

...

..Satoru-

..Satoru-!

Gojo suddenly jolts awake, the sudden movement sending him curled into himself with a fit of coughing, the scene that woke him up from his nightmare still dancing behind his eyelids.

..10 years.. or was it 11? 12? How long has it been since that day? How long has it been since he was last shook awake from a similar nightmare, tears streaming down his eyes, unstoppable?

Seriously.. this fever might just prove to be more of a nuisance than he originally gave credit to.

Lost in his thoughts, Gojo barely managed to register the sound of his front door opening. Even in his tired state, his body unconsciously prepared to fight, a thin layer of Infinity forming around himself.

"Gojo-san?"

With a weary smile, Gojo dropped his defenses. He recognised that voice anywhere.

"You left your front door unlocked." Nanami sounded pissed off. No matter, the most important part was that he came. He came..

"Ahh.. did I?"

"I'm serious. What if someone had broken in?"

Gojo felt himself relax as the shadow of Nanami's form stretched pass his doorway. "Nobody would do such a thing.. I'm sure. To non.. s-sorcerers, I'm a nobody. And n-nobody else knows I live hhH'!! ..here. Except you."

"That's not an excuse."

"Lighten upp, Nanamiin, I'm fiiine. Anywayy, I'm so glad you camee- I was convinced you would've ignored me for goood."

"..."

Based on the scene in front of his eyes, Nanami could easily conclude that Gojo was, indeed, not fine. Not in the slightest.

But even he knew it was futile to argue with the other, even in the.. state he was currently in.

"..Hh-G'nX'cthh!! ..hiH'gnXshh'!!"

"Bless you." Nanami sighed. So those sounds over the phone were sneezes, then.

Gojo removed the fingers pinching his nose, waving them dismissively.

"I'm fhH'!! ..fine, don't worhH'!! ..worr'hH-!! ..hiH'gx-ShHe'w!!"

Nanami found himself wincing at the effort it seemed to take Gojo to keep those quiet.

Seriously, of all the people he knew, including those he used to know, Gojo was never one to stifle.. unlike-

"Na-na-min! Did you bring what I asked for?"

"..Mm. Fever medicine, right?"

"Ahh- thank youu!! How much do I owe y-you?"

"Consider this a gift."

"How kind!"

Nanami stares, unbelieving, frozen by the doorway. Despite his distance away from the bed, he could clearly see how badly Gojo was faring. The disheveled hair, reddish hue surrounding his cheeks and nose, the fact he was lying down instead of bouncing around the room.

Why? Why was he always trying so hard to seem fine? Even after all this time, why?

Finally making his way inside, Nanami drops the plastic bag into Gojo's open palm.

"..Oh..You bought the solid kind."

"Huh?"

Gojo slowly removes the box, shaking it in the air. "..Solid.. pills."

"Yes." Was the fever messing with Gojo's brain? What was he asking?

Nanami watches as a pout forms on the other's face. It would have been quite comical, if not given the current circumstances.

"Nanamiin, I can't swallow pills that are this big, remember? Liquid.. do you have liquid ones?"

Ah.. right. Nanami remembers having this conversation with someone before, about how Gojo couldn't take solid medicine to save his life. He remembers the conversation, from ages ago. The conversation with.. with-

"I'll get water for you." Nanami turns to leave, shaking the image of that Someone out of his mind.

"Ah- Nanamin! Wait!"

Nanami found himself freezing at the sudden desperation in Gojo's voice. The tone of a scared child. When was the last time he heard that sound come from the other..?

"What is it?" His own tone softened, a subconscious reaction.

"..Don't go, please."

Once again, Nanami finds himself speechless. A few seconds pass, before Gojo cleared his throat, eyes looking everywhere except where the other was standing. Embarrassment?

"..Sorry.. I- that- that came out by itself, haha-"

Nanami sighs. Through all the years they had known each other, Gojo had always been an easy read due to his expressiveness. Although.. there were some people could read him better than others.

Nanami was one of these people. Possibly one of the few that were left, at that. It was to be expected, especially since the two of them were all each other had years ago.

Turning back to face the bed, Nanami shrugs off his coat, gently pressing it into the mattress next to Gojo's head.

"Mm.?" Gojo looked up at him, confused.

"..Look after this for me, I'll be right back."

"Ah, of course."

Turning to leave the room once again, Nanami was met with no sounds of displeasure this time.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Gojo's fingers wrap tightly around his coat, watched as Gojo brought the article into his chest, face buried into its collar.

Nanami felt his eyes soften at the sight. Even after all these years, Gojo never really grew up.

He was still the senior that greeted Nanami with that stupid smile on the first day of school, the friend who had comforted him when he was crying his eyes out, the friend who needed the comfort when it was his turn to cry his eyes out, and now the colleague who loved his students more than words could describe.

All of that put into the shivering body on the lonely bed.

"..heh'shHEiw!! hiH'gSsH'iww!! hH'!! ..snff- hH'dZzchH!!"

The corridor was quiet, Nanami could hear every little sound coming from the bedroom. Gojo must've thought he was in the kitchen by now, judging by how he was no longer stifling.

..How considerate.

"hiH'dzZch'iww!! ..H'tchh! aH'ngsHE'iw!!"

Nanami decides that he would grab a box of tissues from the living room. He doubts that Gojo even had any in his room.

Honestly.. his level of self care was off the charts at times. There was only so much his technique could heal. Cuts, bruises, fractures. Not colds, not fevers, not broken hearts.

That's what Nanami was there for.

It was decided then. He would stay over until Gojo was back on his feet. Nodding to himself, Nanami reaches for a cup, filling it with water.

He should probably leave for a grocery run after Gojo goes to sleep. He wonders if the other had even eaten a bite after this had started.

Probably not.

"..h'gShHE'iww!! hAH'dZzcHH!! snff- g'tchh! 'tchh! 'zztch! h'gtch!!"

As Nanami approached the room, the fits of sneezes progressively got clearer and clearer. The last couple sounded itchy, he noted.

Like Gojo's photic fits.

He remembers the first time he witnessed one, remembers the tears that gathered at the edge of Gojo's eyes under the sun.

He remembers that period of time years ago where Gojo would always misplace his sunglasses.

Before that, it never used to be a problem, since a Someone would always be there to make sure he didn't lose them, to make sure they were always covering his sensitive eyes.

After that Someone was erased from their lives, Nanami took over. He was the one that gave Gojo the idea of wearing a blindfold instead.

..Perhaps 'erased' was a little too strong of an expression. 'Slipped' would have been a better word.

He slipped from both their lives, both of them did.

"Gojo-san.?"

Nanami peeks into the room, the sight in front of him tugging at his heart.

Gojo had curled even his legs up to his chest, the long coat tangled between his limbs. There was a small, damp patch on the collar of the clothing right below where Gojo's nose was.

Nanami found himself not caring too much about that fact. He was just glad. Glad that he was able to provide the other with some comfort.

People often forgot that Gojo was human too. Despite how he was extremely immature and smiling all the time, Nanami didn't know of another who went through as much pain as he did.

Sometimes, it was almost like Gojo himself too, forgot that he had limits.

"Ahh- Nanamin.. welcome back!"

You don't have to force yourself to sound so cheery all the time.

"I'm sorry I made such a fuss just now, you did nothing wrong."

You don't have to apologise for anything.

"I owe you one."

No. Nanami presses the cup gently to Gojo's lips. You don't owe me anything. It was my pleasure.

When Gojo struggled to get the pills down, Nanami stayed by his side, rubbing comforting circles into his back.

He didn't know what else to do, what else to say.

Nanami stares into Gojo's dull blue eyes, the colour muted due to his fever. He remembers the last time Gojo's eyes wore a similar shade. He remembers not knowing what to do then as well, except to stay by Gojo's side.

"I'm really glad you came, Nanamin."

Maybe this was all Gojo needed after all, someone to support him. Maybe this was enough.

"Thank youu-"

Nanami hummed in reply, setting the cup down as Gojo dissolved into another small coughing fit.

"You're welcome."

"Juice would have been better t-thouhH'!! ..hih'G'Nxt!! 'NgxXt!! ..snff-"

Instead of biting back with a quick "the only thing you have in your kitchen is coffee and sugar cubes", Nanami pulled a tissue out of the box, pressing it to Gojo's nose softly.

"N-anamin?! I.. I can..hH'!! ..do that myself-"

"I'll let go if you promise to stop stifling."

"Hah? What do you mhH'!! hIH'KsShh'iw!! ..snff- heH'DzZtchH!! ..fuck. I'm so sorry-"

Nanami gently wiped the edge of Gojo's nose before pulling the tissue away, replacing it with a fresh one.

"W-Wait.. NahH'!! ..Nanamin-! Be carfhH-!"

Turning as far away from Nanami as he could in their current position, Gojo clasps a shaky hand over the one on his nose, his breath hitching desperately.

"..N'GsHH'iww!! hIH'tCHH-w!! hH'!! ..haaH.. nngh-..heK'sHh!! t'chh!! dzZtchH!!"

Pulling away once more, Nanami pulled a few more tissues from the box, this time handing them straight to Gojo.

"..Always thinking ahead, hm? How'd you know to get these from outside?"

"Your sneezes always get rather messy." Nanami wants to say, but he remains silent.

"..I'm sorry you had to see that, anyway."

"Don't worry about it."

"Mmh.. I'm a little tired."

"You should get some rest then."

"Yeah.. join me?"

Not expecting that response, Nanami stares blankly at Gojo for several seconds, before his eyes travel down to his wrists, where Gojo had already latched his fingers around.

Not like he had the option to deny the request..

..That's not it, Nanami thinks as he shifts to lift the covers. Even if he had the option to say No, he still would have picked Yes.

Finally setting down next to the other, Gojo shifts his grip from Nanami's wrists to around his waist, pressing his damp nose into the crook of Nanami's neck, lips on his collarbone.

"Na-na-min."

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For coming, and for staying."

"..."

"Will you still be here when I wake up?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"..Promise?"

"Yes."

The grocery shopping could wait.

--end--

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finishing notes: idk if the whole "gojo used to be with geto, and he still misses him" implication spoiled the nanago vibe of this fic

if it did, ahjhaesd IM SO SORRY

but i really, really REALLY, couldn't stop thinking about gojo and nanami using each other to heal from whatever tragedy befell upon them in the hidden inventory/premature death arc, and how they healed each other until eventually getting together.

that's all i have for now, thanks for reading!

Now I get to back to my week of examinations! Totally didn't spend hours writing this instead of studying for Economics! <3 <3

--5 days to Shibuya--

[capcavan]

GIMME AN INCH I'LL TAKE A MILE!!!!

Badger in fox den - @jtl-fics

…And yet again the target of angry fans. Raven fans and Fox fans, one side mad for the cancellation of Edgar Allan the others mad for acquisition of Riko fucking Moriyama Riko seemingly escaped unpunished. He had three months to make his recovery and get back on the court with a team that managed to win this year’s championships. He was a traitor jumping a sinking ship, now despised by fans and team members alike. There was no future in Exy for him any more. No professional team would take a player who pulled such a move. If he moved to the Lions? Then maybe, but suddenly teaming up with Foxes was too convenient. This is all the sports channel was about nowadays. Wasting time on talking segments and more shocking news dragged out of ruins of Evermore Castle. It was useless for what Riko needed it for - Replays of games, Fox wins, pixelated blown out shitty recordings of Minyard breaking his arm. Yes, he liked those in particular. They made his arm hurt, and he reflexively brought his hand to hold the cast as if rubbing it gently could soothe the dull pain. It made his spine tingle and his nerve system wake, even if just for a bit. Outside of that? He felt dull. Curled up and small on the comfortable couch, he stared into the TV screen, which was the only source of light in the room. It was still too bright. On the ground before it was a piece of black fabric that he used to cover the screen once, wanting to soften the harsh light. It made the image behind it impossible to distinguish aside from colourful blobs of various intensity. In a similar way the windows of the apartment got covered too, it was just too damn bright. ty @noomyart for checking the text for me :*

[rykno-gs]

Soup /gs

With Sumeru came Al/ha/itham and with him came K/ave/h

I havent written in awhile so here goes (3.7k words)

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(the parts from Kaveh’s pov was very choppy since i wanted to try to make it seem like he was disorientated)

also kaveh’s snezes were mostly in smallcaps because hes tired

-

Alhaitham was already pissed the moment he came home. Dishes stacked up taller than him, clothes strewn all around the living room, blueprints scattered across the floor, the culprit nowhere in sight.

Speaking of which, where was his annoying roommate? It wasn’t like Kaveh to leave the house this early into the day since all he did was go out and drink, with Alhaitham’s money, no less, and the bar did not open until night.

Perhaps Kaveh had actually found himself some work to do. Alhaitham felt himself scoff at that thought. The day that Kaveh really went out and got a job would be the day that Alhaitham finally plucked up the courage to confessed to him — never; impossible.

It was how it was, how it will always be. Kaveh would always do something to mess with Alhaitham, they’d argue, Kaveh would go and drink for hours, but he would always come home. Even if Alhaitham had threatened to kick him out moments before.

He blames it on his horrible taste in men that makes his heart beat so fast whenever Kaveh is around him, blames it on the fact Kaveh shines so bright; “Light of the Kshahrewar”. 

He blames it on the fact he had let Kaveh stay at his house at all. But he wanted it, wanted that proximity for reasons he could not understand. It frustrated him, these feelings which he couldn’t quite put a name to.

Why he felt so strongly for Kaveh escapes him.

But back to the matter he had on hand, his roommate would never learn to pick up after himself if Alhaitham just did his chores for him. It was still early, he could wait all day for Kaveh’s return.

And that’s just what he did, propping a leg up onto the coffee table as he read a good book.

-

Kaveh just wanted to lie down.  

His head had been hurting for a few days, and his throat had started to feel off since last night after his arguing session with the most infuriating Scribe in the whole of Sumeru, who also happened to be his roommate.

