#one more time tossing it out as i sit down to clear/finish any drafts and start fresh :)

[angry-geese]

The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek. 

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing. 

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came. 

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father. 

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards. 

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you. 

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match. 

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him. 

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking. 

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says. 

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it? 

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood. 

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them. 

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!” 

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago. 

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters. 

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear. 

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear. 

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams. 

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders. 

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says. 

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die. 

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says. 

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind. 

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this. 

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity. 

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you. 

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious? 

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore. 

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.” 

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things. 

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down? 

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after. 

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods. 

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long. 

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk. 

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire. 

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says. 

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse. 

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say. 

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

 Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear. 

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough. 

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living. 

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river. 

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff. 

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say. 

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you. 

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly. 

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours. 

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it. 

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse. 

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

In the Dead of Solstice Night (Pre Coming Home Oneshot)

Azriel x Reader

Hiiii! Merry Christmas, to all who celebrate it <3 I really wanted to get something out in time for Christmas (and while I'm finishing up the next part of Fireleaf), and I've had this in my drafts for a while.

This is a oneshot set in the Coming Home universe, before reader ever went travelling - a sort of reimagining, where something happens between Az and Y/N on Solstice night one year. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SMUT.

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The silence was stifling, considering the noise that had filled the Town House only a matter of hours before. 

The sounds of laughter, of talking, of the roaring fire — all of it had been swept away by the late hour and replaced by a peaceful quiet. The day of wonderful chaos should have made it easy for you to drift off to sleep — but there you were, laying in your bed, your eyes pinned wide on the ceiling. 

Down the hall, in their own respective bedrooms, Rhys, Mor, Cassian and Amren were already sleeping soundly, their bellies full of food and drink — or blood, in Amren’s case. Your fae hearing easily picked up on the sounds of their heavy breathing, the occasional rustle of the sheets if they tossed or turned in bed. 

And it made you all too aware of the fact that Azriel hadn’t ventured up to his own room. 

Not that you weren’t already hyper aware of his movements, fae hearing or no. 

The two of you had been the last ones left in the sitting room after everyone else had retired, talking until the embers of the fire were dying and even the faelights had begun to dim. And when you’d decided to turn in yourself, you’d bid Azriel goodnight and left him to bury his nose in the book you had bought him, his wings draped over the armchair he was curled up in. 

The hours had passed, and sleep had evaded you. You’d waited to hear the sounds of his feet climbing the stairs, the creak of his door opening, but—nothing. Maybe he’d fallen asleep reading. Or maybe he’d gone flying, as you knew he often did when he was too wired for rest.

Curiosity got the better of you. 

Before you could reason with yourself, you were slipping out of bed and shucking on a loose silk robe. You tried to be as silent as possible as you padded from the room and headed for the stairs. 

The rational part of your brain questioned why it even mattered to you that Azriel hadn’t retired to bed. He was just…your friend. Your older brother’s best friend. One of the few people who had been a constant in your life. 

But you’d undoubtedly been growing closer, nearing your twentieth year of life. You enjoyed his company — perhaps a bit more than anyone else’s — and you found yourself thinking about him, wondering what he was doing, in idle moments of quiet. 

Gods, you probably annoyed the hell out of him. He probably merely tolerated your clear attraction to him because he did care for you, because you were Rhys’s sister. Maybe he hadn’t stayed at the Town House at all, and had, in fact, wandered off into the night to get up to the Mother knew what. Maybe he’d secretly met with a lover you knew nothing about—

You stepped off the bottom stair, the heat of the fire still breathing through the sitting room and snaking out into the hallway. Through the gap in the door, you could just make out the dim winking of the faelights. And the dark figure hunched in the armchair, the shadows around him just as still. 

The bite of relief you felt was shameful. So he hadn’t wandered off for a secret rendezvous

Not that it was any of your business.

You gently pushed the door open, taking in the sight of his sleeping figure. His dark hair fell about his perfect face with his head angled back, the book you’d gifted him still open and pressed against his chest. His chest rose and fell steadily, gently. 

He looked so…peaceful. So rare, to see him so at ease, so vulnerable. Beautiful. Your heart thudded in your chest at the mere sight of him. 

You were almost as stealthy and as silent as him as you walked with careful steps, grabbing a thick throw from the back of the sofa and turning to him. Gently — as gently as you could, so as not to wake him — you eased the book from his hands. 

You’d barely turned to place it on the coffee table when one of those hands grabbed your wrist, and Azriel was shooting upright, going ramrod straight in the armchair. His eyes were blown wide, seeming to search for any potential threat, before they landed on you. 

“Hey,” You breathed, trying not to wince at the tight grip on your wrist. “It’s just me…”

Azriel blinked at you, his heavy breaths audible. It took him a moment to recognise his surroundings, to realise there was no danger — only then did his shoulders relax, his hand letting go of your wrist. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” You studied him cautiously. “I was just grabbing you a blanket…and putting your book down…”

Az rubbed his eyes, shifting in the armchair. He glanced at the blanket still in your hand. “Thank you. I didn’t—” He sat forward, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You slipped your hand behind your back. “No.”

“Let me see,” He reached for it, scarred fingers brushing yours. 

“Az, it’s fine—”

But he was already pulling your hand towards him, his eyes checking the delicate skin of your wrist for any indication that he’d been too rough. When he found no such thing, he seemed to relax even more. 

“Thank you—for the blanket.” He inclined his head, letting go of your hand. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep down here.”

“I figured—I mean…I was awake…and I didn’t hear you come upstairs. I was worried you were…cold.”

Gods, you wanted to kick yourself, to go running out of there and hide. It didn’t seem to matter how long you’d known him; speaking to Azriel, gazing at that gorgeous, chiselled face, turned you into a stumbling, stammering mess every time. 

He glanced up at you, his hazel eyes sweeping your face and meeting your gaze. You could feel yourself blushing underneath the intensity of his stare. You cleared your throat. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” You murmured, stepping back.

But he grabbed your wrist again. Gentler, this time. The touch feather-like, as though he was doing everything to tamp down on his own strength and be delicate with you. 

“Stay.”

You stared at him. Swallowed. Never…never had it been like this — whatever this was. He usually politely ignored your blushing, the way you stumbled and rambled like an idiot. Usually spoke to you like your clear attraction to him wasn’t a giant elephant in the room. 

But this — now — was different. Not in a way you could place a finger on. A strange tension shrouded the two of you, and it seemed to bring his shadows alive. You watched as they coiled around him and slowly reached out towards you. 

You blinked out of your thoughts. Tried to remember how to speak. “What.” Was all you blurted.

“Stay.” Azriel repeated quietly. “If you can’t sleep. We can talk.”

Oh. Oh. That was all this was. The two of you talked all the time, and he was just…thoughtful. Not wanting you to be alone while sleep was evading you, even though he’d been slumbering happily himself, moments before. Your thoughts ran away with you for a second there—

“I had fun at Rita’s the other night.” The words fell from your mouth unprompted.

Az’s lips twitched. “I noticed.”

Your cheeks burned with what felt like the heat of a thousand suns. Rhys finally relenting and letting you join the others for nights out in Velaris was a relatively new thing, and maybe you’d let a little too loose. Had a few too many drinks. 

“Was I embarrassing?” You grimaced. “That faerie wine is something else—”

“You weren’t embarrassing.” Azriel cut you off. “I liked it — watching you enjoy yourself.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. And his were…smouldering…fierce, as they bore into yours. A soft smile tugged at your lips. “I was hoping you would dance with me.”

“You weren’t short of offers. You didn’t need me wading in.”

“…You were the only one I wanted to dance with, though.”

Silence. Your candid admission was met with utter silence. Never had you been so…so forward. 

Your feelings for Az were undoubtedly blatant, but…they’d always been an elephant in the room. Something you tiptoed around and never openly acknowledged. 

Until now, clearly.

You met his eyes again. Found him just…staring. Staring deeply at you. He licked his lips and glanced down. 

“It’s late.” He said quietly. “We should both get to sleep.”

You pursed your lips, the dismissal stinging. “What happened to talking?”

“I think it’s best that we call it a night.” He swallowed. “Before we get ourselves into trouble.”

You frowned down at your hands. Trouble. Was that how he saw you? A fine line teetering on the edge of danger, of poor choices?

“I don’t see how we can get ourselves into trouble by talking.” You said. 

“You know what I’m talking about, Y/N. Get to bed before we forget ourselves—”

“I’m not a child, Azriel. I’m a grown female and I’m perfectly in control—”

“It’s not your control I’m worried about.”

You felt yourself falter. Go still. Because never…never had Az been forward like this. Not that you knew what he was saying, exactly. Your mind was more muddled than it ever had been. But it sounded a hell of a lot like…like maybe he—

“Just go to bed. Please.” He gritted out, his voice gravelly. “Before you say anything else that puts everything at risk.”

He must have read the hurt that stung your eyes. Perhaps that was why he lowered his gaze, refused to meet yours. And why he still didn’t look up as you rose to your feet. 

“Fine.” You rasped, pulling your thin robe around you. Suddenly, you felt colder than ever. “I’ll go to bed. I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

His response wasn’t a comfort. Nothing could stop the way your face burned and your eyes pricked with tears — tears of pure humiliation — as you strode to the door. 

But some slither of candour still remained inside you as you turned at the threshold, wanting — needing — to get rid of the truth in your mind. Your eyes landed on Azriel again. He hadn’t moved. 

“You know…” You said quietly. “One of those males I was dancing with asked me to go home with him tonight.”

The fact that you caught the slight shift of his body told you just how unguarded he currently was. He was usually impossible to get a read on, even after years and years of trying. But right then — in that moment — you glimpsed it. It was subtle, but…there. 

He seemed to correct himself as he bit out, “Well, perhaps you should have — gone home with him.”

A laugh void entirely of humour left your lips. And though the sensible thing would have been to leave the room and return to bed, before this — whatever this was — got out of hand…you shut the door, instead. Pressed your back against it as you faced him once more. 

“Is that what would make you feel so much better, Az? Is it what you want? For me to go around sleeping with any male who offers to buy me a dri—”

Your words died in your throat as he launched himself from his seat. With ridiculously big strides, he was in front of you in seconds, his hands slamming too loudly against the door, either side of your head.

“What I want,” he hissed, “is to strip you bare and fuck you until you’re hoarse.”

The slightest stagger of a breath escaped your lips, but that was about all you could manage. His body was so close to yours, so easy to reach out and touch—

“What I wanted,” he continued through gritted teeth, “was to march over to that male you were dancing with in Rita’s and rip his damn hands off. That is why I didn’t dance with you. Because I know what I fucking want, and it wouldn’t have stopped at just a dance.”

“No,” you breathed, “it wouldn’t have done.”

It was perhaps the boldest move you’d ever, ever made as you reached a hand up. You pulled Az’s head down towards yours, and pushing up on the tips of your toes, you pressed your lips together. 

The kiss you gave him was hungry — the kiss you’d thought about giving him for years and years. One that communicated everything you wanted him to know. That you saw him, wanted him, loved him. That you weren’t some fragile little thing for him to dance around. 

There was a split second before a growl was ripping from the depths of his chest. And then he was kissing you back, his hand coming up to tangle within the strands of your hair. He tipped your head back just slightly, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth. 

“These fucking lips,” he groaned against you. “You have no idea how much I think about them.”

His words had you weak at the knees. “You like my lips?”

“Far more than is sensible.”

“Then why,” you kissed him quick, yanking him against you, “have you never kissed them before?”

He stopped. Held you still as he pulled back — not by much. Just enough to stare down at you. His eyes flickered down to your lips and then back up to meet yours. His tongue swiped over his mouth like he was lapping up the taste of you.

“You’re Rhys’s sister.” He said gruffly. “…But you’re also every single one of my fantasies.”

And fuck if those words didn’t set you on fire. You swallowed, staring up at him. You wanted to show him…to make him see just how much he was every one of your fantasies. 

How much you thought about this. Him. 

You maintained eye contact with him as you grabbed his hand, moving it to your breast. He swallowed hard, his eyes dipping down.

But you didn’t allow him to hover there. Still holding onto his hand, you dragged it down. Down your stomach. Down until it reached the hem of your nightdress. 

His fingers brushed the material, his eyes fluttering shut. It was the only barrier between him and your wetness. No underwear. Nothing to stop him brushing—

Those deft, brilliant fingers dipped beneath your nightgown, and you lifted your hips towards him. Until his hand was at the apex of your thighs. 

“Gods,” he whispered, “you’re soaked.”