He had left the house in the morning after adding a plate to the tall pile of dishes at the sink, partly to piss Alhaitham off, but also partly because he wanted to head to the pharmacy as soon as possible to get something for his head.

Trust Alhaitham to be the only person he knows who does not have a stockpile of medicine at home on standby.

But they could argue more about that later, for there was a bigger problem right in front of him. 

“...”

“Out of Stock? You’ve got to be kidding me..”

The shop assistant looked at him apologetically, having sold the last bottle to the customer before Kaveh. And so there he was, back onto the streets with nothing left to do. Kaveh remembers feeling the same way until Alhaitham took him in.

Alhaitham.. Kaveh didn’t even know where to begin when it came to him. Everything the man said made sense, but yet it also did not. Sure, patterned curtains made no difference when it came to fulfilling their purpose, but plain ones were just so.. unartistic. It had taken a week of arguing for Alhaitham to finally allow Kaveh to install some new ones in his own room. 

Just thinking about the whole ordeal made Kaveh’s head pound a little harder. While he would have opted to head to the doctor, the bill would have exceeded his budget. And he would rather die than let Alhaitham know he wasn’t feeling well when he settled the payment.

Then, a thought struck him: a friend did say that the nearby Liyue Harbor had a pharmacy that sold many different types of medicine. Not like he had much of a choice at that moment, though. Right, it was just a quick walk over and back, simple enough.

And simple it was, until it started to drizzle, the weather as unpredictable as Alhaitham during this part of the year.

Ah.. there he goes again, thinking of that stupid Scribe every second of the day. Truly, even Kaveh sometimes did not understand what went on in that brilliant mind of his and his. But still, he longed to hurry home, to be near the damned person that tormented him with every step he took.

Dark clouds blanketed the sky, making it appear darker than it should, even this late into the night. Unconsciously, Kaveh reached up to rub his nose a little, feeling a light breeze drift pass him.

“Heh- Nn..hHaH’ Hih-hAtchuu’! snf.. hAH’tchH!!” 

He was shivering now, stepping carefully towards his front door. The half-a-day walk had left him more exhausted than Kaveh would ever admit. Alhaitham’s shoes were already there, not surprising since it was already way past dinner time. What was surprising though, was the light that still streamed out off the window. 

Subconsciously, Kaveh frowns. It was late, judging by how far the moon had risen into the sky. He hoped Alhaitham wasn’t once again pulling an all-nighter. Those tended to leave him tired and irritable for the next few days despite how much he denied it. While Kaveh would definitely not want to deal with a tired-tham, he also wanted his junior to look after himself. 

How stupid of him, he supposes, since Alhaitham could care less about the people around him, much less himself. And yet Kaveh still kept running back to him everyday, sleeping in the same house with but a wall between them.

With a sigh he turns his key with a slight sniffle, the small lion keychain wet from the rain.

-

Alhaitham hears the lock, and he almost springs up to answer it. It was way too late for Kaveh to just come waltzing through the door as if nothing had happened. But instead he chose to remain as unbothered as possible, staring blankly at his book.

The dishes would not clean themselves, Kaveh would have to do them. Yes, that was the true reason why he had stayed up this late, to watch Kaveh wash plates, that was all, nothing more.

The door opened with a creak, but the head of golden hair did not pop out to start a shouting match.

Behind the short hallway between the door and the living room, Kaveh hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes, not caring where they landed. Now that he as home, the warmth and dryness of it all made all his pent up exhaustion catch up to him. 

Kaveh sniffled, softly, bracing a hand onto the wall as his head started to spin. When was the last time he ate? Lunch? He ate a small bread for lunch. Dinner? He spent most of the day traveling to Liyue and back didn’t he.. Maybe there was something in the fridge he could-

“Hitc’Hh!! hH.. eH’ Hih- tchiw!! hAtcH’ngXt!! ssnf-!” 

Quickly, Kaveh pinched those away, afraid that Alhaitham would be alerted by his arrival home. He would hate to be seen in this state. However, as if on cue, Kaveh heard the sound of a book being slammed shut.

“Kaveh.” 

The voice sounded impatient. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t remember. Alhaitham sounded more angry than usual. What was it? Think brain, think!!

“Kaveh. I thought I told you to wash the d-”

Alhaitham rounded the corner, arms crossed, but stopped when he saw the small frame clinging onto the coat rack. Kaveh looked worse than when Alhaitham had picked him off the streets. The Kaveh he was looking at now was pale, hair and clothes soaked through and stuck to his skin. Had Kaveh always looked this frail? 

And for once, Alhaitham froze, not sure what to do. To reach out or to observe? Which would Kaveh want him to do, which would he be okay with him doing? His fists clenched in uncertainty. 

Maybe he should-

“What? D- Did you.. snff! say something..?” Kaveh struggled to raise his head, the ceiling lights looking brighter than ever that they shone straight into his skull. He just wanted to lie down, badly.

Alhaitham felt his insides tighten as Kaveh picked himself up. Suddenly, all thoughts about the dishes vanished from his mind. “It’s.. nothing..”

“O-oh.. alright, I’ll go s-shH! shower then..” Kaveh mumbled weakly. Talking hurt more than it should, and it took all his strength to stumble towards his room without falling all over the carpet.

Alhaitham watched as Kaveh’s shadow disppeared into the room. The door was swung shut but not closed, and he caught a glimpse of Kaveh gripping the side of his desk to balance himself. Drunk? Was he drunk? It wasn’t uncommon for Kaveh to come home like this, an absolute mess, clumsy on his feet.

“Hih’hAtchh!! hAH’ngXXt!! hH.. h’ snff!! hiT’Dchw!!

“hiH’tcHhuu!! snf! nh..”

But something was different, wasn’t it?

Alhaitham stared at the small crack in the door, at Kaveh, who removed a small cylinder from his pocket. He watches as Kaveh shakes it, removing two pills. Medicine? So Kaveh hasn’t been feeling well. But how long has it been? Days? Weeks? Why didn’t he say anything about it?

He remembers back when Kaveh just got off the streets, remembers when Kaveh came down with a fever on that same day, remembers how Kaveh had struggled for his life to swallow even the tiniest bit of the solid medicine that Alhaitham had to crush it down for him.

So Kaveh was feeling that bad that it pushed him to take not one but two? How had he not noticed? In his defense, Kaveh had been acting as usual for the past week. Their arguments flowed as usual, as did Kaveh’s irresponsibility with cleaning up after himself.

Lost in his thoughts, Alhaitham heard Kaveh panting softly. He imagined how Kaveh would be behind the door, a palm pressed against his throat, forcing himself to pretend that there was nothing but water in his mouth, just water, just swallow.

He heard Kaveh choke a little, and was overcome by the want to be by his side, rubbing between Kaveh’s shoulders to tell him that everything was going to be alright and that he was there. But Alhaitham couldn’t move, so he watched silently.

-

Kaveh’s eyes were watering. It was one thing to take the medicine, but it was another to take it quietly. After muffling a few coughs into his elbow, he shoved the bottle to the far end of his table, behind the stack of canvas, just in case.

He reached for a piece of tissue, holding it against his nose as he walked to the bathroom. He needed to bathe and sleep off this cold, for he was sure that Alhaitham would question him about last night in the morning. Kaveh liked moments like those, where his roommate would ask about him, making it seem like he cared.

Kaveh liked to pretend that he did.

“hiH’hAtchh!! hH-Hh.. ah’H.. ah..” he sighed, rubbing the tissue a little harder. “Hah’nnh.. snff- hH’! ugnn..” He needed to sneeze, the bathroom tiles felt cold to his feet, his clothes were suddenly too tight. He had to get them off, but they were wet and clung to him. 

His train of thought was messy; the water was warm on his back. Kaveh hunched over in the shower, arms pressed against the wall in front of him, helping him stand up straight.

He gasped, desperate.

“hiH’IHh- hHH!! Snnff.. hH’ hAH-zZchww!! hH’Tchh!! hhH-aH’dtcHhh!!” The mist from his nose mixed with the vapour from the water flowing down his back. He shivered; not hot enough. He switched it off.

Back in his room, Kaveh toweled himself down shakily. How long would it take for the medicine to kick in? How long has it been? Was it morning already? Has Alhaitham left for work? Was he once again all alone in this house? His nose was running again, Kaveh noticed but didn’t care. He pressed a sleeve of his pajamas against his face, tunneling under the blankets.

Still not warm enough..

-

The walls of his house were thin, Alhaitham knew, and he heard everything that came from Kaveh’s room despite moving to the kitchen. He had tried to busy himself with the dishes (the responsibility being entrusted now to him), but that didn’t stop the thoughts from creeping up on him.

Kaveh is sick. 

His hands stopped moving, fingers squeezing the soapy sponge. That idiot. Switching off the tap, Alhaitham moved to the other counter, prying open the drawers for ingredients to make soup. He doesn’t know if Kaveh had eaten already or not, he also doesn’t know if Kaveh would even accept it, but it put his mind at ease.

Two clicks from the stove later, the soup was starting to simmer. Alhaitham carefully placed the lid on top, allowing a small gap for the steam to rise. It would be done in a couple of hours. In the meantime, he would pack up the mess that Kaveh left the living room in.

He started with the clothes, the same white shirt that he wore everywhere. The collar line was far too low and exposing in Alhaitham’s opinion, but he wouldn’t say that he hates it, being able to see Kaveh’s chest. The only problem was that everyone else could as well. He picked it up, moving on to the red cape that lay draped over the couch. The first time he touched it, Alhaitham remembered being in shock at how soft it was despite its sturdy appearance. 

It’s iconic red color together with it’s pattern and broad tassels made the cape look so much more than just a item of clothing. Maybe that was why Kaveh was so proud to wear it; he loved to steal the spotlight, whether intentionally or not.

He folded them, and moved on to the floor.

“Haitham!! What do you think of these?” 

Alhaitham could almost hear Kaveh’s voice as he crouched down to pick up the blueprints. “It’s a rough sketch of what I think a school building should look like!” Alhaitham remembers what had sparked that project. The two of them were walking around the city when a couple of children ran into Kaveh. Kaveh laughed and brushed it off, before watching them disappear into the school.

Alhaitham remembers watching Kaveh’s eyebrows furrow when he took in the state of the budling, all the beautiful features on his face scrunching up in disapproval. “Really, they ought to take better care of a place like that.”

The moment Kaveh reached home that day, he whipped out his pencils and started working. And when he was done, he was proud. “Haitham! Doesn’t this look way better?”

And when Alhaitham had scoffed at his masterpiece,

“What do you mean ‘design doesn’t matter’? Maybe to you it doesn’t, but to those students, I think it will matter. When children are still young, they are so filled with curiosity, and that dull school building doesn’t boost that at all! Think about it Haitham, making sure that that creativity within each child doesn’t burn out, that’s what education should really be about.” 

Alhaitham remembers being at a loss for words, remembers looking into Kaveh’s eyes to see the sparks within them. Pride towards the future generation of students, the same pride Kaveh had when he finally graduated, only to become bankrupt in the following years after chasing his dream.

Don’t you ever learn when to back down? Alhaitham feels a smile creep onto his face. He supposes he isn’t much different.

The soup is finally done.

-

“Mmf..ah.. nnhH’! snnf- snff!! hhH..ihh!!”

Kaveh feels himself being pulled out of sleep. Everything felt heavy, too cold yet he was sweating. His head weighed a ton, and his nose.. his nose-

“Hih’tchh! heh’zchw!! eh-heH’tchzw!!”

“hh-! eh’tchw! huH’ hh..snf!..nghn”

..wouldn’t stop itching.

He lifted a palm to his forehead. It felt warm. Warm because of the fever, or warm because his fingers felt like icicles? He didn’t know. His stomach made a sound, and Kaveh feels the feeling of hunger for the first time that night. 

Using his other hand, Kaveh pushed against the mattress under him, but his body didn’t rise. He felt weak and shivery. Maybe the blanket was just too heavy.. But he had no trouble getting out of bed this morning, so what was happening now?

He was tired, and sleep was dragging him down once again. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he’d dream of Alhaitham. Alhaitham.. he’d be strong enough to lift Kaveh up from the bed, from under these heavy covers..

As if right on cue, Kaveh heard a sharp knock on his door. He wanted to respond, to call out, but everything hurt. A second passed, and the door swung open, the light from outside just barely any brighter than his own room. 

How considerate that the visitor gave a second thought to his eyes’ sensitivity to bright stuff..

“Kaveh-”

The visitor was calling for him. Respond.. Respond..

“Mmhyea..?”

“It’s me.. uh.. I made some... soup- ..food for you.”

“Haitham..?”

Kaveh started at the doorway. He recognised the voice but not the words spoken. Alhaitham made food for him? Right when he was just feeling hungry? Right when he was just thinking of dreaming about the man? Maybe he was..

“Yeah, it’s me.”

..Or maybe he wasn’t.

Alhaitham pushed himself further into the room. He felt weirdly hesitant. The Grand Scribe, doubting his steps, a new experience for him. ‘Everything with Kaveh is always a new experience’ was the excuse he gave himself.

“I’ll just.. put this-” 

“heH’tchh!! snff!” Kaveh swallowed quickly, blushing. The sneeze snuck up on him, and now Alhaitham was staring.

“The.. t-table.. snff- would be g- good..”

Alhaitham recovered from his startle in an instant, gently placing the tray onto the desk. Kaveh’s voice was soft, very much unlike him. Under the moonlight, he could see the reddish outline of Kaveh’s nose, and Alhaitham felt his heart tighten.

“Are.. are you okay?”

“I’m- hH..hit’chhw! haH’ngxxT!! F-Fine..snf- why..?” Kaveh scrubbed at his eyes, avoiding Alhaitham’s sight. 

“No reason.” Alhaitham felt the words leave his mouth before hie brain could process them. Running away. “I’ll come back later to.. get the bowl..”

When Kaveh watched Alhaitham turn to leave, he felt panic immobilising him. Wait. No, don’t go, please.. s-stay.. “I need.. need-”

“..Need?”

“shit.. Need you to help me lift the spoon.. I can’t..” Kaveh felt his blush returning, or maybe it was the fever. He had said that out loud?! ahh- what was Alhaitham going to think?

“Okay.”

Alhaitham quietly moved over to the bedside, pulling a chair over. He wordlessly but carefully pulled down the covers to Kaveh’s waist, flinching when Kaveh shivered immediately to the cold air, turning sharply to his side.

“hH!! H’haH’tCHhuu! s-sorryyhH’ tchHiww! snff-” Kaveh had his nose pressed firmly against his sleeve when he turned back, grateful that Alhaitham chose not to comment on it, instead helping to prop him up using some pillows.

Kaveh watched as Alhaitham reached for the steaming bowl, cupping it with his bare hands while the other stirred its contents.

“It’s not hot..?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer the question. Of course it was. But how else would he feed Kaveh? Feed Kaveh. It was Alhaitham’s turn to blush. Thankfully Kaveh had his attention elsewhere, sleeve pressed to his nose, rubbing softly. 

“hiH’tchhu!! ouwch.. snff.. hhH-”

“Here.” Alhaitham cleared his throat, holding out the spoon to Kaveh’s lips. From this distance, he can tell how puffy Kaveh’s eyes were, and how they were avoiding him. 

Kaveh is just as scared as he is.

“T-Thank you..” Kaveh mumbled, the stuffiness making it hard to talk. The soup was warm, not too hot, not too cold; “delicious.”

“Glad you like it.”

“I’m amazed you can cook. snff! It’s not poisonous, is it?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Kaveh smiled, a little, and Alhaitham did too. Despite the moment they were in right now, they always found a way to bite at each other’s throats. That’s how they were, everyone in Sumeru knew.

But what were they really, to each other?

The bowl was empty before another word was spoken, say for the regular sniffles (and sneezes) that Kaveh would take between each bite. It was all too soon, and Alhaitham was standing up, probably to leave.

Panic. 

Kaveh didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want just anybody’s company either. He wanted Alhaitham’s company. The house was too big and his room was too cold. And so he reached out. 

“Haitham-!”

Alhaitham turned around, tray and bowl clutched in his hands. Kaveh was calling him, Kaveh needed something from him. What was it..? What was it? If he could, he would give Kaveh the world.

“Yes?”

“P-Please stay?”

And there it was, the unspoken words that were finally said. Such a simple request. ‘Of course’ Alhaitham thought. ‘Of course I’ll stay.’

“I will. I will be back after I wash these, alright?”

“Always worried about the dishes aren’t you, Haitham?”

Yes, I am worried, worried, but not just about the dishes anymore.

-

Kaveh watched as Alhaitham padded slowly out of his room. The defined muscles of his back poking through the thin shirt, as beautiful as they were the first time Kaveh laid eyes on them. Strong arms that he hoped one day would hold him. One day, soon.

“I’m sorry for always being such a mess-”

(And that you always have to clean up after me.)

“It’s alright. It’s the way you are.”

(And it’s perfect, I love it.)

He hears the kitchen tap going off as sleep welcomes him once again. But this time, Kaveh doesn’t need to dream of Alhaitham. Because he might have just became a reality.

-

When Kaveh wakes up the next day, his fingers were cradled within Alhaitham’s sturdy palm, the man in question seated upon the bedside chair, head resting upon the blanket, against Kaveh’s thigh, their hearts beating as one.

(end)

.

.

.

tbh that felt more like a character rs fic then a snzfic but thats not rly for me to decide. 

i love these two so much and wna write for them abit more (when i stop being lazy)

ANYWAY ty for reading, and i hope you enjoyed that.

[cari0]

Day 2: Extra Prompt Injury

[carlyraejepsans]

so who's excited for the valentines day UTDR newsletter.

[remuslupinslittleslut]

Poly!Marauders x Reader - First time

Poly!Marauders x Reader, it's her first time and they're all helping out. Also, it's so On Brand for James Potter to come in his pants while eating pussy. I love this man.

“So, you’re saying you’ve never… done it?” Sirius asks, looking at Y/N questioningly.

“Nice way to put it, Pads”, scolded Remus, reaching out to touch the cheek of their girlfriend.

“Uh, yeah, I guess”, she starts, “I mean, I’ve done… some stuff? But not, like, all of it?”

The boys share a look of… something new. Soon, three sets of hands are touching her, rubbing her thighs, arms, and sides.

“Do you… want to? With us?” Asks James, rubbing circles with his thumbs on her arms.

She’s playing with her hands in her lap, feeling her heart racing. Excitement started to take over the nervousness that had previously filled her body. She did want it, badly, but she was unsure of how to initiate, not knowing what was okay or how to best go about it.

“Yeah” she says, looking into James’ eyes, “Yeah, I want to.”

***

Not long after, she’s sitting against the headboard, back pressed against Sirius’ chest, lips locked with Remus and James’ lips kissing down her legs. They had promised to take the best of care of her, and she really could feel it, the love that encompassed her in this position. The arms of Sirius, wrapped around her waist, started to sneak under the fabric of her shirt, as Remus’ hands teased her nipples through the shirt.

“Baby, can I unbutton this?” Sirius asks from behind her, lips trailing kisses down her neck, leading to Remus receiving a moan in his mouth before she nods, telling the man behind her that yes he can.

Hands are running up her legs, rubbing at her thighs, sending shivers down her spine as her shirt finally comes undone, baring her tits for her little audience.

“So pretty, love”, murmurs Remus, sitting back and taking in the view.

James, too, leans up on his elbows to look at her, basking in her beauty, “Yeah babe, so pretty,” making her shy away from all the attention, trying to hide her face in Sirius’ hair.

“How’re you feeling, pretty girl?” Sirius asks her, reaching to grab at her pretty tits, feeling her arch her back against his chest.

“Uh huh, so good”, Y/N whines, feeling James’ hands creeping up her thighs, followed by his mouth, kissing, biting and nibbling at the skin. Her moans rise an octave as his hands reach the very top of her legs, fingers nudging her underwear.

“May I?” His glasses are completely askew and he’s looking up at her with wide eyes, shiny with anticipation, and when she nods he reaches all the way, rubbing at her clit through her panties, “How’s that feel baby?”

“Good, so good”, she’s getting whiny, the feeling of all three of them becoming overwhelming, “Remmy please, wanna feel you, kiss me?” And how could he ever say no to that? Leaning back down, he places one hand on her cheek, angling her face to be able to kiss her.

James taps her hips, indicating for her to lift so that he can pull her undies down, “Oh she’s so pretty”, he says, “Pretty little pussy… Pads, help me keep her legs open.” His friend complies, using his own legs to keep hers open, hands still running up and down her waist, sometimes coming up to grab at her tits.

Sploshy sounds fill the room as James’s lips stay locked against her wet pussy, his hips moving to rub himself against the mattress. Remus pulls away, again, “Do you like that, pretty girl? You like James eating your sweet cunt?” He asks, rubbing a thumb against her red and swollen lips, “I think you should put this pretty mouth to good use as well, don’t you?”

The question makes her blush a deep red, but she does think that so she nods, feeling that nervousness creep up again, but before she can think any more of it, Remus’ trousers and pants are off and he’s placing his hard, pink tipped cock right in her face. “Open up, baby”, he says, poking her lips with the head.

The taste is a bit strange, she thinks, salty and tangy, but not bad. She starts by licking around the tip, before opening up more to let him further in her mouth. At the same time, James’s fingers are working tirelessly against her clit, while his tongue licks around her hole, making her moan and whimper around Remus’ cock.

Remus has a firm hold around her neck, not really squeezing, just holding her in place as he lightly thrusts his hips, careful not to choke her. “So good, baby, such a sweet little mouth, yeah?” Her eyes open, looking up at him, “Yeah, you’re just made to take cock like this.”

In between her legs, James switches position, fingers plunging into her leaking hole, tongue rubbing circles on her sensitive bud. Her legs try to close, but Sirius’ legs keep her open for his friend, letting him feast on their girlfriend, while their other boyfriend fills her mouth. He can feel her getting closer, noticing how she gets more twitchy in the legs and her mouth turns slack around Remus. “So good, love, you can let go now, yeah just like that, let go, come all over James’ face, just like that, good girl”, Sirius is telling her to let go, and that with the praise sends her straight over the edge, juices flooding, covering James. Remus pulls out of her mouth, letting her breathe, and takes Sirius hand, bringing it to his cock. Watching their girl come, one of his boyfriends jerking his cock, Remus can’t do much but come, covering her chest in hot, white liquid.

“Jamie, please stop”, her hands go to his hair, pulling him off, “‘s too much, please.” He pulls away, face wet with her slick, and he looks sheepishly up at his three partners as they all notice the wet patch on his legs.

“Can you take more?” Asks Remus, coming down from his own orgasm. She nods, whimpering a simple yeah, “Good girl, then I think it’s about time Padfoot gets his turn with you, yeah?” Her eyes widen, but soon she’s turning in the lap of the aforementioned boy.

“Hi baby”, he says, finally facing her. Arms around her waist, holding her close

“Hey…”, her head nuzzling into the crook of his neck, smelling his hair, breathing it in.

“Gonna fuck you now, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good”, his hands reach down, grabbing her ass, spreading her cheeks slightly, “up a lil for me” he commands, and she raises herself up on her thighs, hovering over his lap. He frees himself from his pants, tugging himself a few times, “Allright, baby, now come down for me.” One hand on himself, the other on her hips, he aligns himself with her hole, letting her down, filling her up. They both moan at the intrusion, his eyes raising to look over her shoulder at their two boyfriends, eagerly watching the pair.

Sirius moves down a bit, laying down, letting her face stay in the place where his neck meets his shoulder, folding his legs and thrusting up into her. He winces as she bites his shoulder, in a desperate try not to scream out loud.

“Is this okay, baby?” He asks, warm hands rubbing her backside.

“Yeah, ‘s good, so good.” She feels like she’s on fire, her hole being perfectly stretched, g-spot consistently hit. It’s a new sensation, different from James’ fingers. When Sirius starts thrusting faster, holding onto her arse, practically splitting her in two, she goes into a very different headspace. It’s so good, so, so good, but also so so much and soon she’s coming, again, walls clamping down on Sirius’ cock, moans slipping from her mouth, stuck to her throat.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so good, so tight, love this little hole”, he’s, once again, whispering very dirty words in her ear, chasing his own orgasm. “Ah, huh, Siri, fuck, ah, please”, she’s whiny, moaning and whimpering, small hands clamping down on his upper arms, holding on for dear life.

“Ah that’s it, love, gonna come now, gonna fill you up”, and he does, and it’s amazing, yet another completely new sensation, sending her over the edge for a third time.

“Good job baby, took us all so well” “Yeah love, you did so well for us, gonna let you rest now”

“‘M gonna clean you up a lil, you just lay here though, such a good girl”

[just-somedude]

CNC and Safewords

"No Daddy I don't want it"

"I don't care, you're mine and I'll use you how I want"

*safeword comes out*

"Oh baby I'm so sorry what's wrong? How can I help? Are you okay? I love you, you're safe, I'm here. I promise."

Since some people don't seem to know how CNC works

[iiping]

kaveh snapping at alhaitham for buying another ugly wood carving… except he forgot it was his birthday 👀

read my short fic on twitter here or see more below! 🫶

—

“This looks absolutely nothing like me!” Kaveh snaps at the rough-out Aranara carving that suddenly shows up one morning, looking so blonde and angry.

Alhaitham comes out of his room at this moment and walks over to their common shelf where the architect stands.

Kaveh has a meeting with a particularly frustrating client today and he’s feeling so anxious that he cannot help but snaps at Alhaitham too, “How many times do I have to tell you not to bring ugly wood carvings into our home!?”

Alhaitham looks at Kaveh, his lips tightens. Something unfathomable flashes across his eyes and disappears just as suddenly.

“Do whatever you want with it then,” Alhaitham says finally after an awkward silence. Then he grabs his key from the shelf and turns his back to walk towards the front door without saying another word.

Kaveh looks at him leaving the house in puzzlement. It is not a rare occasion to see the Scribe not bothering to argue with him but Alhaitham never walks away after saying only one sentence before. He looks as if he’s angry or even…pouting? Kaveh is not sure if that word can describe Alhaitham.

Maybe Kaveh did something wrong? He gasps at the thought.

Is it because the smell of the cream soup he made yesterday was too strong? Or maybe it was the fact that the house is now so messy because he’s in the middle of tidying up things? Or maybe he moved or touched some books he wasn’t supposed to?

Kaveh ends up thinking for the whole day. He even spaces out during the client’s meeting and almost drops the model when he tries to present his plan.

He thinks and thinks but nothing comes to his mind. They have been on unusually pretty good terms lately, so he cannot think of something recent that might have made Alhaitham upset.

Kaveh is so deep in thought he almost bumps into Collei on the way home.

“Ah! Sorry!” Kaveh exclaims then realizes who it is, “Collei! I didn’t know you were in town today!”

Somehow, the trainee Forest Ranger looks shocked to see him. She quickly picks up something that fell to the ground when they bumped into each other earlier. Kaveh catches a glimpse of a small green box with yellow ribbon before Collei swiftly hides it behind her back.

“It’s so good to see you! Wanna grab something to eat?” Kaveh asks, ignoring her suspicious behavior. He’s not ready to go home just yet, not when he still hasn’t figured out what he did wrong.

“Uh, sorry I have somewhere to be today,” Collei replies nervously, avoiding to meeting his eyes, “If you will excuse me, I really need to get going.”

Then she takes off before he can say another word.

Kaveh ruffles his hair in confusion. What is going on today?

After wandering around aimlessly for a while, he decides that he has no other place to go except the good old Lambad’s Tavern.

He sits down at a table and orders a drink even though it’s merely 5PM.

“Hey, Kaveh!” Lambad shouts his name from behind the counter, “That one’s on the house! Happy Birthday!”

Oh. Shit.

A realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

“How could I forget!” he cries, standing up abruptly, “It is my birthday!”

He tells Lambad that he’ll take a raincheck on that glass of wine before leaving the tavern. Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can and finds Alhaitham standing in front of the shelf with the Aranara carving on one hand and a bag on another.

Alhaitham raises his eyebrows when he sees Kaveh practically flying from the front door.

“No, wait—-“ Kaveh tries to catch his breath, “D-don’t throw that away!”

“Oh?” Alhaitham puts down the Aranara and turns to face the architect. “Seems like you finally remember something.”

“Sorry for what I said this morning,” Kaveh blurts out, “I know it sounds like an excuse but that client’s project kept me frustrated all night and I shouldn’t have taken it on you.”

Alhaitham looks at him silently.

“Alright, alright,” Kaveh puts two hands in the air, “I apologize for calling it ugly.”

The Scribe lets out a chuckle right this second. It is clear that he does not intend put up any fights with Kaveh on his birthday.

Alhaitham hands him the Aranara in question and asks, “Will you also stop calling my other wood carvings ugly?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Kaveh replies with a beaming smile. His eyes light up as he takes the wooden figure in his hands.

Alhaitham gives him birthday presents every year but they are usually books or drafting tools. This is the first time Kaveh has received something custom-made. Well, from anyone, really.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning,” he mumbles, feeling the rough wood under his fingers. “Sure, it looks a bit cruder than that one in your bedroom which I kind of like, but the more you look at it, the mor—- Hey!”

“I changed my mind,” Alhaitham announces with a straight face, the Aranara is now back to his hand. “I’m taking it back.”

Kaveh blinks.

“What did you just say!?” he raises his voice.

“I don’t see any reasons why it should be in the possession of someone who doesn’t appreciate it,” he replies simply while putting the wooden figure in the bag, then starts to walk to the entrance hall.

“How do you know I don’t appreciate it!?” Kaveh follows him, trying so hard not to yell at his back, “This is ridiculous! You just gave it to me literally a second ago!”

That does not make Alhaitham slow down one bit. In the heat of the moment, Kaveh charges at him without thinking.

Next thing he knows, they are both on the floor with Alhaitham being beneath him. He quickly snatches the bag from the Scribe’s hand and sits up.

“Ha!” Kaveh exclaims, raising it in the air in victory. “You cannot walk away from me this time! Don’t you know that it’s rude to take back what you have given!?”

When there isn’t any response, Kaveh glances down, only to see that Alhaitham is covering his face laughing.

Kaveh looks at this scene in disbelief.

“Were you just teasing me!?” he asks with a high-pitched voice, “Oh my god, who are you? What have you done to my Alhaitham?”

“I couldn’t help,” he is still laughing, “You should’ve seen your face.”

It’s extremely rare for Kaveh to see a silly side of Alhaitham, let alone seeing him laughing like this. Kaveh stares dazedly at him, completely forgetting why he was mad in the first place.

“You can have the Aranara,” Alhaitham says with a smile, “Will you get off me now? Although I don’t really mind—-”

Kaveh interrupts this sentence with a cough, just realizing what a dangerous position they are in. He shifts to move out of the way, but at this moment, a small piece of paper falls of the bag and lands on Alhaitham’s chest.

The Scribe’s eyes widen as he moves to reach for it, but Kaveh is quicker.

Seeing what’s on there, he is speechless.

Alhaitham covers his face again, but his ears are turning visibly red. The worse thing is, Kaveh can also feel his face burning too.

“You carved this,” he asks softly, “for me?”

After a while, Alhaitham admits with a sigh, “Yes.”

Kaveh is dumbfounded. He assumed that it was merely a commission. Never has he ever thought Alhaitham would go that far to do something like this for him.

“That’s why you’ve been coming home late for the past week!” Kaveh just remembers how unusual it was when he said that he needed to work overtime.

“You knowing this wasn’t part of the plan, I was too careless.” he says flatly and decides to pull himself up, unintentionally getting closer to Kaveh. “Now it’s good time for you to forget you have seen that workshop receipt.”

“Nuh-uh,” Kaveh pokes his chest, “This Aranara is now worth a million mora to me.”

“You have just burdened yourself with a new enormous debt then” Alhaitham teases.

“Hey!”

“I think wood craving has grown on me.” Alhaitham smiles, “So I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with these ugly figurines for now.”

“Come on, they are not that ugly,” Kaveh chuckles, “But we do need to set up a proper corner for them so they don’t disrupt the current aesthetic.”

The Scribe can’t help but roll his eyes at this comment.

“Seriously though, thank you” Kaveh softly touches his shoulder and looks directly into his eyes, “It’s the first time someone did something so special for me. I will always treasure it.”

The Scribe stares back at him and without a warning, Alhaitham pulls him into his arms and whispers to his hair, “Happy Birthday, Kaveh.”

After that, Collei, along with Cyno and Tighnari, burst open their front door right when they are still hugging in the hallway. Kaveh’s face turns as red as a tomato as Alhaitham helps him up on his feet.

The night cannot be more perfect. The house is filled with the smell of good food, laughers and joy. His most favorite dishes are laid out on the table and the gifts are waiting for him to open. Wine never tastes better and even Cyno’s jokes are funnier than usual.

Kaveh watches as everyone starts to eat and cheerfully discuss about what games they are going to play tonight. His heart aches a bit thinking of how much he does not want to ever lose this; his friends, his happiness, his home.

And when his eyes accidentally meet with Alhaitham’s, he cannot help but wonder, would things turn out differently if he hadn’t met the Scribe at the tavern that night where he had taken Kaveh in?

He tries harder now to stay happy, to actually listen to some of Alhaitham’s advice, the sensible ones at least.

“Don’t burden yourself with something unnecessary from the past and from the future”, he would say.

So instead of dwelling on the past regrets and unknown future, Kaveh thinks he is ready now to find comfort in the present happiness.

(END)

[thedreamlessnights]

Fervency

Non-Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: After falling into mysterious spores in the Underdark, you start to experience some... strange side effects. Astarion is more than happy to assist.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac/glorified sex pollen, established relationship, discussions of consent, fingering, oral sex (both giving and receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms. Takes place post-game and includes mild spoilers.

Word Count: 5.7k

There’s not much that surprises you anymore.

It’s true - being kidnapped by illithids, having a tadpole implanted behind your eyes, facing the gods themselves - all of that does make it difficult for mundane life to come anywhere close enough to truly shock you. Your days aren’t necessarily peaceful, but they never seem quite as exciting as that blind haze of companionship in the aftermath of the nautiloid, trekking through the wilderness and shadow-cursed lands and the city, finding yourself in the company of strangers but soon-to-be family.

Still, these days, there’s something every now and then that catches you off guard. The trouble is, you’re never quite left in a space to know how to handle it. Unlike your earlier adventures, things are rarely solved with a dagger in your hand or a dash of flattery in your words. No, the burdens of day-to-day life are much more complicated than that.

Falling into a patch of mysterious spores, for one.

The Underdark is full of various mushrooms. Poisonous. Explosive. Befuddling. You could go on and on. You’ve had your number of close calls with them, but the sensation coursing over your skin feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced - and it doesn’t help that you’ve never seen spores like this.

Hells. Of course this is where your day would end up. 

Just a little stroll, you’d told yourself. It’ll be harmless. And it had been, for the most part. There’s an unearthly beauty to the Underdark that you’ve never encountered anywhere else, one you’ve come to appreciate just as much as the upper surface. But halfway through your usual route, your feet had snagged on a branch and you’d gone tumbling, and now - now you’re in a patch of glowing, red spores, feeling like…

Gods, what do you feel? 

Hot. You feel very, very hot. Sweat trickles down your back. Warmth blooms like poppies in a number of strange places - your cheeks, your lips, your neck. The feeling is spreading fast, bleeding through your ribs as you get to your feet.

Alright, you think to yourself, ignoring the sharp, bleeding panic in your throat that’s threatening to take over. Situations like this call for a sense of rationality. You’re going to get out. 

It takes much longer than it should for you to slowly stumble back to familiar ground. Your movements are jerky, as if you’re being puppeted around, and it’s getting harder to think straight when you’re feeling as if - whatever this is - is slowly consuming you. The heat is in your lungs, coursing fire near your pounding heart, raging with every inhale. 

You need to get this off of you, and as quickly as possible. After that, maybe it will fade and maybe it won’t. You’ll… you’ll figure it out. 

By the time you make it to the river, your knees are trembling so much that you nearly fall in. The water barely scratches the surface of the fire when you splash it over your skin, but the coolness of it is euphoric. You go as quickly as you can, covering area by area - your clothing, your arms, your face and neck - until most of the spores are off, but the feeling pulses and throbs in you all the same. Whatever it is, it isn’t killing you, but it certainly isn’t pleasant. 

You could tell Astarion. He’d tease you a little, but he’d also be certain to search endlessly to find something to stop your discomfort. And you ache for him. His touch, his voice, the fondness in his eyes when he looks at you. 

Had it really been just this morning when you’d last seen him? It seems like lifetimes away - lost to a very, very different type of ache in your veins that won’t seem to fade. You’ve just made up your mind to go find him, rising to your feet again, when the heat rushes to a very specific place between your legs and all thoughts of looking for Astarion are instantly cast out.

Oh, you think, somewhere between dizzy, needy, and utterly humiliated. So that’s what this is.

You’ve read about things like this - plants, pollen, potions -  but most of them had been in bad romance novels, and none of them had ever come with any mention of an antidote. And, needless to say, you won’t be making your way to the Myconid Sovereign to learn more. It’ll have to be handled on your own. 

You could risk going home and pretending to be ill, but Astarion is far too perceptive for that. He’d see through your ruse immediately. Which leaves the only option: hiding in a cave and waiting this out, praying he won’t notice you’re gone and come searching for you before you’re back.

And really, how bad can it be?

Bad. It can be very, very bad. 

You’ve been sitting in this cave for who knows how long, and your sanity is fading more and more by the minute.

It had been manageable at first. The heat spread through you like warm cider on a cold night - a slow, steady increase, the way a candle gradually burns down to the wick. You’d thought it would stop at a certain point (it had to, didn’t it?), but no. It just… kept going. 

Now, every inch of your body feels like it’s on fire, and it’s not slow, or steady, or even remotely bearable. It’s a strange, pleasurable flame, but a flame nonetheless. You can’t even decide whether touching yourself would even help at this point. Even just grazing your hand along the length of your thigh sends the fire rising, and you’re not keen on experimenting at the moment.

Your hands have gone stiff from balling your fists. Your mouth keeps switching between being as dry as sand and overly salivating. Each breath ignites more warmth, and you’ve been trembling for so long that you don’t remember how it feels to be still.

Gods. If you trusted yourself to get to your feet, you’d go see the Sovereign - a lifetime’s worth of humiliation or not. You don’t have any clue what time it is. There’s no sun or moon down here to guide you, no mechanism to spell out the hour. Has Astarion noticed your absence? How long until he’s concerned?

You know enough to know that you should have been back by now - that it’ll be unusual for you to have been gone so long. At least this spot you’ve found for yourself is relatively private. A dark, dry little place with a stone floor; fluorescent ivy in shades of lavender and coral; remote enough that, if your willpower fails and you end up making some noise, no one will be around to hear. 

You attempt to swallow, but the action dies on your tongue. You attempt to breathe, but you can’t seem to suck in any air. You’re just thinking you really might die in this painful, mortified state when the pad of footsteps on stone hits your ears, and your whole body pulls as taut as a rope. 

Oh, gods. Please not him. Anyone else. The Sovereign. The Society of Brilliance. Anyone.

But it’s him, because of course it is. He slowly makes his way inside, pressing through the narrow entrance and around the corner, and when he sees you curled against the cave wall, his brows rise - alarm.

“Wait,” you blurt out, determined to speak before he can. “Don’t come any closer. Please.”

Astarion stays where he is, but his eyes start instinctively scanning you over, searching for ailment or injury. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, even though you’re anything but. You want to say more, but your thoughts trail off as another wave of heat flares inside of you. You’ve started trembling again. Your fingers accidentally graze against your thigh, and you let out a small, involuntary noise.

Astarion hesitates, then takes a step closer. “Darling,” he starts, raising a brow, “you make a terrible liar.”

Of course you can’t fool him. Not even a little. You let out a laugh, but the sound hitches into a strange, choked sob. You pull your knees to your chest and let out a long, shaking breath, trying to get a grip. “I know,” you say softly. “Gods. I’m sorry.”

He takes another step closer, and concern writes itself into his expression. “Gods below,” he exclaims. “Er - my sweet, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look...”

“Horrible?” you finish for him. “I know.” 

“I… was going to say ill, actually,” Astarion replies, laughing a little. “This dark cave lighting looks beautiful on you, my dear.”

You can’t resist another laugh. It’s less burdened this time, but it fades away as you hesitate, very pointedly gazing down at your fingernails instead of meeting his eyes. “I may or may not have fallen into a patch of mysterious spores.”

“And?” Astarion says, lifting a hand into the air and giving a small, contemplative gesture. “Go on, darling. Seeing as you aren’t dead - I’m assuming they weren’t poisonous?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard. How the hells are you going to phrase this? “No,” you answer. “I just feel… hot. Not like the explosive ones, just… hot.”

“Well,” Astarion says, “That’s… interesting. Alright - let me take a look at you.”

Half of you wants to protest, but what’s the point? He’ll find out the truth sooner or later. So, instead, you nod.

He steps closer, kneeling down at your side, and you have to ball your fists to keep from doing something stupid. You’re expecting more flame at his touch - a painful flare, like when you’d grazed your thigh - but when the back of his hand meets your forehead, his touch is like a salve. Soothing, cool, sweet. It mellows out the fire, makes you feel sane again.

You shut your eyes in relief, staying as still as you can, and when you open them, you find him giving you a look you know all too well. Smug. Affectionate. A glint in his eye that can only mean trouble.