“Yes.” You breathed. “This is what you do to me, Az. And I’d much prefer your hand to my own.”

Your words seemed to send a shudder through his body, and he hissed between his teeth as the pads of his fingers found your wetness. He cupped his hand over your sex, slicking himself with your juices. A gasp fell from your throat.

“Is this what you want?” Azriel asked you, his thumb inching up to rest on your clit. “There?”

You hissed, hips jerking, and Az smirked. But there was no chance for you to breathe another word — or another sound — as he dipped his head and lowered his mouth to yours once more.

His kiss was firm, bruising, as his thumb began slow, indolent circles on your clit, made all the more delicious by the scrape of his calluses. You heard yourself whimper against his lips, felt him smile at the sound. 

He broke the kiss, teeth grazing your lips. “And what else do you want?” 

The slight pressure he applied had your hips bucking again. “You,” you gasped. “Your fingers. You. Inside me.”

“Fuck, Y/N.”

His hazel eyes flared, and never had you seen them so burning, so vibrant, like your words awoke something in him. And his fingers…gods, his fingers were more skilled than you could ever have imagined. He’d done no more than rub at your clit, and already your legs were trembling. You grabbed his arm, steadying yourself.

“Please,” you pulled his head down to meet yours again. “I want you.”

With a growl, he was all over you, his lips clashing against yours as he slipped a finger inside you. The moan that escaped you was lost immediately in the huff of your heavy breathing, mingling and twining with his.

“If we do this,” Az breathed, pumping his finger, “there’s no going back.”

“Good.”

That was what you wanted. Him, in every which way possible. Against the door or the wall, or on the sofa or the floor, upstairs or downstairs—

Az seemed to read those very thoughts on your face, and with an animalistic noise that had you clenching around his fingers, he pulled his hand from between your legs and hoisted you up into his arms, locking you tightly around him.

He didn’t stumble with you far, tucking his wings in and perching you on the back of the sofa. He slotted himself between your thighs. And went still. Stared down at you.

“Y/N, I—” He cut himself off, swallowing. “I want — need — to know that you’re sure about this. This could change a lot….”

You’d spent so many years wanting him, craving him. Thinking about him and watching him. Knowing that he discreetly took lovers. Knowing that he was probably keenly aware of your feelings this whole time. The fact that he was even questioning your certainty seemed ludicrous…

And yet, it made your heart flip and thud. Because it was Az all over — caring and attentive. Loving. Always, always good.

You met his gaze. Raised one hand to cup his cheek. And used the other hand to reach for the buttons of his trousers. 

“I’ve never been more sure about anything.” You whispered, fingering the top button. “I’ve wanted you, Azriel, for a very, very long time.”

His eyes fell down to watch your fingers, and you could have sworn you heard his heart picking up and thudding. Heard a shuddered breath slip past his lips. 

And then he was kissing you once more. Soft. Slow. His hands gently rubbing your arms. He left enough space between you for you to undo every button. And you did.

And then you were shoving those trousers down to the floor. Watching his cock spring free. You found yourself gulping at the mere sight of him. 

All those jesting speculations you’d heard about wingspan correlating with the size of other body parts. It didn’t seem much like speculation to you. Az was thick…long…hard.

You wanted every inch of him inside you.

Slowly, you wrapped a hand around his cock — or tried to. Az hissed between his teeth, his eyes not once looking away. His hips jerked as you began to languidly pump his shaft, your thumb circling the head and mopping up the small pool of moisture that had gathered there.

“Gods,” Azriel choked. “No—no games.”

You hummed, trilling a soft laugh. “No?”

“No—I want to be inside you.”

You smirked, dipping your head. Your lips were inches from his cock as you flicked your eyes up to meet his. But he made no move to stop you. He merely watched, his chest heaving, as you poked your tongue out and swirled it around the head

He grunted, hips bucking. He seemed to be using every bit of his willpower not to thrust right into your mouth. No matter how much you wanted him to—

“No games,” he repeated, gently threading his fingers in your hair. “Wicked little thing.”

“You don’t want—”

“I want,” he pulled you up, kissing you quick, “you. I want you.”

Words you’d waited so, so long to hear, and they were as much of a song as you’d fantasised. For years. In the dead of night, with your hand between your legs. Or sometimes at sadder moments, when you’d cried and considered the possibility that Az would never, ever say such things to you. 

And yet here he was. Saying them. Sending a shiver coursing through you.

He cupped your face in both his hands, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. And he was so gentle, so tender. There was nothing but pure adoration in the delicate way he handled you.

Az took the reins from there, ruching your nightgown up around your waist. He kissed you again and again and again. As he hoisted your legs up around him. As he grabbed his cock in his hand and dragged it through your folds, slicking himself up with your wetness and giving a few slow strokes to your clit. 

As he aligned himself with your entrance and pushed in. 

Just the tip. Even that stretched you, had a bite of pain pinching you that was strangely pleasurable and had you gasping against Az’s mouth. His hips stilled, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. 

“Want me to stop?” He whispered.

“No.” You immediately shook your head. “No. Keep going.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he cupped the back of your head, threading his fingers within your hair. His lips found yours again as he pushed in a little further.

Stilled. 

Pain and pleasure. Pleasure and pain. It was heady and wonderful, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or cry his name or touch him all over, all at once. 

A little further. He pulled out to the tip, pushing in again. Again.

He took his time allowing you to adjust. Allowing that pinch of pain to shift into full-fledged pleasure. And when finally — finally — he was pushed in to the hilt, he tore his mouth from yours and gazed at you.

The gaze was…gentle. Loving. Open. And you were more grateful for that than he could ever imagine. That he was willing to be open with you. Willing to bare himself like you were baring yourself.

And then he pulled out to the tip once more. And truly began to thrust. 

“You don’t even know,” Azriel gasped, hips rolling, “how much I think about you. How much I try not to. You’re always there — on my mind.”

You did know. Gods, you did. Az had been consuming you since you’d been capable of harbouring such feelings. He was everything. Absolutely everything—

“Gods, you feel so good around me.” He groaned. His rough hands grabbed at your hips, hoisting you up. 

The two of you were frenzied and unstoppable as he pounded into you, and it took every bit of control you possessed to keep your voices down, to maintain your moans and noises in hushed tones. 

But Az inside of you was like nothing else you’d ever felt. And as his thrusts picked up, his hips moving faster, harder, you became him and he became you. One unit of nothing but unbridled elation and pleasure.

You pulled him flush against you, your nails grazing his wings, and you felt his hips falter, his face burying the crook of your neck. You heard him whimper, the chanted “gods, gods, gods” as he slammed into you and reached between you to rub at your clit. 

You lost it, then, release an unforgiving force barrelling through every single part of your body. Your head fell back, and a cry tore through your throat that Az smothered with a hand, cupping his palm over your mouth as his thrusts, somehow, picked up even more.

“I can’t—” He choked, slamming his other hand against the sofa to steady himself. “Oh gods.”

That was all the warning you got before he thrust three more times, hard, fast, his skin slapping yours, before his hips staggered. And then he was coming deep inside you, huffing breathless moans and noises into your neck. 

He collapsed against you, and you held him, utterly spent and utterly blissful. There was something soothing in the heavy rise and fall of his chest against you – like you and he were the only two people left in the world. All other sounds and images and smells had melted away, and it was just you. You and Azriel. The way you had dreamed it one day would be.

You were surprised to find a tear rolling down your cheek as you cradled Az’s head to your neck, your eyes screwed shut and your fingers stroking his hair. He was everything to you; a ray of light amongst so many horrors. A reminder that there was still beauty in the world.

And maybe – you hoped – you could be that for him.

“I love you, Az.” You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I love you.”

Azriel’s body went still, rigid against you. His head jerked up, hazel eyes blown wide and meeting yours. He was undoubtedly a sight, with his tousled hair and flushed cheeks, his swollen lips.

He blinked at you, those swollen lips parting. “...What did you say?”

“I–”

But there was no chance for you to repeat the admission.

Not as the door flew open.

Az jerked away from you, yanking his trousers up. And you had the sense, somewhere in your roaring mind, to shimmy your nightgown back down.

It was all entirely pointless, though. If the sight of you both didn’t immediately give away what you’d just been doing, the smell of sex in the air certainly did.

And Cassian knew that, as he stood in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep and just a low-waisted pair of lounge trousers hanging on his hips.

He stared between you and Az. Took in the sight of you both. Azriel cleared his throat, fastening the buttons on his trousers. Ran a hand through his hair for a good measure. You could practically feel the panic rolling off of him in waves.

But Cassian’s lips kicked into a smirk. He glanced between you once more.

“Well.” He snickered. “It would seem the two of you have had a happy Solstice, indeed.”

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

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[keichan]

Firsts with Sakusa Kiyoomi

A collections of firsts with Sakusa Kiyoomi

A/N: 

I’ve had the idea of this story in my drafts forever now, but I sat down yesterday and finally brought it to life! I have never wrote for Sakusa before, but I hope that you guys enjoy my personification of him!

word count: 7.2k!

warnings: vomiting, nsfw content that will be italicized, swearing?

Please interact with this story! I’m restarting my blog back up and I lost a lot of moots! Send me asks and whatnot!

The first time you saw Sakusa Kiyoomi was when he silently strolled down the hallway in elementary school. He had a blank stare at all times. Never strayed too close to any of the other children. A gloomy looking child that you did not particularly want to approach. His hands remained glued to his side and looked to be sulking. He blended into the crowd but if you paid enough attention, he barely stood out. He crossed your mind for the slightest second before you were sucked back into conversation with your friends.

-

The first time you heard his voice was when he was talking to another boy in your grade level. Who you found out was his cousin. Their interaction was quiet and somewhat dull. His cousin, Motoya, asked if he wanted to go to an after school activity with him. Sakusa nodded briefly and said “sure”. His voice was quiet and bored. You wondered as you walked past the boys what they were talking about, however, you were quickly distracted yet again and proceeded to move forward without a second thought.

-

The first interaction between the two of you was your third year of middle school. Sakusa Kiyoomi was nothing but a background character in your life. You ever so often saw him since the two of you were in different classes. However, you shared a class with Motoya so it wasn’t too rare to see the boy. 

You walked out of class upon dismissal, but hung around campus with your friends, knowing that your parents were at work and it was redundant to return so early. It was an unanimous decision to go to the convenience store outside of campus to grab a quick bite with the chore money that took a few weeks to rack up.

Walking outside of the gym a volleyball rolled to your feet. You picked it up before looking to your right to see who it belonged to. Sakusa Kiyoomi walked calmly over to you with his  hands  at  his side.  There was no one else in the gym. He was playing by himself.

He came to a halt, looking at you expectedly. You fidgeted the ball in your palms before asking. “Are you practicing all alone?”  He nodded curtly with a deadpan expression that said give me the ball. 

“I see.” You tossed him the ball gently before following your friends that have already walked ahead. 

At the convenience store you grabbed things you thought Sakusa may have liked.

“Why are you grabbing so much? Also, I thought you didn’t like daifuku.” Aya commented as she browsed the shelf next to you. Your nose scrunched up. “I’m just craving it.” You shrugged her off. She didn’t reply as she grabbed a carton of apple juice. 

All of you checked out and parted ways in front of the store. It wasn’t long before you peeked your head into the gym to see Sakusa slamming  the ball against the wall continuously. He was roughly the same height as you, but each time he struck the ball, there was an undeniable force behind it. 

You took your shoes off, outside of the gym before clearing your throat nervously.

The boy caught the ball as it ricocheted off the wall. His black curls stuck messily to his forehead and he turned to you with a confused expression. Holding up the plastic bag with one hand,  you offered him a small smile. 

“Looked like you were working hard, so I brought this for you.” 

He blinked at you. Not a word. 

“I can just leave it somewhere if you’d like. I just have to-”

“I was actually getting kind of hungry.” He said quietly. He walked to the edge of the gym and sat down. You followed his lead quietly. Upon sitting down, you opened the bag,  preparing to dump  everything on the floor before he raised a hand to stop you. 

“The floor is rather dirty, I would prefer you not to do that.” He said plainly “Please.” he added. You nodded and opened the bag towards him so he could get his pick. Luckily for you he went straight for the daifuku. He meticulously unwrapped it and began to munch silently. You followed suit and you began to eat a custard-filled bread roll. 

“Sakusa, right?” You turned your head to the boy. “Kyosuke?” You faltered.

He shook his head. “Kiyoomi. And you?”

“L/N F/N.” You answered. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. 

“What high school are you going to try to go to?” 

“Itachiyama.”