“My, my,” he purrs. “Darling, I’m no healer, but… a racing pulse, dilated pupils, feverish to the touch? That, I know.” He leans in, his voice low in your ear. “And I can smell how much you want me.”

A shudder runs down your back, betraying you. Astarion leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours - soft and gentle and perfect - and it takes everything in you to pull away.

“Wait,” you protest. 

He instantly halts, pulling away from you and scanning over your expression. “What is it?” he asks. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” you say quickly. “But you don’t… I mean - I can manage this on my own, you know.”

His brows rise. “My dear, you do realize I am very capable of helping you in this situation?”

“Gods, Astarion,” you say, biting back a delirious sort of laughter. “Believe me, I’m well aware. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I can manage this.”

A fondness enters his expression - the rare kind, reserved for the most meaningful of moments. He leans closer, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I know,” he says softly, the words tender and delicate. “Trust me. I want to do this.” He trails a finger along your thigh, and you shiver again. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. “And, unless I’m wrong, you’ve missed me, too.”

After searching his gaze and finding him entirely present, you let yourself relax into his touch. “I’ve missed you more than anything.”

“Good,” he says. “I was almost worried.”

He skims his knuckles over your jaw, leaning in to kiss you once more, and the flame in you seems to bend to his touch. It rages in you like a furnace, bellowing and cruel, but with every frigid brush of his fingers, the feeling subsides. Even the feel of his lips on yours seeps away the discomfort.

He’s slow with his actions, but he doesn’t tease, even though you can see the amusement in his eyes when he pulls away to look at you. He’s enjoying this, and if you’re honest with yourself, you are, too. If only it didn’t come at the price of your dignity - but if it’s going to fall away in front of anyone, it might as well be him. 

His hands slide down to your thighs, and your whole body pulls tight, torn between wanting him to touch you now and not wanting him to stop what he’s doing.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against your ear. “I’ve got you, darling.”

You let out a shaky breath and try to coax your body into cooperating, shutting your eyes and letting the feel of him drown out the path of your thoughts. The sensation of his mouth, trailing down your neck, ranging between feather-light kisses and the barely-there sting of his teeth against the skin, making every inch of you melt into his touch like clay. His hands, sliding to the front of your top, deftly unlacing it and pulling it away from your skin.

Thank the gods no one is anywhere around this area - if anyone were to interrupt you, you’re sure you’d die right here and now. The simmering need that lies under your skin is bordering on painful, a white-hot delirium of impatience that will not be ignored any longer.

Astarion’s fingers skim across your sternum, further soothing the burning inside your chest, and his lips soon follow downward. You let out a soft noise from the back of your throat, something choked and desperate, and he hums against your skin in response.

When your eyes flutter open again, you find that he’s staring up at you as he kisses down your abdomen, eyes dark and hands curled lightly around your ribs, ardor and affection both palpable in the heat of his gaze.

Your instinct is to shut your eyes again - to shut out the intimacy and vulnerability that comes from holding his stare - but you don’t. Instead, you move the stiff muscle of your arm and coax your hand into working again, gently tangling your fingers into the silky-smooth, silvery curls in your lap.

He gives you a roguish grin, tugging on your bottoms until they finally, mercifully, pull away from your skin, leaving you in nothing but your smallclothes.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, the words dark and heavy on his tongue, but they feel more for him than for you. His brows crease together and his actions turn sure and firm and quickened - as if he can’t wait to have his mouth on you.

Beautiful. It’s the second time he’s called you that word tonight, but it doesn’t stop the heat from rising back into your cheeks, and that feeling of the warmth seems to spark a chain reaction. 

It’s as if his voice is stoking the fire - more heat, all rushing to the very place his lips are heading to now, only to be soothed by his touch. He gently pulls at your thighs, coaxing you to lay on your back, and you’re so desperate that you nearly knock your head against the hard floor laid out beneath you in your effort to obey.

Your mind isn’t processing things the way it usually does: in an even, progressing line of events, every moment spread out from one to the next. Rather, everything comes in bursts of feeling, flashing between being a thousand miles away and all too close, all too present. You barely feel the graze of fabric when he removes your smallclothes and leaves you entirely bare, but the gentle, wet press of his tongue against you feels amplified a thousand times over.

“Astarion,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair. 

He hums again, and the feeling of it has you shivering, muscles going slack in pleasure. Short, soft flicks of his tongue over your clit and you’re left a shuddering mess, not thinking to try to be quiet - not really thinking at all, anymore. He grips at one of your thighs, looping it over his shoulder as he pulls away for a moment, nipping at the tender flesh there. Soothing it with a gentle kiss, then returning to his work.

You’re a walking - or perhaps laying - contradiction. Your arousal is lava hot, but your pleasure is cold as ice. You can’t decide if you’re cold or hot or both or neither. You’re not in a place to think, not as blinding bursts of pleasure course up your spine, rendering you a lump of skin and bones and not much more. His mouth is nothing if not fervent.

You aren’t sure how long it lasts - your hand in his hair, his mouth against you, writhing in dizzying pleasure against the hard, stone floor and barely feeling the discomfort. It might not be very long at all - but it feels like hours before his fingers enter you.

You’re soaking wet. If you weren’t so focused on, well, everything else, it’d be humiliating. Still, when two fingers slip into you and meet no resistance whatsoever, Astarion groans. The pace he’s setting with both hand and tongue is torturous, slow and even, and it takes everything in you not to beg him for more. 

But when he goes a little faster, a moan pulls from your throat, and you look down to find him grinning as he pulls away, fingers still at work. “Look at you,” he says, praise lilting the words as he curls his fingers - sending your hips rolling. “You’ll come for me, won’t you, darling?”

And as if he’s flicked a switch in your mind, you’re coming around his fingers, gasping and shuddering and clenching. Electricity seems to coarse through your veins, hot and sharp, flaming and radiant, and when it’s gone, there’s only the slickness between your thighs, a slight breathless laughter that escapes from you without a thought, and the fading warmth of the spores.

For a moment, it seems as though there might be relief. Your thoughts clear and the heat wanes, but after a sparse second or two of relief, it comes back as strong as ever. 

You’d be disappointed at its reappearance, but then Astarion is crawling over you, using his knee to coax your legs apart for him, so how could you ever be disappointed? Everything else slips away except for him. His eyes, dark with want, his lips, molding against yours, his tongue, gently pressing into your mouth as he buries a hand in your hair.

He’s hard for you. You can feel it, and that realization has you grinding against him. He groans, cursing under his breath, then reaches down to undo his trousers. “Are you ready for me, love?” he asks, his voice half-broken with want.

You laugh, still trembling from your climax. “You know I am.”

“Mm,” he hums, his eyes glimmering in the dark. “But maybe I wanted to hear you say it for me, darling.”

Gods. He’s beautiful - always so beautiful - even here, in this dark, cold cave you’ve found. A work of art down to the dark circles under his eyes, the crow’s feet around his eyes, his smile lines. 

You could spend a thousand years studying the art of him and never, ever get bored; not of his voice, and the way his confidence sometimes, ever so rarely, breaks into something real and raw. Not of his hands: nimble fingers and the calluses from his blade and soft skin - and not of his eyes, which seem both dark and light depending on his mood, and which can seem so sharp and severe at times, but sometimes soften into something soft and round. Sometimes. When they’re looking at you.

You could spend a thousand years admiring him and never, ever get tired of him, and never, ever deserve him. And he’d never believe it.

He’s noticed you staring, because of course he has, and he tilts his head. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?”

You can only smile, deliriously happy and wanting and both hot and cold - hot where the warmth burns uncontained, and cold everywhere his skin meets yours. “I love you.”

Your words must catch him by surprise, because it’s shock that meets his expression first. It fades away into affection, placing itself on his lips in a soft smile. “I - I love you too,” he answers, brushing a stray strand of your hair out of your face. “More than anything.” 

He clears his throat and shifts, and as you feel his erection brush against you, only then do you remember the conversation you two had been having. Him between your legs. You, still needing him inside of you.

“I’m ready for you,” you breathe. “Please. I want you.”

“How could I say no?” he asks, leaning in and biting at the lobe of your ear.

He presses into you slowly, even though you don’t need it - not after the effects of the spores and your first climax still evident on your thighs. Only when he once again begins a slow, torturous pace do you realize that he’s doing it to tease you, and when you look up and find a certain amount of devious intent in his eyes, a shudder runs down your back.

He’s always seemed to enjoy watching you fall apart. How many times have you looked up in the middle of one of your late-night trysts to find his eyes on you, the darkened ruby gaze that seems as starved for you as his hunger for blood? 

How many times has he eased your arm away from your face when you felt the need to hide yourself, and how many times has he gently pulled your hand away from your mouth so he could hear the noises you made for him? 

There’s never really been a question about it; Astarion gets off on your pleasure, and the feeling is very, very mutual. Vulnerability aside, it does something beyond words to you to know how much he enjoys giving you pleasure. And, sure as the hells, you like to give it right back to him. So, keeping your gaze locked on his, you grind your hips down to meet him and let out a moan.

His jaw clenches and he swallows hard, his thrusts deepening as he props himself over you. You watch the lovely path of the action over the bob of his Adam’s apple, then flit your eyes back to his, letting out another noise.

“Gods,” he says, and his pace quickens. His hands wrap around your shoulders and he groans, panting as he rocks into you, his grip turning into something almost bruising. 

Part of you desperately wants him to keep going - but the other part of you wants to give him something, and now seems the proper time for it. So you tilt your head to give him access to your neck and murmur a few, soft words, and he slowly comes to a halt: breathing heavily, nails digging into your skin as he tries to regain some semblance of composure.

He kisses down your jaw, slowly drags his teeth along the skin, then sinks his fangs into your neck. You’re used to the sharp pain of his bite, but it’s different today. Intensified. It’s as if his mouth on your skin, the barely-there pain, is salving through that fire and every single limb of yours goes slack with…

What is it? Pleasure? Affection? Relief? It’s something in between, something warm but not scorching, something sweet but not overly-saccharine. He starts moving his hips again and you’re instantly on the edge, planting your hands on his lower back underneath his scars and resisting the urge to dig your nails into the skin.

He’s drunk from you enough times since you met to know where the limit lies, even on the cusp of his climax. He drains you until you’re sufficiently lightheaded, but not enough to harm you, then pulls away, planting a messy kiss on your mouth. 

Messy. It’s how you know he’s close. His actions are usually so graceful, his movements lithe and calculated. Only on the edge of orgasm do the pretenses fall away - his shaking thighs, soft moans into your lips, panting, blood smeared across his lips and almost certainly yours. 

There’s a blinding moment of pleasure as he thrusts harder, deeper, neither of you caring about the level of noise you’re making, and your nails dig into his back. He lets out a groan of approval, then - gods, you’re climaxing again, your whole body trembling with the waves of pleasure that crash over you. Overwhelming at first, then receding into the brief moment of clarity that lasts a minute or two this time. 

Then the spores start their work again.

The heat isn’t nearly as intense this time, but it’s still there. Part of you wonders if it’ll ever really fade. You lay still, gasping, as Astarion slowly pulls out of you. Then he brushes the damp hair out of your face and kisses you again. 

“Darling,” he starts breathlessly, flashing a mischievous grin at you, “if this is where we’ll end up, you should fall into mysterious spores more often.”

You laugh, sending a playful, light hit toward his shoulder. He catches your hand mid-action, pressing a kiss to your palm, holding your gaze the entire time. “You’re not the one who feels like they’re on fire, Astarion.”

He hums, kissing back down your neck, cleaning up the remnants of blood from his bite. “I wouldn’t say that,” he says, his voice gravelly with want. 

That gives you pause. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says with some effort, propping himself above you, “whatever those spores were - they seem to have entered your bloodstream, my dear. It’s - an interesting sensation, I’ll admit.”

You’re searching his face for a tell that he’s not being serious, but instead you find wide, blown out pupils, flushed cheeks, and nothing beside his usual mischievousness. Any blood left in your face quickly exits. “Gods, I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you see a small smear of your blood on his lips. When you lick your lips, you can taste the iron of it on your tongue.

Astarion is watching you. His gaze darkens, and he lets out another thin, broken groan. “Darling. At this rate, we’ll be going the whole night.”

And, honestly? With the rate the heat is returning - you don’t doubt it. 

Still, you gently ease him off of you to sit up, then make your way into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. 

There’s something addictive about Astarion - there always has been. From the moment he’d had you against the dirt, a dagger to your neck, he’s been your fix.  

In those first days when you’d had to hide your want for him - not even lust or sheer desire, but want; the ache to run your finger through silver curls, the warmth in your cheeks when he held your gaze just a moment too long, and the rare moments of vulnerability that came more and more as you’d gotten to know him - it had been torture. 

And then he’d propositioned you. And all at once, you’d found yourself in a clearing under silver moonlight, alone with him, long before you ever knew the extent of what had been done to him - and after all this time, the craving for him, the need to lay beside him in the long nights and find him there come morning, has only ever gotten so much stronger.

The heat is somewhat bearable now. Enough to take a moment to admire him, head tilted as he gazes up at you, pure need simmering in his eyes. Dark, glinting rubies. His fangs, barely visible under parted lips. Flushed cheeks. That will fade before long; the rosiness of drinking never lasts more than a few minutes, but you admire it all the same. 

“You’re beautiful.” The words are hushed. You hadn’t even meant to speak them, but your mind isn’t really yours at the moment, not wholly, not as firm as it should be. You feel half-drunk, half-needy. 

The corners of his lips flick into a smile, and he raises a brow. “Oh?” he asks, clearly stealing for more flattery. “Do you think so?”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You know I do.” 

You gather a single, loose curl in your fingertips and gently roll it between your thumb and index finger, admiring the softness of it. You could use the same soaps, wash your hair with the same things he uses a thousand times over, and it’d never matter. It’d never be as soft as his.

“Anything in particular?” he asks. His voice is particularly airy; he’s battling between begging you for what he needs, and the compliments he likes so much.