“Really? I want to go there as well. Maybe we can study together for the entrance exams together.”

“I’m going to get in on a sports recommendation since I’m on the volleyball team here.” He said nonchalantly as he flattened the snack’s wrapper on his thigh. You nodded. His curtness didn’t particularly bother you. 

“Fair enough.” You brushed off your skirt and began to make an exit towards the gym. You began to slip your shoes on outside of the door before waving over to him. “Let me know if you change your mind about studying. I’m in the same class as your cousin. Keep the rest of the snacks. Work hard.”

-

Roughly two weeks later Sakusa Kiyoomi was waiting outside of class 3-B. Ignoring Motoya he approached you. “Let’s study for entrance exams.” Motoya looked at you oddly and tailed the two of you as Sakusa lead you to the library in silence.

You sat in front of the curly haired boy, pulling out your journals and folders excitedly sliding them towards Sakusa. Motoya sat beside him, earning a subtle glare from Kiyoomi.

“I looked at everything they’ve made available for students who are applying, organized it, and color coded it. I have a plan to get in. 

Sakusa carefully eyed over your notes as he skimmed the pages. Your handwriting was incredibly neat. Everything was so organized that even an idiot could get into Itachiyama. Not that he was thinking that you were stupid by any means.

That was the first time you saw Sakusa smile because of you.

-

It was now your first year at Itachiyama Academy. You walked through the gates of the school sandwiched between Sakusa and Motoya. Somehow the three of you managed to be in the same class.

As the semester progressed, you began to settle in a routine with the boys. You would sit at practices, reading books. After they finished, you would all study at someone’s house and part ways. 

It was dipping into the summer. Tokyo subtly rose in temperature as the rainy season commenced. 

Sakusa stood outside of your home with an umbrella since he was fully aware that you refused to bring one to school any time that it rained. He looked down to his cellphone. You were always punctual so it didn’t make sense to him that you weren’t outside yet. He knocked on the front door to your family home. No answer.

He used the spare key under the plant to go inside. He propped the umbrella against the door and took his shoes off before making his way upstairs. You weren’t in your bed but he could hear someone gagging in the bathroom.

His face contorted into disgust at the thought, but proceeded towards the room. He opened the bathroom door to see you hunched over the toilet. Your hair pooled over your shoulders going forward as you choked on your own vomit. Sobs quietly echoed the room. 

He cautiously moved forward and gathered your hair in his hand. He turned his head away from your body to cover his distaste for the situation that he found himself in.  You jumped startled in place before you started vomiting again. 

“Sorry, I didn’t text you. I’ve been here for hours.” Your voice was incredibly weak.

“I wish you took care of yourself. Then things like this wouldn’t happen. Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice croaked. Sakusa flinched at that. He knew the feeling all too well.

“You know if you used an umbrella in the rain you wouldn’t get sick. Plus you’ve been pulling all nighters with school for no reason. Stop overexerting yourself.”

“Shut up.” You groaned. “Go to school. I’ll take care of myself.”

He rolled his eyes. He grabbed a hair tie from under your sink and tied your hair back to the best of his ability before leaving the room. Going downstairs he began to make hot green tea with honey, a glass of water, and cut up an apple, your favorite fruit, and grabbed a mask out of his backpack and put it on before returning to the bathroom. You were leaning against the wall, your features were flushed as beads of sweat developed along your forehead.

Sakusa sighed as he squatted in front of you. 

“Drink this. Rehydrate. Put some food in your stomach.” 

“Go to school Sakusa.” You muttered as you placed the cup to your lips gently.

Sakusa began washing his hands into the sink, ignoring you.

“You ought to go lie down so your body can repair itself.” He turned around before gathering the cups and the bowl of fruit from you. He placed it on your bedside table before he felt a weight collide with his back. He turned suddenly to catch your body.

“Sorry, I must be really weak right now.” A laugh barely escaped your lips. You were face to face with him as he supported you up. All he did was nod before he gently lowered you onto the bed, placing you under the sheets.

He walked over to the bathroom and found a small towel. A sigh of exasperation escaped his lips. He already had known that you were overdoing it academically, but now it finally showed physically. He didn’t understand you sometimes.

He returned to your room once more to see that you were out cold. He used the cloth to gently dab the sweat off of your face before folding it inside out and resting it on your forehead entirely. Sakusa supposed that it would be alright to skip school that day to help his friend out.

“Thanks, Kiyoomi.” The words poured quietly from your lips. His head jerked up suddenly

That was the first time you didn’t call him by his surname.

-

“Okay hear me out. Yes, you’re insanely talented at volleyball. No, I am not telling you how to play, BUT I think that if you approach the AB attack that you guys have been working on this way, I think that you can achieve it somewhat better.” You shoved your diagram that you drew out to Kiyoomi. His eyes scanned over everything. You flipped the page in front of him. 

“This is the way that you’ve been doing it, but I think that with your spiking range, you wouldn’t have to exert yourself and overextend yourself from this side of the court.”

Sakusa laughed pulling your notebook closer to himself. 

“This is actually genius. How did you know I couldn’t get it?”

“You’ve been spending more time practicing solo than normal so I just paid a little more attention when I’ve been able to come in and watch.”

“I really appreciate this! Do you mind?” You shook your head. “It’s all yours. I have some other ideas in there as well since nationals are coming up.”

He giddily slid it into his backpack before checking his phone. 

“Shit. I didn’t realize how late it was. The subways are probably packed by now.” He groaned.

You slung your bag over your shoulder. The crowds outside were moving meticulously outside. A sigh escaped your lips. You turned to Sakusa as he hooked a mask over each ear with a gloomy expression.

The two of you walked out of the cafe and headed towards the JR line. The crowd was astonishingly hard to walk through. Well, it was easy for Saksua since he could see over the sea of people. You reached out for his sleeve and managed to grab his hand. He looked back and gave you a weary acknowledgement and continued to tread forward. You barely managed to get into the train car with him. Your fingers tangled with his as you were shoved into his side. You looked up to see his eyebrows furrowed and expression darkened.. This definitely isn’t the first time that Saksusa had been unfortunate enough to get on the trains with rush hour. 

“You good, Kiyoomi?” You tugged on his arm gently as you whispered. He nodded looking down at you. A man beside you accidentally shoved you forward. Sakusa quickly laced his fingers in yours before he anchored you back to his side. You squeeze his hand gently as a quiet thanks.

In roughly ten minutes the doors opened to your stop. Sakusa led the way, weaseling the two of you outside of the train station. He let out a sigh of relief as he climbed the stairs onto the open street.

“Much better.” he mumbled. You absentmindedly followed him to his house as he continued to hold your hand.

“Kiyoomi, you know you can go ahead and let go now.” He froze in his tracks and looked down to your hands and returned his gaze to your face.

“Apologies.” He said before he let go. His hand returned to his side.

“I think I’m going to call it a night here. I’m going to Motoya’s to study the notes. I’ll text you if I have any questions.” He raised a hand to bid farewell and walked to the direction of his home. 

Your eyes traveled down to the palm of your hand. You studied it. Each finger as you rotated it. With a subtle shrug, you turned to the opposite direction and made your way home.

That was the first time you held hands with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

-

“What do you mean I can’t braid your hair for a game? It’s getting longer and it would look adorable. Right, Motoya?” You twirled one of Sakusa’s curls gently in your finger. Motoya glanced up from his phone laughing. 

“I don’t see why not.”

“ Don’t support her. You’re going to make her think that she’s unstoppable.” Sakusa groaned and thudded his head against the table. 

“Can I do it for fun though?” You whined as your ran your hands through his hair.

He sunk in his chair in defeat. “Fine.”

You excitedly stood up and got to work. 

After a few minutes you were finished. His hair was barely short enough for it to stick into a little poof in the back. You quickly took out your phone and snapped a quick selfie with your back camera. You laughed at the photo as Sakusa grabbed at it.

“I didn’t know that you were going to take a picture of me, you ass! Delete it!” 

“Nah, this is too good! Kiyoomi I really think you should do this for a game! You look precious!”  

You quickly ran over to the couch next to Motoya, showing him the off guard picture you got of the two of them. The two of you were in hysterics. Sakusa ran over to the couch to join the two of you. Placing an arm around your shoulder he broke into laughter as well.

Lose hair flowed on the sides of his face. His eyes squinted shut as his laughs filled the room.

“You ought to delete that picture though, seriously.”

You shook your head at him. 

“This is too good. I might just send it to your whole team.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

After some time, the three of you settled down and watched a movie. You rested your head on his shoulder. His arm never left your side. The three of you passed out cold. 

Motoya’s mother laughed at the view she had of the three of you as she took her shoes out of the door. Her own son was sprawled out on the end of the couch, snoring the night away. Kiyoomi’s head rested on the couch. Tufts of hair were popping out of the braid. His arms loosely wrapped around you. Your head rested against his chest and your arms rested around his stomach.

She laughed quietly to herself, leaving the kids to sleep.

This was the first time that you fell asleep on Sakusa Kiyoomi.

-

“What do you mean that you didn’t have a good time at the camp? It’s literally for the Olympics!” You had your hands on your hips as you stared at Saksua. He sulked in your kitchen chair. He came over as soon as he had gotten back from camp.

“I do not understand how Shiratorizawa lost. Kageyama Tobio wasn’t necessarily an extraordinary feat to watch-”

“You do understand that there’s a reason why he got invited there as well, right?”

“I’m trying to be realistic here.”

“Well since both schools are going to nationals, maybe you can play them in the bracket. You’re the number two ace in the country because you worked hard Kiyoomi. I don’t care if some brat from Miyagi rubbed you the wrong way. You need to get over it and do your best. You and Motoya leave in two weeks.”

The two of you had spent the last hour bickering of his experience. Sakusa had a negative thing to say about almost every player that was there.

“If I want to analyze my potential opponent then I think you should allow me to. You’re not playing on the court whatsoever so I think you should keep your opinions to yourself about this situation.”

“Kiyomi, I’m literally the one who has helped you get to where you are now. I’ve spent hours of my own freetime, even getting physically ill coming up with ways to help you and Motoya improve your skills to be better players-”

“But nobody asked you to do that.” He glared at you. You falter at what to say next.

“I did it because you two are my friends. And I want you to succeed.” Each word articulated from your mouth excruciatingly slow. As if you were questioning yourself.

“You have a lot to say for someone who has never played the game before.” Sakusa snapped at you.

“Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my house. You do not talk to me like that here.” You made your way to the front door, holding it open.

“Out Kiyoomi.”

“I think we’re having a little miscommunication.” He rose from his chair. He hands beared out to you as he stepped towards you cautiously.

“No. Grab your bag. Put your shoes on and leave. I understood with clarity everything you just said to me. Now I’m asking you to leave. You said everything you wanted to.”

Sakusa’s head did not hang low as your gaze pierced through him. He slung his back over his shoulder and walked towards you. His height towered over you before he bent down, slipping his shoes over his heels.

He walked out without another word. 

That was the first fight you had with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

-

In the next two weeks you didn’t walk to school with the boys, you did not study with them, you did not watch practice, you didn’t use breaks at school to visit their classrooms. Anytime Motoya had reached out, you politely avoided him. If Sakusa did it was like he wasn’t even there.

Nationals were now upon the boy’s volleyball team. You followed the group solemnly to the bus.  You had signed up as an official volunteer and there wasn’t any way to necessarily get out of it since you had already been excused from the school days.

You sat alone on the bus. Far away from your two friends. The ride was short. Upon arrival, you carried the medical bag to the team’s designated area for the day.

It was a clash of teams mingling at the entrance of the arena. Not one member of the team had made it to the area yet. You turned to see Sakusa’s standing in the corner of the room. His forehead creased and his chin tucked towards his chest. There were too many people for him. Motoya was mingling with random  teams. You let out a small sigh and made your way to the designated area. 

A hand gently rested on your shoulder.

“Can we talk?” Kiyoomi asked. He towered over you in height. You couldn’t see his face due to the mask, but he radiated stress. You nodded and sat next to him in the hallway.

The apology was quick, sweet, and straight to the point. You graciously accepted and it wasn’t any worry at all. 

You could never truly be mad at him.

You continued to help the boy’s volleyball team until they lost the tournament.

You waited on the side of the court for the boys to come off. However, Sakusa was approached by fans and reporters. 

You stood patiently on the other side of the toom. The opposing team’s captain approached you. He shyly flirted with you. Sakusa watched from afar as he continued to chat with the reporter. 

This was the first time Sakusa Kiyoomi felt jealousy.

-

You, Kiyoomi, and Motoya stood side by side posing for pictures for your families. High school diplomas proudly in hand.

Kiyoomi graciously slipped away from everyone for a brief moment. His parents were fawning over the fact that he got accepted into college on a sports scholarship. Same with Motoya. Your parents were openly wondering what college you would choose to go to. You got accepted to five different ones, one of them the same as Kiyoomi.

You and Motoya bid your parents a farewell and began to leave the school together for one last time. Kiyoomi stood at the gates waiting patiently for the two of you. His blazer now slung over one shoulder, he used his other arm to gently rest around your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at the dinner, Motoya. I’m going to walk Y/N home.” 

Motoya dipped his head in acknowledgement before parting ways.

You and Kiyoomi laughed and reminisced over the last three years. The late nights studying. Hanging around each other's houses. Him keeping you company as you read your books at cafes. The cat you two found outside of the school your first year. The god awful game of telephone pictionary that almost got the three of you suspended your second year of school. The failed attempts of learning how to play volleyball in third year. It seemed that all of the memories so precious to your heart were coming to a cease.

Your laughs faltered as you approached the gate of your home. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave for Osaka.” You laughed nervously as his arm slid off of your shoulder. He unconsciously moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Easy. Just go to the same school as me. It’s not that difficult of a decision.”

You laughed. “You know I haven’t even begun to choose the college I want to go to yet. I haven’t weighed the pros and cons of each school. Plus you got a full ride.” You sighed.

“Well a pro is that I’m there. I think that’s enough.” He tilted his head at you.

You let out a short laugh before turning your head away from him. “If only it was that simple.” You wondered aloud.

“I have to see how good the program is for what I want to do. I know that they’re the top in the country for it but will it really benefit me? What if financial aid doesn't end up coming through and I have student loans out the ass? What if housing is full? If I don’t have anywhere to live?” 

Your thoughts were cut off by Kiyoomi stifling a laugh. He used a single hand to cover his mouth as he looked down at you. You shoved his chest playfully. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You worry too much for someone who’s so smart.”

You rolled your eyes at him. He ran his hand through his hair before he rested it on his neck, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how pretty I think you are.” He reached over and cupped your face. His long slender fingers gently tucked the rest of your hair behind your ear. He felt your skin heat up below his hand and laughed.

“Are you trying to be funny because you’re really bad at it.”

Before you could even react, Kiyoomi quickly closed the gap between the two of you. His lips were soft as he gently pressed his lips against yours. Your hands rose up quickly against his sides. Slightly panicking. He tilted your chin up slightly and you finally kissed him back. 

You felt him smile against your lips as he pulled you closer.

He pulled away. Grinning like an idiot.

“I think you should go to that school in Osaka with me. I’m going to have an apartment and everything.”

You placed your arms around his shoulders and his slinked down to your waist.

“We’ll see.”

Kiyoomi’s body sunk into itself.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for quite some time now and that’s all you say? ‘We’ll see?’ It’s really not enough.” 

“I mean who said I haven’t been waiting to kiss you too?” 

He raised an eyebrow at you as you leaned up to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“For how long?”

“After nationals in our second year when I saw a horde of fan girls for one of the best aces in Japan.” You reached up and pinched his cheek. “I thought to myself that I wasn’t jealous or anything, but I think I’ve thought about you romantically for a while now.” He narrowed his eyes at you before shaking his head for you to let go of his face.

“But you’re right. You’ve never told me I was pretty before, Kiyoomi.” You used your hands to bring his face down to yours. 

That was the first time you and Sakusa Kiyoomi had ever kissed.

-

Sakusa Kiyoomi was disappointed to say the least that you did not follow him to college in Osaka. 

Or so he thought. 

Two weeks after his move there was a knock on his apartment door at 7am in the morning. Kiyoomi was a morning person, but he had no clue who it could possibly be. He pulled a sweatshirt over his body and pulled on sweatpants over his boxers.

There you stood with a suitcase in each hand.

“I chose Osaka because I don’t think I can handle being away from you for four years.”

Kiyoomi enveloped you in a hug, making you drop your luggage. He pressed your body against his chest and buried his head into the crook of your neck. He peppered kisses on your  cheekbone until you turned to face him. He held your hands and kissed you sweetly before pulling you inside. 

“Kiyo, you need to grab my bags.” You mumbled into his mouth. He gently put you down. Grabbed your bags and placed them inside and turned to face you. You looked at him expectantly with your arms open towards him. Without missing a beat he picked you up and spun you around.

“Are you sure you want to go to school out here?” He pressed a kiss to your temple. You nodded against his chest.

“One exception though.” You pulled away from him.

“Will you be my boyfriend, Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

“Yes.”

This was the first day you spent as an official couple.

-

The semester was beginning to take a toll on the both of you. Fortunately enough, the both of you managed to be taking the same courses for your basics and had a basic study regiment in the evenings. Kiyoomi’s volleyball practice ran from ungodly hours of the morning and the fatigue was catching up to him as finals week set upon the two of you.

You returned from the library and walked into the bedroom to see Kiyoomi sound asleep, laying on his side snuggling a pillow. Quiet snores spread through the room as his mouth was slightly agape.

You quickly showered and changed into a shirt of his before snuggling into bed beside him. You ran your fingers through his hair causing him to lean into your touch.

“Y/N” He groaned into the pillow.

“Hm?”

“C’mere.” He lifted up his arm as an invitation. You quickly obliged as his arm encased you into his chest.

“How was studying? Sorry I left so early.” He yawned.

 Your arm wrapped around his side as your fingernails began to graze his bare back.

“It’s fine, Kiyo. I know how tired you’ve been lately. Being a student athlete is tough enough as it is.” 

“I don’t want you to be stressed out because of my incapabilities.”

“You’re only human. And I’m stressed out because college is tough, not because you’re incapable of things.”

“I know.”

“Your voice is cute when you’re tired.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.” 

“Nevermind.” 

“I beg your pardon?.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re super handsome when you’re dead quiet. I know I can’t see you right now, but the whole brooding thing  you usually have going on is usually pretty nice in my opinion.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, Kiyo.”

“Y/N  I’ll literally make you do all of the cleaning next week.”

“But Kiyo-”

“Shut up.”

“Anyways. I’ve missed you.”

“We live together. And study together. And go to school together.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Remember that one time that you fell down the stairs in our second year? In front of the entire class?”

“I hate you.”

“I love you.”

“What?”

You sat up abruptly staring down at your boyfriend. He sat up, propping his hands on either side of his body. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

“I love you, Kiyoomi.”

A lazy smile graced the black-haired man’s features.

“I mean it!”

“I know you do. That’s why I’m smiling.”

“I really mean it, Kiyoomi. You’ve been my best friend since middle school. We spent every waking moment together. I got to grow with you as friends. I had the opportunity to watch you bloom into your passion by bringing you daifuku one day because I saw a quiet boy practicing all by himself. I’m so lucky for that moment of time. Even though we’re busy now, we get to hold each other at night and see each other’s achievements during the day. I think it’s so amazing that we have each other.  I just want to cherish you.”

“I love you too.” He clasped his hand over yours.

“And I mean it too.”

That was the first time you and Sakusa exchanged ‘I love yous’.

-

The semester had come to an end. Kiyoomi rested his head on your lap as you watched TV and he watched volleyball highlights on his phone. You played with his curls absentmindedly.

“I can’t believe that Kageyama Tobio is playing on the Olympic team this year.”

“Who?”

“The kid who beat Wakatoshi our second year.”

“Oh that one.”

“I want to play in the Olympics.”

“I know Kiyo you just need to keep doing what you're doing and you’ll be on that stage in 2020.”

You pulled out your cell phone and took a picture of the two of you. Managing to get his glare and everything. You shoved the photo you just took in his face. 

“Look! Do you know who that is?”

“Me. Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Correct!” You exclaimed. “He’s also my boyfriend and a future Olympian! A future representative of Japan’s men's volleyball team!”

Kiyoomi laughed. He locked his phone and just kept on laughing.

“You’re so precious.” He managed between laughs. He pulled his head from your lap and squeezed your cheeks with both of his hands.

“My girlfriend believes in me!” He sang song.

You placed your hands over his and pulled him forward into a quick kiss.

“Am I not supposed to?”

“I never said that.”

“You’re kind of suggesting it. Do you not like me anymore?”

He leaned forward, putting his lips on yours once more.

“You know I don’t like you, I love you.”

(nsfw)

Butterflies rose in your chest at his words. You gave him the dopiest grin before you leaned into  him once more. Your body leaned into his. Kiyoomi’s hands rose under your shirt as he pulled you on top of his lap. Your legs fell on either side of him as your fingers ran through his hair. As your hands reached the back of his head you fisted his curls, earning a quiet groan from the man underneath you. His hands pressed roughly into the skin of your hips. The surprise let Kiyoomi slip his tongue into your mouth.

He began to place open mouth kisses down your neck as his hands traveled up to your breasts. You quickly slid your shirt off over your head to give him more access. His kisses continued across your collarbone and down to your breast. 

“Kiyo-” Your breath hitched in your throat as he swirled his tongue.

“Hmm?” He mumbled into your chest. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You said firmly, as you slid your hands to his shoulders to get him to look at you.

His dark eyes sparkled at you and nodded. 

You got off of his lap and made your way to your room. Dropping your shorts to the ground, you kicked them to the corner of the room. Before you could even reach the bed, you were enveloped in a hug from behind. Kiyoomi’s bare chest warmed your back as he began to kiss your neck, your shoulders. A hand firmly on your hip and a hang squeezing your breast. His hands traveled your body hungrily. You turned to meet his face. Caressing it with the back of your hand you placed a gentle kiss on his nose, making him smile at you.

Your hands draped over his boxers as you generously worked them down his legs. Placing, small, eager kisses on his lips.

“I don’t think we have condoms-”

“Yes we do. They’re in my nightstand, I bought them just in case we ever-”

“Mhmm”

You lured Kiyoomi over to the bed as you stroked him. He opened the bedside table and carefully tore the wrapper before rolling the condom on. He hovered over you as he lowered you onto the bed, his lips not leaving yours once. His fingers caressed you, slipping in and out slowly, you moaned into his mouth, making him speed up ever so slightly as he kissed all over your body. He wanted to show you physically how much he loves you.

He positioned himself between your legs before slipping himself in. The two of you gasped at the newfound sensation. He moaned into your neck as your hands failed to grab at his back. He kissed your cheek and smiled at you. He began to roll his hips into you repeatedly. He was weary of his actions as his hands roamed your entire body. He didn’t want to go too slow or two fast. He never asked, he just studied your reactions as he pressed deeper into you. He began to hold a steady rhythm as moans began to spill from your mouth. Each sound encouraging him to unconsciously move faster. 

“Kiyoomi.” Your nails sunk into his back, your lips struggled to find his. He moaned your name into your neck. He was reaching his climax as he shuddered inside of you. He kissed your forehead gently. 

“I love you. Forever. I cannot imagine anyone else I’d share this life with.”

You stared at your boyfriend. He was studying your face with great intent as if to check if he made a dent. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. You pushed it back making his curls bounce as they flopped back down. His body rose and fell steadily as he caught his breath over you. He gave you a small smile as he flattened your hair on your head, he gently pulled out of you before sitting on his knees and sliding the condom off of himself.

“Give me a second please.”

He walked to the bathroom and disposed of it and began to pick up the clothes from earlier and put them in the hamper. He returned to your side. He propped up his head on his hand as ran his fingers through your hair.

“I’m so lucky. Everyday.”

You smiled as he placed yet another tender kiss on your lips.

The night ended with Sakusa curled on your bare chest, fast asleep while you held him dearly through the night.

That was you and Sakusa Kiyoomi’s first time.

-

Today was Kiyoomi’s first V-League game. 

You were never typically awake at the same times that he was. Ever. 

You sleepily followed him around the apartment. He brushed his teeth first. You stifled a laugh as he began the skin care routine you taught him in high school. He ignored you, but followed suit. Next he fixed his bed head. Well you did. You sat on the counter with him between your legs as you gently raked product through his hair. 

“Omi Omi.” You sang as he relaxed into your hands. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? I think Miya was onto something when he started calling you that.” 

“No he wasn’t. He tainted the second half of my name when he started that shit.”

“Don’t be that way, Omi Omi!” 

“Shut up!” He yawned. 

“Or what, Omi?” You hopped off the sink and walked away from him.

“You’re gonna do what you did to me, last night? Right now?”

A sly grin rested on his lips before he pushed you to the bed. 

“Good thing we woke up early.”

-

You stayed arm and arm with Kiyoomi at the bar where his teammates won. The Black Jackals won their very first game. 