You think back to when you’d first described him - that night beneath the stars, when he’d tossed the mirror aside and asked how you viewed him. Words hadn’t been enough then, and they still aren’t, but you’ll try.

“Your eyes,” you start, running your finger over his crow’s feet. “They change color in the light. Right now, they’re dark. Hungry. I can tell you want me, and I like that.”

His hands, which have strayed to the back of your thighs, tighten against your skin. “And? What else?”

The heat’s strength is back, clawing its way up your abdomen. “The way your hair curls around your ears,” you murmur.

He frowns, and you know you’ve gone too poetic. To distract him, you lean in and nip at the lobe of one, and any of his upset disintegrates. 

“Gods,” he murmurs, bringing his hands up to your waist. “Darling, I can’t wait much longer-”

You’ve trailed down to his jaw, alternating between kisses and sharp little nips just like the ones he likes to give you, and the words die in his mouth in favor of a sharp inhale. 

You won’t keep him waiting much longer. In fact, you have a plan. A plan that’d hatched from the moment you’d realized that the spores were in his system, too. Since you’d seen the hungry look in his eyes - every inch a predator circling around its prey.

Only, you’re not content to be the prey. You want to disarm him, and if any of the time you’ve spent together means anything, you’ve gotten very, very good at that.

His shirt is still on, so your hands are quick to remove it, tugging it away from cooling porcelain skin, silky under your fingers as you drag them down his sternum. He shudders, and you remember how it’d felt when he’d first touched you. If it’s anything like that, he’s probably dying to beg you for more.

Your lips soon follow the path your hands are sitting, taking your time with the softness of his abdomen before you pull his trousers away. He’s panting now, and a frenzied sort of desperation lies in his gaze when you look up at him.

And he’s hard again. Leaking.

You lightly trace your nails down his thighs, silently relishing in the way his breath hitches - the way his hips unconsciously buck toward you. 

“Gods,” he says again, and though it isn’t a direct request, with the broken way it falls off his tongue, this time it is every bit a plea. 

And you’re in a mood to please.

You take his cock in hand, swiping your thumb over the head, where precum is slowly leaking, and he lets out a long, breathy noise. You hum in response, taking his length between your lips, and the sound becomes strained, more needy. His hand gently makes its way into your hair, very lightly guiding you where he wants, but not forcefully.

You alternate between things: long, even movements of your mouth as you drag your tongue down the shaft, swirling your tongue around the head, then sucking him hard and slow. Eventually, simply following the guidance of his hand. His grip tightens in your hair - not painful, just encouraging - and his noises become more drawn out, less coherent.

When you pull away for a moment, using your hand to continue what your mouth had just been doing, you find him dangerously close. You press a kiss to the head and take him in again, increasing pace, accommodating him as you take him in as far as you possibly can, and he starts whimpering. 

“Please,” he says, and if that isn’t a rare word to hear from him. 

On another day, you might tease him, but you don’t want to. Not now, while he’s begging to have you. Instead, you take him as deep as you can again and suck harder. Astarion tugs at your hair and his thighs shudder and you know he’s close.

“Please,” he says again. “Gods, don’t stop.”

And you wouldn’t dream of it. What you can’t take into your mouth, you use your hand to stroke, and that’s it. He’s coming.

There’s something artful about it - the tremor that runs through him, the salty taste of him in your mouth, and those seeking, breathless sounds that come out of him as he spills onto your tongue. A long, shaky inhale as he pumps his hips, still chasing out his pleasure, then the trembling exhale as his mind starts to come back to him.

He doesn’t soften, and you don’t take your mouth off him. Not yet.

Usually, Astarion can be counted on for two orgasms, but if those spores are doing anything remotely like what they were doing to you, there’s certain to be much, much more than that.

“By the hells,” he murmurs airily, running a hand down your back. “You’re going to kill me, darling.”

You pull away for a moment, kissing at his abdomen, keeping his eyes locked on his as you do. “Does that mean you want me to stop?” you ask sweetly, trailing your nails along the skin of his thigh.

He swallows hard. “Gods, don’t,” he pleads.

And you don’t.

[rykno-j]

What it means to be the Strongest (j/jk)

Again writen with s/atos/ugu in mind, but unestablished, though definitely in love.

Summary: So my previous fic, if i remember correctly, had a line like:

["S/atoru, you've been too strong for too long. Let me take over, even if just for a little while."]

and then i realised i have something like that in my drafts, so why not i just develop the thought a little?

Notes: the timeline for this would be set before my previous fic [here] but reading it it isn't required to understand this one.

possibly written in the context of pre-RCT g/ojo? because i didn't want him to have the ability to replenish himself in any way. cue "Domain Amplification": Exhaustion.

there's also a point in the fic i used single inverted commas, like this: '[text]'. js to clarify, those are not actual dialogue but just g/eto's thoughts. uh.. it will make more sense when you reach that part..

And finally, to cope with the month of wait before Shibuya, I present to you..

3.4k words

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"Satoru, you've been specially requested."

"..Specially requested."

"..Specially resquested."

Geto watches as Gojo visibly deflates, before he shakes his head, expression changing as he stands up with that same bravo as ever.

"Right!! I'll prepare to leave immediately!"

The quiver in his legs don't go unnoticed by Geto.

This has been been happening for the past month. Don't they have other sorcerers that they can send?

The answer to that was obvious.

Of course there was. But who in the right mind would call on someone who was below 'the best option'?

Mission after mission, Geto finds himself missing the company of his friend. Normally, they would go on them together, but the recent spike in cases had left him with barely any space to breathe either, though he was relatively sure they were easier on him compared to Gojo.

He swears the other hadn't slept in weeks. Geto would return to their dorms, and the bed would still made the way he left it in the morning.

The few times he had tried to look under Gojo's sunglasses for eyebags, his hand had been swatted away, either physically or stopped with Infinity.

"Suguruu- I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"..Then look me in the eyes and say that again."

Gojo would laugh in response, waving his wrist dismissively in Geto's direction. "Of course I'm fine, we're the strongest, remember? It won't be fair I claimed to be tired now would it? Not that I am, of course."

Yes it would be, it would be fair. You need breaks too, Geto wanted to say, was going to say, if not for another interruption, this time from Gojo's phone.

It lit up in his lap, before the screen was raised to eye level. Geto watched as Gojo's eyebrows furrowed, shoulders slumping almost unnoticeably in disappointment.

He has seen this play out a thousand times before. As much as Geto wanted to reach out to drag Gojo back down next to him, his hand was frozen to his side.

"Another special request.. ahhh- I guess I better go get ready."

Geto watched silently as Gojo sauntered away, as if he was about to leave for a party, not a possibly life-threatening mission. Seriously.. he was forever taking things too lightly.

Geto wanted to do something, anything. Maybe file a request to give Satoru some space to breathe? Possibly even an argument that allowed him to join in the missions as backup?

Anything.

But there was always the possibility that Gojo would turn down rest, no matter how desperately he needed it. He was wearing himself dangerously thin, like a thread about to snap. All he needed was a little tug to break.

Break.

___

Days later:

"Satoru- want to go get a drink? I just saw the workers leaving, I think they got the machines refilled."

When met with no reply, Geto turned back, only to see Gojo spacing out a distance away.

"Sa-to-ru. Satoru- are you there?"

He walks up to the other, waving an open palm in front of the bowed head.

Behind the sunglasses, Geto sees Gojo's eyelashes flutter open before a finger came up to push them back into position, covering his eyes from view.

"Ah- yeah I'm here. Sorry, what were you saying?"

There he went again, dozing off at every chance he got. Geto noticed that had started happening two days ago. In class, during training, while queuing for food, while standing. And now, even while walking.

"..hH'!! ..hAH'sHHiew!! hh'..heH'tchH!!"

And there was that too. Something was definitely wrong.

"Satoru- when's the last time you slept?"

"I was just sleeping, hahaha-! Didn't you see?"

"That's not-"

"Suguru, if you're going to chew me out for not resting again, I assure you, I'm perfhH'.. perfectly.. fhH'.. fine-"

Geto shot him a look that screamed "Really??", and Gojo would have seen it, if not for the fact he snapped to the side violently, bending over as his breath hitched desperately.

"..hh'-hIH-tcHH'iew!! ..hAH'zZchHiw!!"

"Sa-"

"Dhh'..Don't worry abou'uhH'- hhH'!! hiH'zZchh!! ..hAH'DzZsh'w!! ..a-about me."

With the way he was swaying at the moment, Geto was sure a light breeze could knock him over.

What more, with the way he was standing, slouched over, a passerby would never be able to tell that Gojo was the taller of the two.

Hence, while Geto wouldn't consider himself to be one who actively sought after physical contact with Gojo (that's a lie though), he couldn't help but inch closer to the other, putting a comforting arm around Gojo's waist.

Geto then stared at the top of Gojo's head. Did his hair always look this messy? Surely not. Satoru wasn't one who paid too much attention to appearances, but this was taking it to an extreme.

"You look like you're going to collapse. Seriously. Tell me what's wrong."

"..Maybe- maybe.." Gojo mumbled as a response to Geto's earlier statement. "..Maybe I'm not feeling as well I thought.. haha-"

Geto sighs. "Took you damn near long enough. Come on, let's head back to our dorm. The drinks can wait."

Gojo whined something incomprehensible before he reached out a shaky hand to grab the arm supporting him from behind. He tilted his head up at an angle to shoot Geto a playful yet tired smirk. "Wait.. ahhh- Suguru.. s-sorry- I think.. I think I'm gonna to pass out right now."

Of course. Of course he could still find the energy to fool around in such circumstances. It was one of Gojo's character traits that Geto never understood.

He had half a mind to ask the other to snap out of it. But upon further inspection, Geto watched as Gojo's pupil glazed over with a hazy, faraway look, before it shrunk, eyelids sliding shut as Gojo went slack in his arms.

Seriously. Jokes like these should really be saved for less dire situations.

"..Satoru.. come on, let's go back."

No response.

"..Oi- Satoru.. you can't be serious. Quit fucking with me.."

No response. It's fine. Gojo liked messing with him after all.

"..S-Satoru.. oi Satoru!"

"..Fuck."

"..Fuck Fuck FUCK-! You can't be serious-"

He wasn't joking.

Forgetting that he could always manipulate his curses to handle Gojo's weight, Geto slipped his free hand under Gojo's knees, hauling him into his arms, bridal style.

"..Asshole! You're such an asshole."

'Your asshole though, right?' Geto could hear Gojo's teasing voice in his head as he made his way quickly through the hallway, his pace bordering a sprint.

That's right. My asshole.

Geto placed Gojo gently on the freshly made bed. It was probably the first time in weeks he had laid there. A soft groan escaped Gojo's lips as his head made contact with the soft pillow.

Good. He wasn't dead yet.

However, a quick touch to his cheek made Geto question his previous thought. With a fever like that, how was he not dead?

Quickly grabbing a small towel, Geto soaked it with water from his bottle, wringing it onto the floor before he brought it to the other's forehead. The mess of water puddles could wait. He had more important things to tend to.

Geto carefully folded and set Gojo's sunglasses aside, gently brushing away the strands of hair covering his face. The wet cloth was then put on his forehead.

It's not much, but it should help.

Knowing Gojo, he probably didn't take any medicine since this started. Speaking of which, Geto made a mental note to ask when it did. Gojo had been busy with a mission for the past few days, so it probably meant he was working through whatever this was.

Probably a cold.

The sneezing earlier should have been an obvious indication, but the fever he was currently running sealed the deal.

Geto knew exhaustion would eventually catch up to him. To be completely honest, he had thought Gojo would give in earlier. He must have been holding out way pass his limits.

It was alright to be weak at times, even for the 'Strongest', a concept that Gojo never seemed to understand. Either that or he did, but chose to ignore it in place of his ego and the fact that he didn't want anyone else to get hurt in his place if the curses turned out to the stronger than reported.

Geto suspected the reason leaned more towards the latter. Gojo had always cared about others in his own way, whether he considered them weak or not. Although.. with the way he openly made fun of people around him, it would cause others to beg otherwise.

Geto knew him better than that.

A soft whine drew him back into the present. Geto turned to focus his attention on Gojo. Even in the dimly lit room, his brilliant blue eyes were hard to miss, hard to look away from, no matter how dulled they were from the haze of the fever.

"Suguru.. Suguru-"

"Shh. Rest. I'm here."

"..You carried me here?"

"Mm."

Gojo let out a laugh that looked like it took all his effort. "You're stronger than you look then."

"You're just lighter than you look."

The small exchange put Geto slightly more at ease. If Satoru could still make any conversation into a joke, he was fine. Well, it at least meant his brain wasn't fried yet.

A sharp, feathery inhale dragged Geto's attention back to the bed.

"..hih'tchh!! hh'..hah'tchiw!!"

"Bless you." God. Even his sneezes sounded tired, a complete difference from his normal, over exaggerated ones.

"snff'- ..thanks."

Gojo looked seconds away from passing out again, his fist closing around the soft blanket. Sighing, Geto stood up.

"Alright, that's enough of being awake for you. Go back to sleep, okay? Let yourself rest for once."

"Hah.. so reluctant to talk to me?"

Quite the opposite, actually, Geto wanted to say. Instead, he reached over to straighten the cloth. It had fallen over to cover one of Gojo's eyes, making him look a lot more endearing than Geto would ever care to admit.

"Of course not. I just have something I have to get done, so I'll be leaving for a bit."

Geto turned away right as Gojo's frame sunk into the mattress in disappointment. If he had seen it, there was no way Geto would have left his side for another good year.

"Mm, okay."

Geto was careful not to open the door too wide. It was early in the evening, and he wanted to let in as little light as possible. Satoru had always been sensitive after all.

Behind the closed door, Gojo turned to the side, snatching Geto's pillow into his chest, pulling it into a tight embrace. He was sure the other wouldn't mind.

__

Getting pissed won't help anybody, Geto knew that, he really did. But with Gojo practically forced into bed-rest for at least half a week, he needed to raise some of his concerns to his teachers, at least.