You glanced up at your mask-clad boyfriend as he glared at his teammates. 

“Omi Omi! I didn’t know you were bringing your girlfriend!”

“Hi! You must be Atsumu!” You extended your hand to shake his, but Sakusa cut in front of you. 

“Don’t touch him.” He rolled his eyes. 

“It’s called being courteous, Kiyo. You ought to try it!” You shoved his chest. 

“I can’t believe Omi Omi has a heart. He actually talks about us at home.” Bokuto bunched up his shirt on his chest, his eyes watering. 

“You’re telling me.” Atsumu huffed. 

“To be clear, the only person I respect on this team is Meian and I think it’s all valid.” Sakusa glared at the two men. His gaze lost it’s focus once he heard your laugh and reeled back into the conversation that you were having with Hinata. 

His teammates smiled as they were watching a never before seen Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

As the night progressed more and more drinks were spread amongst the team. 

You and Kiyoomi balanced the drinks the best you could, but after all, it was your first time drinking. Ever. 

Both of you, equally wasted, exited the bar and ordered a ride home. Laughing up the stairs the two of you tumbled into your bedroom. Kissing and everything in between. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi looked at you like you were the light of his life and he made sure you knew it. 

You studied his features as he drunkenly told you stories of when he was little. His dark brown eyes squinted at you as little laughs escaped his mouth. Anytime he smiled one corner of his mouth rose higher than the other. Anytime Kiyoomi reached for your hand, he always managed to be the most gentle with his spindly fingers. His kisses were so soft. Even now as he continuously reaches down to kiss you. Even though your own lips are numb from the alcohol rushing in your veins. 

This is true love. 

-

“I told you that you’d be in the Olympics.” 

You wrapped your arms around him as you stood behind the couch, smothering his cheek with kisses. 

“I know! I’m glad everything paid off!” 

“Me too. Me too.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever dated an Olympian.” You stared at the phone in Kiyoomi’s hand. The congratulatory email. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think about marrying an Olympian? Pretty practical, right?”

You grinned from ear to ear. 

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had in a while.”

“I’d like you to know I’m full of great ideas. I mean we’ve been together for six years. And it’s because I kissed you since you wouldn’t kiss me. I think that it’s a fair assumption that I’m the brains of this relationship. I also made the idea for us moving into this city home. I also made the executive decision for us to buy a cat.”

“Kiyo. That’s not how that went. You know damn well I brought the cat home when you were done with practice and you hit me with the whole ‘I guess we can do it if we clean the litter box everyday’. I think you’re remembering things incorrectly. Per usual.”

“Dunno, but it took my decision making to allow her to stay in this home.”

“Uh huh. Now that I think about it, it would be my first time marrying an Olympian.”

“Well duh. I mean look at me.”

“ I was talking about Miya, you dolt.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “I guess you can take the role of the funny one.”

-

The first time Sakusa became a parent. He had almost passed out in the delivery room. He’ll never acknowledge it to you, however when friends asked he claimed that childbirth was ultimately disgusting. 

His eyes shone the moment your son entered the world. 

He held him delicately as if he could break. He was laughing as he gently brought him down to you. 

You stared down at the baby you and your husband had brought into the world and you couldn’t help but think of the first time you saw Sakusa Kiyoomi and the blessings the boy brought into your life.

(A/N) the smut scene wasnt supposed to be good!!!!!!!!! It was their first time so it wasn’t supposed to be some god tier orgasming experience. It was supposed to be plain and about their connection!

thanks for reading (:

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[donald4spiderman]

The City

masterlist

-

Summary: Reader is thinking about moving to California. Spencer’s determined to get her to stay.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Category: Fluff (angst if you squint)

**Inspired by Ben’s poetic confession in Parks and Recreations, S3E14**

Here’s a draft i forgot to post

-

**not edited yet**

Spencer’s POV

As a profiler, I’ve mastered the observation and analysis of behavior— we all have.

Picking the minds of serial killers is second nature— so why is it so hard for me to figure out why (Y/N) is behaving so strangely?

In the recent months, her witty and charming energy has dwindled into a lethargic imitation. Whether she’d admit it or not— (Y/N) can be extremely enthusiastic about certain things— especially our job.

So, when I watch her drag her feet, inch by inch, into the BAU each morning, It’s hard to contain my concern.

I know Morgan has noticed, and I’m sure everyone else has too. They’re probably just too scared to say anything. (Y/N) doesn’t enjoy people prying into her private life, so we all stay a comfortable distance away.

I watch her a lot... more than I’d like to admit. It’s hard to be unaware of her nervous behaviors— the nail biting, hair twisting, skin picking— I practically have enough data to make a correlation graph. I can tell when she’s upset, and it’s happening more than usual.

(Y/N) has always been kind to me. Even when I was at the peak of my stammering, slicked-back hair phase, she treated me with more respect than I deserved. I can only imagine how awkward I must’ve been (or, still am), and I thank her for not belittling me.

I guess I’m validating the Benjamin Franklin Effect when I say this— but I feel like I owe it to her to ask what’s wrong. Over the years I’ve built up (arguably) the closest friendship with her, so it only makes sense for me to bite the bullet for the team.

It’s partially due to the fact that I’ve developed a slight (if not major) crush over time, but who wouldn’t? A gorgeous, intelligent, quick-witted women is kryptonite for any person. Our conversations are always stimulating, she gives the best advice, and she’s always there to comfort a team member.

So, it pains me to see her struggle through a paperwork day. I wish she would reach out to anyone for help, but it’s not in her nature.

“H-Hi.” I smile as I approach her desk. Her tired eyes look up at me, and she smiles back.

“Hey, Reid. What’s up?

I rub the back of my neck nervously. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Morgan and Emily watching me struggle to form a sentence. They giggle as they watch.

“I-I was... um. D-do you want to get coffee with m-me? Not now! I mean— after work!” Morgan stumbles out of the bullpen, barely containing his laugh. I must sound pathetic.

(Y/N) nods hesitantly, “S-sure. I don’t know why you want to get coffee with me, but I’m free.”

“Really?” My surprise shocks her. “T-that’s gr-great! I can drive you!”

She chuckled, “I think I’d rather drive us. I’m pretty sure you can’t drive a mile without hitting a curb.”

I nod fervently. “Sounds good.”

As I make my way back to my desk, I send a glare in Emily’s direction as she continues to smirk at me.

-

(Y/N) grabs an empty table in the café, and we sit down, huddling close to our warm drinks. She orders a cinnamon latte, I order a black coffee with an unhealthy amount of sugar.

I place the drinks down. “Did you know that cinnamon is shown to reduce systolic blood pressure. It’s commonly used in South Asia and works by dilating blood vessel.”

She nods, “Surprisingly, I did know that. You’re gonna have to teach me something else, Doc.” I laugh in response, enjoying the relaxation that radiates off of her.

“I feel like we don’t get to, um, t-talk as much as I would like to.” My words get caught in my throat and she gives me a lopsided smile.

“Well, we don’t exactly have the most leisurely job.” She states, sipping her drink.

I bite my lip, she looks down. I convince myself that my mind is playing tricks on me, because there’s no way (Y/N) would glance down to watch me pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

“I know... but you used to talk more.”

“I’ve been busy lately. Tired too.” She mumbles.

I mean forward slightly, my voice is a hushed whisper. “A-are you... okay?” I’m anticipating an defensive response, but all she does is sigh.

“I’m alright. I just... I’m getting tired of being here— in D.C.”

My eyes widen and my brows knit together. “W-What! Why?”

(Y/N) shrugs, “I don’t know. I just expected to feel... really, really attached to D.C when I first moved here. I love my job, and I love you guys— but nothing’s keeping me here.”

My face drops. My disappointment is adamant because she scrambles to reassure me.

“It’s not that I don’t absolutely love working with you guys. You’re my best friend, Spencer. But... I came to D.C to... I don’t know... settle down.” It comes out as more of a question rather a statement. “It’s sounds weird, right? Me, settling down?” She laughs. “I-I don’t mean a husband and a family necessarily. I moved here because I wanted to belong somewhere.”

“You don’t feel like you belong?”

“I feel... I feel like everything I have right now is temporary. It’s not the feeling I expected to have. I just want to have something permanent in my life for once.”

I remain silent, lacking the proper response.

“Please don’t tell anyone!” She pleaded.

I smile solemnly, “I won’t. I promise.”

In that moment, I make another promise. Not just to (Y/N), but to myself. I’m going to show her how many things she has here for her in D.C.

I’m going to prove how much I believe she belongs.

-

I started by bringing her coffee each morning— a cinnamon latte from the same café we went to.

The first time she seemed pleasantly surprised. I sped through the doors of the bullpen, my coat and slacks absolutely soaked due to the rainy D.C weather. She giggled at the sight of my hair plastered to my forehead. I was certain that I looked like a wet dog.

“Morning!” I greeted, placing down both cups of coffee on her desk so I could fix my hair. “I-uh-I got you coffee. A cinnamon latte, of course.”

(Y/N) smiles brightly, “You’re the best. Thanks, Reid. I definitely needed this.”

Hotch and Rossi are watching me curiously, pretending not to look up from their files. At this moment, I could care less.

“It’s n-nothing.” Suddenly I’m blushing furiously under the weight of her stare.

“Thanks, again.” She clears her throat, “Y-you’re a really good friend.”

She smiles. And I smile.

-

In the next three weeks, (Y/N) and I grow closer at a rate faster then ever. I try to do something small for her everyday. Finishing up a file for her; Bringing her coffee or water; Sitting next to her on the jet. It appears to be working— she looks much more relaxed and happy. Her sarcastic humor is back and she engages more with the team.

We’ve decided to hang out after today. I find myself enjoying every minute with her, even if all we do is talk, eat, and walk around aimlessly. I’m sure she’s tired of me, but my infatuation with her only grows.

Tonight, we’re sitting at the park, watching people on their late night jogs, dog walkers, babysitters. We finished eating Indian food at a local restaurant. Turns out we’re both regulars at the same place, it’s a shame we haven’t run into each other.

She’s sitting criss-cross on the bench, her elbow rested on top of her knee. “You know,” She starts, “D.C is pretty great. I don’t think I’ve felt this... content in a while.”

I smile, even if it’s too dark for her to see. “Th-thanks. D.C is a great place, despite averaging 39 inches of rain annually.”

She means her head back against the bench. “I still don’t know. I feel like I’m just waiting for something. I don’t even know what that something is... a sign maybe?”

“A sign?” I laugh.

“Y-yeah... a sign. I’d usually make a pros and cons list and research the differences between the two places but... this decision feels too personal to look at it as just statistics.”

In this very moment, I decide to toss all my concerns, questions, what if’s, into the wind. This is my final move; my last resort; my Hail Mary.

My hands are trembling, and it takes me seconds to force the words out of my throat.

“W-well, besides the higher cost of living and considerably gloomy weather, D.C can be a p-pretty great place to reside. It has a busy political culture and is one of the most diverse states in the country.” I pause for a little longer than necessary.

“But, besides statistics and facts, if w-we look past objectivity, to me: D.C is where my friends are, and my friends are my family. Um... I like The City because it’s home to so many great people. A-and I know it’s hard to see the good in things considering how much violence we see on a daily basis, but certain people make me believe that things aren’t all that bad.”

(Y/N)‘a listening attentively, making me even more nervous than I thought possible. “D.C— The City— is beautiful. It’s charming. It’s a warm, cinnamon latte on a rainy day, o-or a late night walk in the park. To me, it’s home.” I catch her smirking a little bit, and I can only hope that she understands what I’m trying to say.

“Plus, The City is really good at her job. The City’s an excellent profiler. But, the city’s an even better friend, and an even better person. It doesn’t hurt that The City has great hair, and gorgeous eyes, and a perfect smile. And, she does this cute thing where she twists the ends of her hair, even if I keep telling her to stop. The City’s beautiful and definitely out of my league. She probably wants nothing to with me now, but I don’t care. I really like The City. And, even if she doesn’t like me back, she should stay, because there are so many people that like and love The City. ‘Cause who wouldn’t.”

(Y/N) is full on grinning right now, and it’s hard to stay patient when so much is on the line.

“Wow.” She giggles. “You really like The City.”

I chuckled awkwardly, “Y-yeah. I really do.”

“I mean, if you think The City’s so great, maybe I should stay. Plus, I’m sure The City likes you too.”

I feign confusion, “Really? I don’t know... The City can be kind of closed off sometimes.”

“Trust me— The City definitely likes you back. And I don’t think The City appreciates you saying that about her”

“Oh really?” I gasp. “Let’s ask her.”