He pulls the classroom door open.

"Sensei-"

"Ah, Suguru. Right on time. I've got a new mission file for you."

"Right. That's exactly what I've come to talk to you ab-"

"Satoru has been specially requested."

"..See that's-"

"But I've written in to specially request you to follow him."

"-exactly what I've been.. huh? What?"

The teacher gave him a knowing smile before sliding a file over the table. Of course. Always doing things in a roundabout way. He's seen that before.

"..Thank you."

He takes the file, quickly leaving the classroom afterwards, his legs taking him subconsciously back to where the dorms where as his hands occupied themselves with flipping through the documents.

Halfway through the mission file, Geto feels something slip out from between the pages. He leans forward to pick it up, a knowing smile flashing across his face.

A small packet of fever medicine.

Seems his teacher had the same idea, that Gojo would never go out of his way to get supplies, if at all, when he fell sick. Well, that saved him half the trouble.

And here came the other half.

When Geto returned to their dorm, he noticed the aura of Gojo's technique surrounding himself. It shocked him at first, but Geto figures that in his vulnerable state, Gojo's mind subconsciously casts infinity to keep him safe.

Though.. it could also have been a side effect from all the dangerous missions that they had put him through for the past month, such that his body was on heightened alert even during rest.

Well that's a first.

He hadn't really been around Gojo while he was sick before, especially not to the extent of passing out like that.

Surely this continuous usage of Infinity counted as over-exertion, evident from Gojo's slightly furrowed eyebrows despite him being asleep. His breathing was also choppier than usual, either due to the congestion or disturbed rest.

Surprisingly, Geto noticed that Infinity seemed to thin out as he approached the bed.

He remembers Gojo telling him, "Suguru- you know, I can totally tell apart your cursed energy from others!"

Was Satoru's body really recognising him and relaxing because of it? Guess that whole 'telling apart' thing wasn't a lie after all.

Geto reaches out a palm and presses it against Gojo's forehead. His hand easily passes through the barrier, making contact with the other. The damp cloth lay uselessly by the side of the pillow, having fulfilled its purpose.

Still warm, but cooler than before.

Gojo whines against the touch as he slowly stirs. "Suguruu- you're backk.."

"Mm." Geto hummed in reply, sitting himself by the edge of the bed. "Did you sleep well?"

"Ah.. not really."

The raw honesty catches Geto off-guard, especially compared to the previous few days, where Gojo would wave him off for being too worried, right up till the point he collapsed.

He supposes that upon admitting "I'm not feeling well", Gojo's walls simply crumbled, leaving him in Geto's care.

The mattress shifted as Gojo turned to the side, a wrist coming up to rub at his nose.

"S-Sorry.. I- hh' have t'hH-!! hih'tchh!! haH'zzchh!!"

He sniffles against his wrist, watching with teary eyes as Geto pulls out a small pack of travel tissues from the drawer before handing it to him.

"Th'hH-!! ..thank y-you.. hH'hihchH'iw!! hah'zzdchH!!"

He pulls out a piece, pressing it softly against his nose. Outside, the sun had barely start setting.

"..snff'.. Suguru- why are you here anyway? Don't you have better things to do?"

Better things to do than look after you? Unlikely. And your Infinity will just go up again once I leave. But of course Geto doesn't say that.

Instead, he raises the file in his hand. "Background information on a mission. I'll have to read it eventually anyway, I can do it here, I've got time."

"..A mission?"

"Yes. For the two of us, actually."

"Really?? I get to go with you this time?" Happiness seeped into his words, bringing an unconscious smile to Geto's face.

"Mm, but I doubt they'd let you go in this state."

Without even looking over, Geto swore he could hear the pout in Gojo's voice.

"Aw.. b-but I wna go with you."

"..Then get better. Quickly." Because I don't want to leave without you either. I'm never leaving you alone again if I can help it.

"Sigh- alright, alright.. I'll get some rest."

"Before that.." Geto suddenly remembered, rising to his feet to retrieve a mug. He should probably get Satoru to take the medicine as soon as possib-

Geto hears a crash behind him.

"SAtoru!"

On the floor, Gojo laughs softly at himself, hanging half off the bed.

"S-Sorry-"

"What were you doing?"

Gojo looked almost embarrassed. "Ah.. nothing, honestly.. I just.. I guess I just.. panicked when I saw you get up.. that's all. I thought you were going to leave again.."

Again? ..Oh, right. He had left for the classrooms earlier. Why didn't Satoru just say something before he did? Forget that. Why didn't he notice?

Geto quickly grabbed a mug, filling it with water before he returned to the bedside.

"I'm sorry."

"Hm? Ahh- it's okay, it's okay.. I was just saying silly things."

"No. Don't say that. It's okay to want company, to need company. That's why I'm here, right?"

"Mm, yeah."

"..Why do you sound so reluctant to admit it?"

Gojo shifted again, this time tilting his head away from Geto.

"..Suguru. Am I'm strong?"

"Mm, why the sudden question?"

"..Am I still considered strong if.. if something as simple as a cold can.. can.. hH'..hih'DzchH!! haH'tchHew!! ..snff'.. fuck. I can't even control those."

"I'd honestly be more surprised if you could." Geto replied, bringing the mug up to Gojo's lips. His voice sounded harsh, and the constant sneezes were not helping. "C'mon, look over here, you should drink something."

Gojo sighed, shifting the tissue away to drink from his mouth.

"Take these too."

"..Medicine? Where did you get those from?"

"Sensei."

"Ahh- damn. He really knows everything doesn't he?"

"Anyone on the outside could tell that you were wearing yourself thin, not just him. Shoko had her fair share of worries for you as well."

Gojo remained silent upon hearing that, seemingly very interested in the cup he was drinking from.

Geto felt his heart skip a beat. Had he said something wrong? Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned that fact it was obvious.

The silence lasted for a few moments, before Gojo inhaled sharply, turning to the side.

"..hH'-aH'zZchH!! hah-hH'tcHHiw!! hiH'dzZch'w!! hH'!!-..snff- hehh'tchhiw!"

Geto startled at the fit, though he quickly collected himself, eyes focusing on what appeared to be an extremely sorry Gojo.

In his hand was the empty mug, its contents having been spilled all over the blanket from the violent jerks, a side effect of the sneezing.

"..I'm s-orry.."

Geto paused in his actions of retrieving a cloth for the mess. Something was wrong. Satoru had a voice break? No matter how cute it was (god forbid he admit that), he had never heard the other say anything with such a broken tone before.

Forgetting the cloth, Geto quickly returned to Gojo's side, wrapping his arms around the shivering frame of Gojo's body, head resting above his.

Gojo froze in place, shocked at the sudden but welcomed contact. The mug in his hand slowly slipped off his fingers, falling onto the covers. A small whine escaped his lips yet again as Gojo's fingers repurposed themselves with grabbing gently at Geto's arm.

He found himself leaning into the warm embarce, turning his head slightly such that his cheek could rest against Geto's chest.

Gojo had longed for this for days. Days. Days. He could feel tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. From the cold or from his overflowing emotions? He had no idea.

"Suguru. Come lie down with me, please?"

He didn't need to be asked twice.

Within seconds, Geto had climbed onto the bed, getting comfortable under the covers as he extended a hand to Gojo.

"Come. Leave that side. It's wet." An excuse to get Gojo into his arms.

Gojo crawled over to where Geto was waiting, instantly latching onto the other the moment he got close enough to do so.

As Geto's arms close around him once again, Gojo realised that he had never felt so.. so safe, so.. comforted, before. It was a new feeling, one he was afraid of yet welcomed.

He had only known Suguru for a year, but damn was the guy making him question his own feelings left right and center.

A hand found itself on the back of Gojo's head as he snuggled closer into Geto's chest, burying his nose into the folds of Geto's shirt.

Drowsiness slowly started to take over as Gojo felt like this was the first time in forever he was truly allowed to relax. Was it from the medicine? Or was it from Geto's steady heartbeat that was lulling him to sleep? In all honesty, it didn't matter.

Geto felt Gojo relax in his embrace. Once the stuffy soft snores started to slip into a rhythm, he tilted his head downwards, whispering in a low, soothing voice.

"Satoru, you've been too strong for too long. Let me take over, even if just for a little while."

That was the last thing said for the night, as Geto himself started to drift off into sleep, the sun setting behind him

Unknown to the other, Gojo's lips curled into a smile.

Really.. the things Suguru says when he thinks no one is listening. It was going to be the death of him one day.

-end-

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Finishing notes:

this fic actually stemmed from the phrase "what if Gojo's Infinity came up by itself when he's sick?" then it.. became.. this.. somehow..

decided to change their roles here ahhh- caretaker Getoo-

maybe i wrote Gojo a little out of character with the amount of clinging he did to Geto (also the whole DON'T LEAVE ME panic of a sick person in bed), but hey. i'm a strong advocate for clingy sick Gojo, sue me.

i also wanted to keep up the soft Gojo writing, soo i tried the whole "strong character falls weak to a cold" trope thing

BUT i also know for a FACT that i was NOT going to be satisfied if i just let Gojo go out like that, so i tried making his collapse scene exclusively *him*

by that i mean i tried making it slightly humorous. ahh well if it ended up not coming out like that.. it's still fine

also wanted to write a whole "Gojo pretending he's alright when he's not" fic, and was trying to capture the whole "once he admits he's not okay, everything comes crumbling down and he's a mess" thing

i feel like a lot more could have been written in this fic.. but the problem was i didn't know how to.. shshhdhshds im getting better i swear (abit more of this in the tags)

i hope the final scene read as soft as i was hoping it would. just picture Gojo sinking into Geto's hug, smooshing his face against Geto's chest, whining a whole bunch, breathing in his scent

..or maybe scratch the scent part, since Gojo's nose is a little congested//

anyway, hope it was a nice read and thankyou for stopping by!!

▪︎•▪︎

[capcavan]

Since I started personal writing challenge (1k words a day Ash invited me to play the ww uvu ) game by @/ kedreeva's

It’s WIP Wednesday (except it's Sunday bc I need headstart and to see what to focus on), time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited! If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write. Feel free to sent multiple asks All of them contain Riko as centrepiece

1. Roadkill canon divergence riko does not get shot/ canon typical TW's 2. Ship of Theseus AU in which riko left the nest at age of 18 and regretted it ever since /topics of self harm suicide grooming / slow burn recovery , very miserable but hopeful 3. Andreil foster home for peculiar charity cases slow burn recovery 4. Badger in fox den in which neil regrets not shutting up

big thanks to @noomyart for being my beta bc my english sucks and @jtl-fics for writing advice and creative support and any support I ever need

Snippet from Badger in fox den Riko was a fox now. Only by name though. Really, he was just a badger wanting to wait out the winter in their den. But even that wasn’t true, because the Fox Tower was off limits to him. After allegedly murdering Seth, supposedly breaking Kevin's hand and serving Andrew few weeks worth of psychological torture, he didn’t expect anything else. What confused him more, was his brother. His brother who looked much taller in person, more so because Riko never before felt so small and exposed, as he sat on the chair in the middle of the room. His arm ached as the drugs he was given wore off by now. He held onto the pain to keep himself whole, much more used to its presence than absence. “Ichirou,” he choked out with glossy eyes. Because his brother finally came to save him, the culmination of a lifetime of dreams shattered though with the press of cold metal to his temple. But the shot did not come, because in that moment the money and resources Riko sunk over the years for his senseless power plays were outweighed by the possibility that some of his blood could find a way on Ichirou’s pristine suit. Neil looked disappointed, even before Riko took another underserved breath, or Ichirou made a motion to pull the gun away. Neil could tell that the man who held their lives in his palm never killed someone with his hands, never saw the gruesome display The Butcher had forced them to witness. No, the Lord specialized in different kinds of pain. The disappointment turned into regret when Lord Moriyama looked back at him. Because now Riko was thrown to the Foxes, the Nest was closed, and Palmetto became the new patronage project of the Moriyamas.

[rykno-gs]

Pow-der

happy birth-day @selfindulgentsuffering ;> (timezones are a pain but its uourbday for me rn)

heres some tartali for you-  snz, ofc..       enjoy :>

storyline: zhongli nose senstive, childe like)

==================================

The sun rays were already starting to stream in through the thin curtains when Childe opened his eyes. He liked mornings like these, when he had no work, where he could spend pretty much the whole day lazying around in bed.

Stretching slightly, he moved to pat the empty mattress beside him. Ah, Zhongli had already gotten up, of course.. probably making breakfast as usual. Stifiling a yawn, Childe turned to his side, his eyes widdening at the sight before him-

Zhongli sat upon the egde of their shared bed, a small standing mirror on the dresser in front of him, back turned from Childe as he lifted one hand to his cheek, the other delicately applying eye liner.

He must have slept through most of the morning then, Childe noted, as he was normally the one who would help Zhongli with his makeup ever since they started living together. Not that he minded, of course, for it just gave him another silly excuse to carass the other’s face. 

A smile started to creep up onto Childe’s face as he watched Zhongli slowly draw on the colours that he loved to see. Despite the multiple attempts that Childe made at trying to convince Zhongli that he looked beautiful naturally, it never stopped his partner from applying some either way.

His smile faded into something much more mellow as Childe watched the rays streaming in through the windows illuminate his lover entirely, watched as Zhongli shifted backwards to pull open the nearby drawer, taking out a round plastic container and a fluffy brush.

Childe let out a small sigh as Zhongli carefully flipped open the plastic cover, patting the tip of the brush against the powder, before liftting it up to his face. He could spend the whole day just looking at the man in front of him, and not be tired of it one bit.

And with that thought, his eyelids started to feel heavy..

-

“..snff-”

Just as Childe was about to drift once again into his sleepy dream landscape, a small.. quivering sound snapped him out of it. It sounded like.. a sniffle? .. he couldn’t be sure though, mind still hazy from sleep.

Shaking his head, Childe chalked up the sound to just his imagination, until.. until he heard it again, louder this time.