I turn my head around, then proceed to look back at (Y/N) in the most dramatic fashion.

“Hey.” I laugh.

“Oh, Hi Dr. Reid!” She feigns surprise to match my frivolousness.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, b-but I really like you. And, a little birdy told me that you like me back.”

She laughs heartily, “Well, that little birdy is a pretty reliable source.”

Soon, her head is resting on my shoulder. My body’s stiff and the air is caught in my lungs, but I feel more content than I have in years. Somehow the weather is warmer, and the sun is brighter, and things just seem... better.

“This is a great city.” She mumbles, peering up at me in the most adorable fashion.

“Yeah,” I smile, “It really is.”

-

“Pawnee’s a really special town, I love living there. And, I look forward to the moments in my day where I get to hang out with the town, and talk to the town about stuff. The town has really nice blonde hair too. And, it’s read a shocking number of political biographies for a town, which I like.” - Ben Wyatt

[moonbeamwritings]

street light serenade

Summary: Unable to sleep, you call up a certain mangaka for company, convincing him to drive around Morioh with you in the dead of night. What comes next exposes much more than what his most recent draft is focused on.

Author’s Note: Rohan simps come get y’all juice 🗣️🗣️ I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!!

Sleep eluded you, as it often did when you were overwhelmed with university work, tossing and turning for hours on end as your mind swirled with all of the assignments you were too worn out to finish. It was nearing twelve o’clock and you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a pencil or read any more academic journals.

Finally deciding to just get up and move around, you ventured down the hallway and out into the kitchen. A cup of tea could do some good, you thought.

With the tea kettle on the stove, you hopped up onto your counter, mind reeling with other ways you could get yourself to fall asleep. You could go for a walk, watch tv, or listen to music. Maybe going for a drive could help alleviate the stress crowding your brain.

As the kettle began to hiss, your mind was made up. A drive around Morioh sounded perfect, but one question remained. Should you go on your own? 

Without a second thought, you pulled your phone from the wall, eagerly dialing the number of the only person you thought would be awake at this hour.

Rohan Kishibe.

It took a few moments for him to answer, casting doubt on the possibility of your plan coming to fruition.

“What do you want?” His voice was sharp and biting, clearly not thrilled about being pulled from whatever he was doing.

“Hello to you too, Rohan. Do you want to come for a drive with me? I can’t sleep.”

Rohan’s response was immediate, sparing you no kind words or easy let-downs, “No.”

“Come on, please. I’ll pick you up! You don’t even have to do anything!” You knew you were beginning to grovel, trying to sway him to indulge your midnight whims, but you didn’t care.

“I’m not getting caught dead in that tin can you call a car.”

“Some of us have student loans to pay off, you know. Plus, who would see you anyway?”

You could hear him scoff through the phone, a short judgmental sound followed by a few long moments of silence. As soon as you thought he had hung up on you, he spoke, “I’ll pick you up in five minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m going home.”

A click sounded before you could get a word in. He was such a pain in the ass.

Rohan wasn’t easy to like, or easy to get along with, and he knew that, but you searched for his company often, asking him to coffee or lunch or stopping by to give him a new book he could use for research. At first, he would roll his eyes and scoff at your presence, annoyed at the prospect of someone so wholeheartedly thrusting themselves into his quiet little life. However, as time went on, he began to crave conversations with you, though he would never admit it.

So when you called, practically begging him to go for a drive, he couldn’t really say no, despite the apathetic lilt to his voice. Reluctantly, he pushed away from his desk, gathered his keys, and headed out. He would indulge you, if only just this once.

With your teacup long since forgotten, you raced around your home, throwing a comfy sweatshirt over your head and slipping into your shoes. Casting one final glance at yourself in the mirror, you lept out the front door, seconds after Rohan pulled up.

Plopping yourself into his passenger seat, you let out an excited greeting.

“You’re far too energetic for this time of night.” He replied, hand reaching across the gap to land on the back of your chair as he backed out of your driveway.

“What?” You whined, pouting at his tone. “Car rides are fun!”

“You sound like a dog.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

The car fell silent as he began to drive, taking random turns and heading in whatever direction he pleased.

You brought a hand up to the radio, fiddling with the dials and buttons until you landed on your favorite station. You lowered the volume, sending the music into the background, rather than allowing it to ruin the calm energy in the car.

Rohan glanced over at you every so often, admiring the ways that the street lights mixed as they sped by, molding together to cast interesting shadows along your face.

The whole experience felt almost surreal in a sense, traveling through liminal spaces as some silly pop song played softly through the speakers. Just the two of you, the street lights, and the rumble of the car.

After another turn, you began to ask Rohan more about his life. What motivated him, what he was currently working on, when he was traveling again. Every question on your mind seemed to pass your lips, eager to become closer to the man that tried so hard to keep you at arm’s length.

He humored you, of course, but not without little complaints and jests, “You working for a gossip magazine or something?”

“No, I just want to get to know you. That’s all.”

Your response made something tighten in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had shown genuine, unmotivated interests in his thoughts and feelings. He was so used to the same questions, people entertaining his presence in order to weasel their way in, hoping to get some money or fame through his friendship.

You were different, a welcomed change.

When you exhausted your questions, he picked his own. How were your studies going, did you have anything lined up for once you graduated, what had you so worked up you couldn’t sleep. If you were going to know more about him, then he would like to return the favor.

Growing tired of taking the same turns, Rohan directed your little mission to a scenic overlook, angling the car so you could both stare out at the ocean.

It was peaceful, sitting under the light of the moon with you, watching as it bounced off the waves below, creating swirling patterns of dark sea and pale moonlight.

The orange glow of the streetlight on his side of the car casted a shadow along the side of his face, illuminating his high cheekbones and green eyes. Your eyes traveled down his neck, absorbing the way that same shadow warped against his neck and collar bones. In your eyes, he was rendered ethereal in this light, an untouchable being with an indescribable beauty.

“I didn’t know you had a staring problem.”

He could feel your eyes boring holes into the side of his head and it was starting to bother him. You can’t just stare at people, refusing to utter even a word. It was annoying.

Still so hypnotized by the light playing against his face, you responded without a second thought, “Rohan, you’re beautiful.”

Your words left you both speechless, rendered even more silent following your confession. You were embarrassed beyond words and Rohan was in absolute disbelief.

“What?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Just the,” you floundered, hands rising in falling in a desperate attempt to collect your thoughts, to form some sort of explanation, “the light.”

You cleared your throat, “The light behind you… it’s casting a pretty shadow. That’s all.”

Through your pathetic attempt at deflecting his question, he examined you, turning in his seat to really take you in. The same light casting shadows on him created a perfect beam on your own face, your soft skin and kind eyes on full display. He laughed, the whole situation both ridiculous and welcome at the same time. A mix of literal and subjective interpretations of the phrase “seeing someone in a new light.”

He scoffed, a smirk lighting his face as he pulled you closer, closing the distance created by the center console, “You talk too much.”

With that, he planted his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Your hands came up to trace along his cheekbones while his hand remained on the back of your head.

Rohan wasn’t one to wax poetic about just anyone, that much you knew. So as he pulled away, still holding your head as he began to describe how you looked under the light streaming in from outside, you felt your face warm. The slope of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the delicate dip of your cupid’s bow, all made beautiful under Rohan’s diligent stare.

When he was finished, he readjusted his position to sit facing forward again with his hands resting on the steering wheel, “You’re alright, I guess.”

That’s the Rohan you knew and loved.

The two of you remained at the overlook for another hour, chatting and listening to music, but as he watched your blinking begin to slow, your eyes begin to grow heavy, Rohan elected to take you home.

As he drove along side streets, passing neighborhoods and businesses, he stretched a hand over to land against your thigh, gently squeezing it every so often.

Maybe he could afford to put this side of himself on display more often, if only for you.

[a-dorin]

stranger

pairing: the mandalorian x medic!reader 

word count: 2.69k

warnings: cursing, canon typical violence, blood, wounds, burns, references to killing/violence, the taste of blood, sewing a wound up, yearning, pining, an idiot who wears only a beskar helmet and takes on more than he can handle 99.99% of the time

a/n: hi i wrote this in like no time at all so i hope you guys like it. (also at like 2:05 in the morning) also, this takes place during season one, and diverts a little bit  away from canon because he doesn’t have all of his new beskar armor yet (oops) also, sorry if the ending line is shitty i have a hard time with it sometimes 

“i thought this was the last time you were going to pull shit like this on me karga,” you dig your index finger into his chest, your jaw clenched, lips curled in a sneer, “you always say it’s going to be the last time shit like this happens and guess what? it doesn’t ever fucking end does it? i help you one time and--”

the leader hangs his head, raising a hand in defeat, “i am well aware of how you feel about me and the way i do my business. however, this is someone i can’t turn away. and you’re the only person i trust to fix him.”

exhaling, your eyes squeeze shut, “who is it?”

“someone who has been working with me for quite some time,” greef pauses, taking a moment to gauge your reaction, “he’s a skilled bounty hunter, one of the best, actually. typically, he fixes himself right up, but his injuries are far too severe to just ‘sew up’ and go about his business. trust me, i had to do some convincing to even bring him to you.”

through the entryway, a draft rolls in, causing you to shrink into your clothes, “it’s a little too chilly to talk out here. come in, we can discuss my payment, and then i’ll make my decision.”

greef takes a step forward, clearing his throat, “i’ll pay you, and so will he. i am well aware of how you feel about giving my men medical attention. but you do know that i will pay you well for this, right?”

you nod slightly, rubbing your temple with your fingers, “how much are we talking here, karga?” 

“i would like for you to assess his injuries first,” he counters, “then we can talk about payment.”

“fine,” you mutter, crossing over to your table, “please, just bring him in. if he bleeds out on my table, it’s your fault karga!” 

“hopefully there will be none of that,” karga shakes his head, the words so low that you could barely hear him, “i’ll bring him in. let me know when you’re finished.”

swiftly, you gather up your supplies, your hands gathering as much as you could. from the sound of it, things weren’t looking good. reaching out, you pull your cart towards you, practically tossing the supplies on the metallic surface. cursing under your breath, you search for your gloves, eyes frantically searching your surroundings, yet they’re nowhere to be found. 

guess you’d have to get a little messy with this one. 

a long-winded groan startles you from your task at hand, and your heart sinks the moment karga brings him in. he’s donned head to toe in battle armor, the hues of the metal a variety of colors. the only distinguishable piece is a beskar helmet, light reflecting off its surface. 

not once did karga mention that you would be tending to a mandalorian. 

“how bad is it?” you inquire, your voice crisp and cool as you stride over to karga, helping him carry the mandalorian to your table. 

blood seeps through his clothes, soaking the garments with a horrid scarlet. in several spots, there is singed fabric, signifying that he took a few good shots. the mandalorian reeks of burnt flesh and the stench of a battle, your nose wrinkling and bile rising in your throat. 

this was far worse than karga described, and this was no time to start panicking. 

“just a few blaster shots,” the mandalorian cuts in, his voice distorted from a modulator, “nothing that i couldn’t fix myself.”

“ah, ah, ah,” karga interjects, “there’s more to it than that. i believe he has several lacerations, perhaps a few burns from blasters.”

“that beskar couldn’t stop everything huh?” you arch a brow, in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

the mandalorian doesn’t respond, anxiety bubbling up within you, “karga, try and keep him awake as long as you can. i have a few healing stems, along with some bacta shots, but depending on how deep the wounds are, i won’t be able to treat him unless we strip him of the armor.”

“i-i can’t take that off,” the mandalorian gurgles, “i-i, m-my cr-creed.”

“what creed?” you shoot karga a curious glance, guilt plastering his features. 

“he has a creed he follows,” karga inhales sharply, “it’s his way of life.”

your lips part, forming an o. you want to scold karga for not briefing you on all of the minor details, as he normally does with his men. however, there was no time for banter or bickering. 

you had to maintain your composure. 

“how much blood has he lost, you think?” 

“i can’t give you a definite answer on that,” karga takes a step back, allowing you to survey the mandalorian, “i would say a lot, but i’m not too sure. perhaps his garments stopped some of it, or the pressure of his armor.”

“that’s not enough pressure,” you murmur, plucking a pair of shears off your cart, “hey mando, can you hear me? are you still with us?” 

a feeble hand raises from the table, his voice breathy and far away, “i-i’m here. anything but the helmet, please.”

“of course,” your voice is soft and hushed, “the helmet is off limits.”

“now that i’ve got him in here,” karga gestures his head towards the nearly unconscious mandalorian, “he has something back at his ship that i need to tend to. will you need my assistance or can you handle it?” 

“i can handle it,” your voice falters, “go do what you need to do. it may be an hour or two before he’s feeling better.”

“you know how to find me if you need me,” karga’s words trail off as he exits your home, the doors sliding shut behind him. 

“all right mando,” you take his hand, squeezing it, “i’m going to start by removing your armor okay? let me know if you can’t feel anything. that’s when we have a problem.”

“i can feel everything,” he spits out, “fuck. it hurts. it all hurts.”

“you really took a beating huh?” carefully, you start by removing his boots, hastily yet with caution. 

who knew if he took a hit to the spine, paralyzing any point of his body. 

“hey,” you place his boots on the floor, “can you wriggle your toes for me mando?”

immediately, relief ripples through you as you watch his toes move, signaling that there was no nerve damage. next, you remove the plates of armor covering his shins and thighs, placing them directly by his boots. the armor was severely damaged, almost beyond repair, as it was littered with dents and holes. 

how many run-ins did this mandalorian have in his lifetime? how many of his days had he spent fighting? 

“do you have other clothing in your ship?” you press on, slicing the fabric with your shears, “karga mentioned you had a ship.”

“mmmhmmmm,” he hums, “name is the razor crest.”

“ahh,” soaking a rag with bacta spray, you wiped down his exposed legs, assessing his wounds as you did so, “that’s a wonderful name.”

the flesh was only burned, which could be healed almost instantly with the bacta spray. luckily, there wouldn’t be much scar tissue either, only a few minor scars here and there. yet, you wondered if there was an inch of the mandalorian’s body that wasn’t scarred. 

“d-don’t worry so much bout my legs,” he stammers, “it’s my shoulder that i’m worried about. i can feel the blood soaking through.”

“i’ll have to remove the rest of your armor and your tunic,” biting your lip, your hands wrap around his chest plate, desperate to find a way to get it off. 

“hey,” his voice sounds again, this time a lot clearer, “i can get it off. you don’t have to worry about being hasty about this. i’ll make sure you get your sum.”

“i-i just,” you stutter, the taste of blood hitting your tongue as he sits up, “karga sounded so worried and i want to do a good job because the way he talked, you were his best hunter and i just can’t--”

“you won’t fuck anything up,” a hand reaches out, finding yours, “this isn’t anything i haven’t encountered before. the thing is, you’re a trained medic. i’m not. i would probably make a mistake and make my injuries worse somehow. take. your. time.” 

for a moment, your eyes flutter closed, a weary sigh flowing from your lips. you can sense the mandalorian watching you carefully, studying your features through the tinted visor. 

“o-okay,” you whisper. 

the mandalorian sits up, shedding away the remaining pieces of his armor, “would you like for me to roll over?”

you nod, gnawing at your lower lip once more as you realize that this mandalorian, this stranger, was about to be nearly undressed, half-bleeding, half-conscious, on your table. and he was so patient with you. so much kinder than previous patients in the past. 

“wait,” your brow furrows, “your helmet would make it awkward for you to lay on your stomach. how about you move over a little, to the edge of the table?”

“of course.”

he straightens his back, scooting over to give you some space. clambering onto the table, you reach up to adjust your light. taking your rag, you wipe down his back and shoulders, muscles rippling under your touch. every so often, your fingertips graze his heated skin as you lose yourself in your work. 

you catch a quiet groan as you continue to work, your heart fluttering. 

the sound wasn’t drenched with pain, nor anywhere near the noise you first encountered when he was being brought in by karga. 

this was a sound of contentment, a sound of bliss. 

“how long has it been since you’ve felt someone’s touch?”

shame burns through you the moment the question tumbles from your lips, nearly consuming you whole as he tenses. maker, did you feel so guilty. he was a stranger to you. how could you just blatantly ask that? 

the answer arrives, short and sweet. 

“too long.”

leaning over, you press a piece of cloth on his shoulder, a lengthy laceration stretching from his clavicle to his left shoulder blade, “oh, i see.”

“do you usually get this close and personal with your patients?”

“depends,” you shrug, “hey, i’m about to sew you up. it may sting.”

plunging the needle in, you press yourself to his back as you start the suture, your breath fanning against his neck. the mandalorian stiffens as he catches a whiff of your scent, and how it was so heavenly as it wafted into his nostrils. 

his jaw clenches as he chokes back a hiss of pain, remaining as still as possible. 

“you’re being so good for me,” your voice floods his ear, the praise nearly causing him to crumble completely. 

within seconds, you’re all finished, sliding off the table, “i take it that karga is coming back with a change of clothes?”

“i hope so.”

gazing over at your table, you notice the healing stems, “i have some healing stems for your travels. they’ll probably help with that dull pain you’ll have in that area for a while. it won’t be an issue unless you somehow reopen that wound. if it was any closer to any major artery in your neck, you would’ve bled out.”

“i’ll take them.”

“well,” you hand them to him, “take them before you forget them. you seem like the forgetful type.”

a low chuckle erupts from the beskar, “i don’t think i could forget a night like--”

a knock on the doors interrupts the mandalorian’s sentence, cutting it short. as you make your way over, you hear a string of curses flowing from the table. more than likely his native tongue. pressing a button, the doors slide open, revealing greef karga and a strange, little creature, swathed by a bundle of clothing in his arms. 

“you were fast,” karga remarks, cradling the creature, “how is he?”

“he’s fine,” your focus is directed away from karga, honing in on the creature, “who is this?”

“this is what i had to retrieve from his ship. he’s a very precious child. extremely important to that mandalorian over there.”

the child coos, its eyes two vast pools of obsidian. he blinks, a tiny hand flailing out. you melt, lips curling into a broad smile, “hello, little one. are you looking for your father?”

“he is,” the mandalorian echoes from across the space. 

karga enters, keeping the child against his chest as he strides over, placing the bundle next to the mandalorian. from a distance, you watch fondly as the child teeters towards the bounty hunter, an incoherent blubber sounding as his guardian pats his head, reassuring him that they would no longer be separated. 

within minutes, the mandalorian was springing to his feet, with a fresh set of a clothes, the same armor strapped to his frame. the child is in his embrace now, clinging onto his thumb. karga hovers by his side, more than likely filling him in on the next mission. the next victim to hunt. 

“how should i pay you?” his voice, one you had grown familiar over the course of the hour, fills your ears. 

“oh,” you blink, “um, don’t worry about it. you have far more important things to--”

“no,” his tone is firm, “you deserve some sort of payment.”

“she lives here after all,” karga remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i could pay her any time.”

“how about you head out so that we can discuss this a little more privately?” he turns to karga, the query almost more of a command than a question. 

“of course,” karga dips his head, shifting towards you, “i’ll see you around. hopefully this is the last time i spring a patient on you.”

“i’m sure it won’t be the last,” you roll your eyes playfully, “see you around, karga.”

“tell me, how much do i owe you? name anything in the galaxy and it’s yours.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you snort, “you don’t owe me anything. you could’ve died and you’re worried about paying me.”

“because you deserve it,” he takes a step forward, the space between the two of you dissipating, “from the sound of it, you let this happen quite frequently. you don’t get paid enough for it either.”

“how about you pay me a visit the next time you make a pitstop in nevarro,” your eyes fall to the floor, careful to not meet his gaze, “would that be enough?”

a gloved hand grasps your chin, tilting your head up. 

“oh cyar’ika, that would be more than enough.”

the child giggles, bouncing, “maybe you should get a move on. he seems hungry. there’s a cantina not too far away from here. they serve good food, even if the locals get a bit rowdy. i bet it’s nothing you run into, though.”

“it’s probably best if i leave nevarro.”

“be safe out there mando,” you whisper.

“i will.”

just like that, he’s out the door, leaving your knees weak, heart all aflutter. 

as the mandalorian made his way to the razor crest, child in tow, his mind was reeling, all of his thoughts honing in one particular thing. 

a medic on nevarro, who mentioned briefly that he seemed to the forgetful type. yeah, he traveled near and far, to all rims and edges of the galaxy, but he was one to forget people, nor faces. he encountered so many species: human, twi’leks, wookiees, chiss, you name it.

the moment he stepped foot on the razor crest, he yearned. the desire burning through him, aching and desperate. 

stars, how he longed to go back. just for one more glimpse. one more glimpse of that stranger’s face, that beautiful face. 

he was determined though, determined to find his way back. perhaps in a few days, even. the mandalorian was relentless, especially when it came to getting what he craved. and oh, how he craved to know the name of the stranger on nevarro. 

someone who would no longer be a stranger to the mandalorian. 

he just knew it.

[fanmoose12]

Idk if you still accept requests but can you please bless us with more Levihan Witcher AU?Hanji as a bard/alchemist is so on brand for her.

anon, thank you so much for this ask! you woulnd’t believe it, but this fic was sitting in my drafts for almost six months, and your ask finally motivated me to finish it! this is super self-indulgent and also my nerdiness for witcher series is definetely showing but eh.... hope you still enjoy it <3

The town of Rinde, near the edge of Redania, was as shitty as they came.

The roads were washed away with dirt, the huts (calling them houses would be an exaggeration) stood dirty and even and kids were running around, dressed in torn clothes and without any shoes on.

Needless to say, all of it disgusted Levi.

And, really, he would have skipped that town altogether, it didn’t look like there was anyone there, who was rich enough to pay for hiring him, and, since he wasn’t on a hunt for a long time, he really needed to find someone, who would toss that coin to the witcher. He would have skipped that town, he almost did, but then he heard it. His witcher senses had picked it up immediately, the faint sound, the voice that was unmistakable for him, even though Levi hadn’t heard it for almost a year.

He headed in the direction of that voice instantly, the Roach following after him with an unusual willingness. Maybe, the horse has sensed her as well. The Roach always liked the annoying bard, after all.

After reaching the small tavern near the outskirts of the town and tying Roach to the outpost, Levi stopped in front of the door, giving himself the time to change his decision.

The tavern wasn’t up to his standards. At all. Even without seeing what was inside, it was enough for Levi to see the moldy walls to understand that he was standing at the threshold to a shithole.

He should have turned around and escaped this town. The nightfall was approaching and, as far as he knew, there wasn’t a town or even a village nearby. He’d have to sleep under the stars again. It was more preferable to stepping inside the unkempt tavern.

Besides, even without his supernatural senses, he could hear that the place was full of drunkards. Some shouted out vulgar jokes and laughed boisterously, some sang loudly and quite terribly.

And amidst all of it, there it was. Her voice that was laughing and singing with the rest of the patrons. For anyone else it would have been hard to decipher just one voice out of the dozens of others, but for Levi, this voice was special.

There were no doubts in his mind anymore. He pushed the door open.

All conservation ceased as soon as Levi walked inside. Well, that was to be expected. What was unexpected was the absence of a loud cheerful shriek greeting him. Although... considering the way he parted with Hange a year ago, maybe, he should have expected it as well.

Nevertheless, she paid him no attention, didn't even look at him. Levi's mood worsened. Glaring at all the patrons, he made his way to the bar.

"Tea," he ordered gruffly.

"Tea?" the maiden, who was standing behind the bar, raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you sure? We have ale, beer, vodka..."

"I don't want that piss that you call ale and beer here, and I definitely do not want to taste whatever the fuck substitutes vodka in this shithole. Just simple tea. You have it, I hope?"

"I'll look around...." the maiden nodded uncertainly. "Anything else?"

"If you have some soup that'd be great."

"Alright, I'll bring your order in a minute. Are you going to stay the night?"

Levi's eyes immediately darted to Hange. She wasn't looking at him. He sighed.

"We'll see about that."

Levi spent the whole evening boring holes into the back of Hange's head. She didn't turn around even once, too busy having fun with her new friends. As he watched the merry group in front of him, Levi couldn't help but scoff. Most of them, both men and women, were already smitten with Hange. He could see it in the way they subtly touched her hand or squeezed her shoulder, in the way they smiled dreamily and blushed every time she looked at them. Hange always had an uncanny ability to charm people. If it was her silvery voice or just the natural charisma, Levi wasn’t sure. He hated it nevertheless.

Not because Hange managed to put him under her spell as well (she did not) but because he hated when Hange paid attention to someone, except him. Apparently, even witchers could be childish sometimes.

However, considering what he had told Hange at that mountain, when anger and frustration took over him, maybe, he didn't deserve her attention anymore.