“..snf-!! nnh.. snff-” 

Blinking once, twice, Childe shifted his focus back to the edge of the bed, where the sound was coming from, right in time to catch Zhongli’s shoulders raise a little, his head tilting ever so slightly backwards, beath hitching as if there was something stuck in his throat.. before he snapped to the side-

“hH..! hH’ zZngHtt!! heH’ NgxXtsh!! snf- gHxXnt!!” , Pinched away with the fingers that were not currently occupied with holding the brush. Unfortunately for Zhongli, (but most fortunately for Childe), the fit had set on so suddenly that he was unable to fully restrain it, the little bits of mist slipping out from between his fingers.

Unable to keep his eyes off the droplets, added on with the fact that the angle in which the morning sun bounced off each one of them, only served to amplify the effect they had on Childe’s body. (by of course, i mean his dick, but let’s keep this pg13)

He could only watch, mouth hung slightly open, eyes filled with wonder as he heard another desperate hitch..

“hH! hAH’ eSHhw!” , less restrained, but still not as loud as Childe would’ve liked. Zhongli probably dosen’t know that he was awake, watching his every move closely, for he simply swipped at his nose with the cuff of his sleeve, rasing the powdered brush back up to his face to continue applying the makeup.

It was driving Childe crazy. The way Zhongli ran the soft brush over his cheeks, each thin, fexible bristle attached to the item flowing against the shape of his reddened nose, occasionally tickling the insides, evident from how Zhongli would lean away every few seconds with a little hitch that almost never blossomed into a sneeze, much to Childe’s disappointment.

But that never stopped him from looking, hoping, just simply wanting to reach out, pry the brush away from Zhongli’s hand and take the wheel. Despite the large fan providing constant cool wind towards the bed he was lying on, Childe felt hot, for reasons he could not explain. 

But when the hitches did become what Childe wanted to hear..

“Hh’ SHciEw!! hH.. snf-! hhH’ ngXxhT!” 

it was slowly getting to him..

“HHh!! hAH’ zZschEw’ ww! .. nhh, snf..!”

making his fingers twitch..

“hH! .. hHh-!! snf.. haH’ hH.. ugn.. snff-!! uH’ hHah..” 

making him loose focus on everything else, so much so that..

“hH-!! hAH’ snf..” , There was a pause, as Zhongli’s hitching seemed to reach its climax for the first time in forever, head tilting backwards as always, his free hand rasied ever so slighly up to his nose, fingers getting ready to slide below his septum..

Childe looked on in anticipation, his fists clentched as he waited, watching, observing..

But the little fit never reached his ears. Rather, Childe heard a string of amused laughter as Zhongli turned around to face him, eyes watery from previous events, nose tinged red from overuse, the brush still lightly held in his palm, lips that were curled up into a cute smile as he spoke.

“Good morning, baobei.. did you enjoy my.. little performance..?” 

The knowing wink that was sent his way afterwards spoke more than a thousand words, and it cut the last string that was keeping Childe together as he broke apart, falling into Zhongli’s embrace.

;>

-

Additional (its nsfw): 

Making sure Childe’s legs and upper body still covered by the blanket, Zhongli set the brush down carefully before he crawled over to his embrrassed partner, fushed from head to toe due to getting caught.

Slender fingers ran over covered legs as they slowly made their way up to the meeting of Childe’s thighs, encircling the hard bump and making Childe bite down onto his finger to suppress a moan.

Zhongli turned to the other as a soft smile appeared on his face, a stark contrast to the glow in his eyes. 

“Snf..! already..? mm.. I must say I wasn’t .. snff-! ..expecting breakfast in bed..” 

“X- Xiansheng.. w- wait!!” 

-

the end!!

yeah the last part was me and not my brain typing that..

anyway..! hope that went okay and yeah if you counldnt tell from the fic, i have close to 0 experience with makeup whatsoever

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRIEND :D

[steventhusiast]

modern au where eddie and robin are roommates and steve is italian <3

-

eddie has always known that his roommate robin is in the US for college, but grew up in and is from italy. sure, sometimes he forgets, because she somehow has a near-perfect american accent and also speaks two other languages, but he’s always known.

and for the past year and a bit, he’s known how much robin wants her best friend stevie to come visit. she talks about them all the time, and ever since she and eddie moved out of the dorms and into an apartment together for their next year of university a month ago, he’s known stevie is going to come and visit.

he just kind of forgot the exact day stevie would be arriving.

so when he, clad in nothing but his garfield pyjama pants and a metallica t-shirt that’s falling apart, walks into the kitchen one morning and sees someone he doesn’t know at the kitchen counter fiddling with their instant coffee machine, he almost shits himself.

luckily, he doesn’t, because he remembers in that split second that stevie was due to arrive last night. but he still flinches pretty hard at the fright and grabs for the nearest grabbable thing, which turns out to be the doorframe. somehow, he makes a noise loud enough to get the mystery person’s attention, and they turn around.

holy shit. eddie did not know stevie is hot. or that stevie’s actually a guy. he kind of just assumed, with the nickname and all? but the man standing there looks like he could’ve been carved by the gods eddie doesn’t believe in, and- eddie realises he’s been staring at the guy for a few seconds now, and decides to talk like a normal human being. he first adjusts his position so he’s no longer holding onto the archway of the kitchen for support, and smiles at the guy.

“hi, you must be stevie?” he offers, and stevie takes a few seconds to process his words before nodding with a smile.

“my name is steve. robbie just is… hm, silly?”

eddie blinks a couple times, because steve has an accent. a thick one. he should’ve expected that, because- hello? they’re both literally from italy. but it catches him off guard, and adds to steve’s hot factor. why didn’t robin warn him about this.

“yeah, robin is very silly.” he agrees with a chuckle, and then realises steve might not know him, “i’m eddie. robin’s roommate. you probably knew that already though, so now i probably look like an idiot. well- more of an idiot than i already do in these clothes…”

he lets his words trail off as he realises steve is frowning at him in subtle confusion. he’s picked up robin’s rambling-when-nervous habit over their friendship, and hot guys tend to make him pretty nervous. but then he realises maybe steve isn’t as fluent in english as robin is, and even if he is eddie’s a fast talker that doesn’t always pronounce things fully.

“i am sorry,” steve looks embarrassed, “my english is not as good as robin.”

eddie feels so guilty at the pink that’s made itself known on steve’s cheeks, and shakes his head immediately.

“no! you don’t need to be sorry. i just talk a lot when i’m nervous.” he confesses. why did he say that? now steve knows he’s nervous. or does he? maybe he didn’t catch his full sentence.

steve raises one eyebrow at eddie though, and one side of his mouth quirks up into a smile as he turns around to keep trying to make himself a cup of coffee.

“i am making you nervous? why?” steve asks, his back still turned. now eddie’s the one with red cheeks. dammit.

“it’s because eddie here thinks you’re hot, stevie.”

eddie’s flinch at robin’s magical appearance behind him is somehow more spectacular than earlier, and he clutches dramatically at his heart and spins around to glare at robin.

“robin! what the fuck, man!” he yelps when he realises what she’s said. but robin isn’t listening, she’s too busy speaking to steve in italian about who knows what.

probably about how she knows all eddie’s tells for when he finds a guy attractive and how she knows eddie’s type and steve checks every single box. or, eddie squints at the pair as robin tsks at steve and takes over manning the coffee machine, maybe robin’s just telling steve how to make a coffee with the machine?

“you think i am…” steve starts as he spins around to look at eddie, and seems to be searching for a word for a few moments, “attractive?”

eddie’s eyes widen, and then he sighs and fixes a glare on robin. robin just shrugs and makes a very insincere ‘oopsie’ expression, and eddie is about to start denying like his life depends on it, but he looks back at steve.

and steve has that blush back on his face, and a tiny smile, and he’s looking eddie up and down even in his ridiculous outfit.

“um, yes.” eddie practically squeaks, not used to having someone’s eyes on him like this.

steve says something to robin in italian that sounds like it ends with a question mark, and robin rolls her eyes.

“steve wants me to translate a pick up line he wants to use on you, but i literally refuse to do that. google translate is free.”

and with that, she leaves the kitchen.

[cod-fishing]

“Would you want to be buried with your family, Si?”

Simon looks over at Johnny, eyebrows raised at his lovers random interjection. He gives him a once over, eyes narrowing a little bit, trying to find what could have possibly brought that question on. Finding nothing, Simon turns back to his book.

Johnny watches him scan a few lines before replying. “Can’t.”

Johnny’s brows furrow. “Why not?”

“They thought I was dead,” he replies simply, almost absentmindedly as he flips a page. Johnny’s confusion only grows until,

“Washington got your spot,” he says with dawning horror.

Simon says nothing, just humming an assertion. Johnny finds himself in a position he is in far, far too often as Simon’s closest confidant- utterly horrified, while Simon shrugs, already having worked through it with a therapist years ago, and numb to the sheer tragedy.

Simon turns another page, and Johnny breathes through the instinct to start screaming. A man who betrayed him, tortured him, and killed his entire family. Buried in his families plot, where Simon deserves to be someday. Where Simon was supposed to be able to fucking rest, someday.

Eventually, when he’s more in control, Johnny opens his mouth again, and it only comes out a little bit grated.

“So if you die, what would you like?”

Simon snorts at the ‘if’, and finally looks back at Johnny, considering him.

“What do you want?” Simon asks simply.

Johnny just looks at him for a second. Blinks, licks his lips. Opens his mouth to tell the truth, but pussies out at the last second.

He cracks a smile, but Simon can see the way it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Ah, I dunno. Just curious.”

Ghost considers the obviously bullshit answer, but decides to allow the out, turning back to his book. They lapse into a comfortable silence, Johnny going through his gear for their mission tomorrow, Simon flipping through his novel.

“What made you ask, anyways?”

Johnny stops in his movements, and looks over to Simon. The room is technically his, as the commanding officer, but it's strewn with evidence of Johnny’s place in his life. Clothes, notebooks, weapons. His shave kit in Simon’s bathroom, cause the lighting is better, and because its pretty nice to have Simon walk up behind him with a soft touch to his back while he cuts his hair, making sure he hasn't missed anything and leaving him with a kiss pressed to his shoulder.

"I'm thinking about retiring," he blurts out.

Simon looks over, and blinks.

"And…and I want my ashes scattered in the highlands. Unless you want to be buried next to me," he says, feeling out of breath at his confession. "That would…that would be good too,” he near-whispers.

Simon puts down his book.

“But if you wanted to be with you family, I could probably rob the grave and get Washington out of there, and put you back in. I’ve done crazier stuff.”

Simon’s mouth curls just a bit. “Come here, Johnny.”

He hesitates, for just a moment, feeling raw and vulnerable. But Simon pats his thigh, and Johnny could never resist that call. Curling up on Simon’s lap, he hides his nose in his neck, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders of his best friend, his lover.

Simon embraced him back, pulling him close against his chest. They stay there for a moment, tension slowly draining from Johnny, and eventually Simon whispers.

“I’ve had it in my will that burial rights go to you for a year already. And as for retirement…”

He pulls back, and Johnny does to, looking into his warm eyes, shockingly open in this moment.

“You let me know when, and I’ll follow.”

[minesocialmedia]

मेच्योरिटी उम्र और सिर्फ किताबों से नहीं आती😯 . . . Self thinking & Observation in life. . . Do your openion in comment it's right or wrong. . . Plz follow for like this type post. . . Fillow @tisya.auspicious for motivational post, real life post . . @tisya.auspicious @tisya.auspicious @tisya.auspicious . . #post #todaypost #postfortoday #postforlife #postforlearninlife #postforlearnforlife #selfthought #minepost #selfthinking #minethinking #mypen #mywritting #copyrightmine #tisya.auspicious ##instagram #instaposts #learning #overthinking #motivation #true #world #insta https://www.instagram.com/p/CkwEPRIyrz4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[remuslupinslittleslut]

Poly!Marauders x Needy!Reader

“Daddy”, Y/N whines, “Need you.”

James chuckles, the feeling of her mumbling against his neck is tickling him. His hands are rubbing at her sides, trying to comfort her.

“Please daddy, want you, inside”, she’s mumbling against his neck, fingers pulling the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You’re all worn out baby, you’ll be too sore”, he reasons.

“Yeah baby”, Sirius, sitting next to James and their girl says, rubbing her side, “you have to wait, at least until tomorrow, or it’s gonna hurt.”

She huffs, not liking the answers. She needs it. Needs to be filled up again, won’t calm down without it. James is still rubbing soothingly above her shirt, not wanting to excite her too much.

As Remus walks in, her head piques up,

“Daddy! Please daddy, they’re being so mean”, she groans, arms reaching up around his neck.

“Are they being mean to you, baby? Huh?” He asks, arms wrapping around her smaller frame, eyebrows raised as he looks at the other boys.

Y/N nods against his chest.

“Moony, she’s obviously out of it, we can’t fuck her now”, James says.

Remus tsks, lifting Y/N up using his grip around her waist,

“Oh baby, they’re right, we can’t fuck you again”

She looks as if she’s about to cry, eyes welling up with tears and bottom lip jutting out,

“But Daddy, ‘m so empty”, the first few tears run down her cheeks.

Remus sits down on the couch, placing her in his lap, her legs straddling his. One of his hands coming up to her cheek, thumb rubbing her tears away.

“There’s still a way to make you feel full”, he says, hands reaching down in between them to unbuckle his belt, “you’re gonna take my cock in your pretty pussy, and you’re gonna sit very still.”

She nods, drying her tears. Next to them, the other boys share a look. Remus takes his half hard cock out of his pants,

“Baby you have to make daddy hard first”, he coos.

Her hands reach down, wrapping around him, he’s big and her hands are small so she needs both of them as she jerks him off, watching as his cock grows in her hands.

“That’s enough, love, gonna fill you up now, yeah?”

He grips her hips, throwing his head back as her warm, wet walls swallow him.

“So, how was quidditch practice?” He asks, turning to his other two partners.