Still, Levi felt bitter, watching Hange’s smiles and teasing directed on someone, who wasn’t him. He missed her, goddamn it. It took him so long to realize it, but he enjoyed Hange’s company so much. The hunts just weren’t the same, if she wasn’t by his side, splurging some weird facts she read from bestiaries at Oxcenfurt. The roads seemed longer without Hange, who filled the silence with one of her new songs or her musings about the life. And even though, Levi always acted annoyed whenever Hange claimed that the nights were too chilly, so they have to sleep together to savor the warmth, now, since she wasn’t sleeping by his side anymore, even a brightly lit fire couldn’t make the cold disappear.

Shit, he was in such a deep shit.

As the evening progressed into the night, the patrons slowly started to tinker out of the tavern. Levi watched each of them carefully, trying to guess which of these lucky bastards would leave together with Hange.

However, soon almost everyone had left. The only other person, who was still at the tavern, was Hange.

As soon as the last customer went on his way, she sat atop the table and took out her lute.

She plucked the strings of the instrument, tuning it in. Throughout the evening, Hange sang numerous songs, all of them were accompanied by laughter and applause. But not by her lute.

A special lute that was given to her by an elf after her last one was destroyed and after Levi had threatened the said elf to break her nose if she dared to put that miserable expression on a pretty face of his bard ever again.

It was a shame that Hange still refused to look at him. He always enjoyed looking at her while she played. Her expression always matched the song she was performing - if the song was fast and catchy, she would be grinning from ear to ear, lightening up the whole room, and if she was singing the sad one, the one about heartbreak and tragic love, her face was mournful, her eyes distant.

Hange started to play, and Levi recognized the song instantly.

A storm raging on the horizon of longing, and heartache, and lust

Damn, of course, she decided to sing that song. Evidently, Hange was out to torture him as much as possible.

“I dedicate it to you, Levi!” she announced after she had first presented it to him.

They were in the middle of a road, resting in front of a fire after an exhausting hunt for a Nightwraith. Well, Levi was resting after an exhausting hunt, Hange was sitting beside him, blabbering almost nonstop. She sang a song to him too, after shyly confessing that this was her latest creation.

“How the fuck can this song be about me?” Levi grunted then. “It’s about woman, dipshit.”

“Ah, but a song about a man won’t be popular amongst my fellow bards! So I had to change a few things there and then.”

“So my kiss is that sweet?” he asked, fighting back a smile.

Hange snickered, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “And it destroys me each time.”

That memory – amongst hundreds, millions of others – kept replaying in his mind, as he listened to her beautiful voice. Hange was called a genius, one of the most talented bards in all Northern Kingdoms.

Levi always considered it to be bullshit. He was sure that even in Nilfgaardian Empire there wasn’t an artist half as blessed with a gift of music as Hange was.

As she finished the song, Hange got to her feet. She slanged her lute over her shoulder and headed to the bar. As he watched her order, Levi hid a small smile – it seemed Hange was still inseparable with the damn lute. Some things never change, it seemed.

His musings were cut off abruptly, when Hange sat down at his table. In her hands she held two cups with something that smelled very much like piss. Levi cringed.

Hange finished the first mug in one go. She wiped off her mouth and then put the mug down with a loud ‘thud’. She pushed the second mug to Levi.

“Drink,” she ordered, glaring at him.

“I don’t get drun—”

“Drink,” she pressed. “I don’t care if your stupid witcher physiology enables you from getting drunk. I won’t have this conversation if one of us is sober.”

“Alright,” Levi nodded and took a large gulp from the mug. Oh, so that was ale. Disgusting. “Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Hange crossed hands on her chest. “Now answer me this – what is so interesting about the back of my head?”

“What? I don’t—”

“You do,” Hange cut him off once more. “You do understand. You’ve been staring at me the whole evening. Don’t you have something better to do? Some important witcher stuff? What the fuck are you even doing here, Levi?”

“I…” he cleared his throat, feeling small under Hange’s furious gaze. “I needed somewhere to spend the night.”

“And that’s why you decided to spend your evening in the company of drunkards, eating your soup in a corner?”

“Maybe, I’ve missed the human’s company.”

Hange threw her head back and laughed. “You missing human’s company? Don’t give me that crap.”

“Well…” for a second Levi fidgeted with a sleeve of his armor, refusing to look Hange in the eyes. It was now or never. Either he apologizes to Hange right now, or there won’t be another chance to reconcile. He took a deep breath and lifted his gaze. “Maybe, I’ve missed you.”

Hange’s eyes widened just a fraction. She composed herself almost immediately, but Levi noticed the slight change in her. Could it be that not everything was lost?

“Bullshit,” Hange answered, her tone even colder than before. “How can you miss the person, who destroyed your life again and again? Who is the sole reason for any hardship you had ever faced? Who does nothing, but shit on your future?”

Levi silently lowered his head, not even trying to stop Hange’s angry tirade. He deserved every word, every insult she threw his way. He would endure a lot more offence from her, if it meant that Hange would forgive him. If everything could go back to normal. If Levi could finally reunite with his best friend.

Hange took a deep sigh and stood up. Levi looked up at her gingerly, expecting to see her storm out of the tavern. Instead Hange went to the bar again, ordering two more mugs of ale, and returned to his table.

“They are for me,” she told curtly, when Levi tried to reach to one of the mugs. “I really can’t deal with this sober.”

“Hange…” he cleared his throat, feeling more nervous and vulnerable than when he was staring at a mob of harpies. “The way I treated you was awful… I was angry and needed someone to pour that anger out, but you didn’t deserve it. I’m asking for your forgiveness, but if you can’t grant it… just say so. I promise not to bother you after this.”

“Sweet Melitele,” Hange shook her head. “Tell me, Levi, are all witchers assholes, or was I just lucky enough to meet an exception?”

She took a long sip of ale, wincing and wiping her mouth afterwards. For a long moment, Hange stared at the table, tracing the invisible patterns on the old, wooden surface.

“I forgive you, you dumbass,” she said finally. Her words made Levi’s heart swell. He stared at her, hope shining in his gaze. “But I have two conditions.”

“Anything,” Levi promised readily.

“Anything, huh?” Hange arched an eyebrow. “Are you really that eager to have my forgiveness or are you just naturally so brave?”

“Both,” he replied, shrugging.

“My first condition,” she smiled in an almost feral manner. Shivers ran through his spine, but Levi didn’t allow himself to shudder. Showing his fear would only make Hange crueler. “I want you to help me with my experiments. I found a new potion and I need a person with fast metabolism to run some tests on it, and I need to extract four front teeth from algoul for my next concoction.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Hange nodded. “As for my first condition. My second one,” she paused, leaning in and grabbing the collar of his armor. “I need you to give me that sweet kiss of yours.”

“Well,” Levi smirked, moving closer to her, before their lips were almost touching. “Ready to be destroyed then.”

[penaltbox]

beautiful to me - shane pinto

here’s a repost of an old favorite! if you like it let me know!!

word count: ~2.3k 

__

You watch his chest rise and fall, his lips parted slightly as he sleeps heavily. He has no clue you’re awake yet, and if you had to guess, he probably wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. He was still jet lagged, even if he wouldn’t admit it, so you knew to let him sleep. 

You lay there next to him, the sunlight streaming in on the both of you, keeping you extra warm. You missed having him so close by, having his skin pressed against yours in the early morning hours. You were immensely proud that he’d gotten to go play for his country, but you loved having him back and being wrapped in his arms. 

A little grumble in your stomach has you carefully slipping out of his grasp, reaching for his NoDak hoodie that had been tossed aside the night before. Your thoughts fade back to the need, the slight desperation you’d both had when he was finally home and you could spend the night together again. You spy your bra on top of your desk and laugh, knowing he’d launched it behind his head as soon as he’d gotten the clasp undone. Patience was not part of his game this time. 

You put the bra on your closet handle before walking out of the bedroom with a smile on your face that you can’t shake. That seemed to happen a lot when Shane was around. You make a pit stop in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Leaning against the counter you scroll through your phone, looking at the pictures you’d forced him to take at dinner the night before with your friends and his teammates. It was a welcome back dinner that you’d coordinated and he’d had no idea, but you’d managed to get him a little dressed up so pictures were necessary. 

The coffee finishes brewing and you pull a mug out of the cupboard above it, setting an extra down for when Shane finally woke up. As you set the pot back down two arms wrap around your waist, making you jump and almost drop the hot liquid. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Shane says quietly, a little laugh fanning across your neck, “good morning, baby.”

You can’t help but smile anyways, turning your head to look at him and finding a match one on his face, “I didn’t even hear you walk in. I figured you’d still be sleeping for a while.”

“Bed got cold.”

He kisses your cheek before nuzzling his head into your neck, squeezing your waist a little tighter. You reach back and slip your fingers into his hair that’s all over the place. You don’t hesitate to run your hand through, tugging the strands in every direction. You feel him relax against you and you turn to kiss his head. 

“God, I missed this. The Czech was cool but Cole isn’t quite the same size as you for cuddling,” he says, making you laugh so hard you almost snort. 

“Cut it out, did you really try and cuddle him?”

“Definitely, but he’s not as nice to hold. Especially compared to last night with you,” his tone drops as he stands up, turning you around to look at him. 

You see the spark in his eye as he smirks, leaning down to kiss you with no hesitation. You press your lips against his, arms going around neck to try and pull him closer. He parts your lips to deepen the kiss as he slips one hand under your sweatshirt. You let him hold you close before you have to catch your breath. 

You pull back a little and lean your forehead against his, “didn’t get enough last night or something, Pinto?”

He huffs a little and shakes his head, “I just have a hard time seeing you in my clothes and not losing it. But I also know you need your coffee first so why don’t we do that? We can always come back to this later.”

Your heart floods over how well he knows you and you pick your mug up, stepping out of the way. He fills his own mug while you open the pantry door, looking for some food to make you both. 

“What do you think of chocolate chip muffins?” You ask, looking over at him. 

“Don’t know if that’s on the diet plan,” he says, “but I don’t really care either. That sounds good to me.”

You pull the packet from the shelf, grabbing a bowl and ingredients, Shane hovering close in case you needed any help with things as you start to mix it all together. He talks about the tournament more and you listen, loving how excited he was even though they didn’t finish exactly how they’d wanted to. You knew it had been really good exposure for him as a player, even if he’d already been drafted. 

He’s mid-sentence when you turn and look at him, trying to suppress a smile from your face. He gives you a funny look and you reach over quickly, smearing a bit of the batter on his nose. His jaw drops and he sets his mug down immediately, reaching up to wipe it off. His eyes lock on you and you can’t help but give him a wink, challenging him to try and retaliate. 

“You little shit,” he mumbles, carefully stepping forward as you step back. 

You laugh and hold your hands up, trying to keep him at arms length but he’s quicker than that. He grabs your wrist, pulling you against him. You try and fight back but he’s stronger, and soon he’s wiping a bit of the batter on your cheek as you lean heavily back against him. 

“Shane, no!” You squeal, trying to turn your face away from his attack. All it does it smear the muffin batter across your cheek and you look up at him, shocked. 

He’s laughing now as he lifts you up, his arms tight around your waist as he spins a couple times. He sets you down carefully, kissing your cheek and taking some of the batter with him. 

“Mm, tastes ready to go if you ask me.”

“You are such a pain in my ass,” you say, giggles still coming as you reach for the pan to put the muffins into. 

“Your favorite pain in the ass though,” he points at you, smiling proudly. 

You nod, not being able to deny that one, “what do you think about maybe running to the mall and getting lunch today?”

Shane shrugs, finishing off his coffee and rinsing the cup with a sigh, “that’s fine. You sure you don’t want to just hang out here today?”

“No, no,” you insist as you clean your cheek off, “we should get out. Once the muffins are done we can grab a shower and get going.”

He gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you push his shoulder in response. He swore it took you forever to get ready when it came to leaving, but you swore he was just impatient. 

You pop the muffins into the oven and set the timer, walking over to Shane after. He opens his arms without even thinking and you slip yours around his waist. He rocks you both back and forth, kissing your head. Whether he realizes it or not, he starts to trace the letters of his last name on the sleeve of his sweatshirt you’re wearing. You smile and let him continue, enjoying the feeling. 

It’s a good quiet as you stand there wrapped up in him, his heart beat clear under your ear pressed against his chest. He’d been gone long enough and you’d learned to appreciate these kinds of moments with him. He’s the first one to break the silence this time and you don’t expect what he says. 

“I like seeing you with my last name,” he whispers, causing you to look up at him. His fingers are still on the letters on your sleeve and you nod. 

You can’t help but blush from his words, ducking your head back into his chest. You’re trying to think of a witty response when the timer goes off. You let go of Shane and grab the oven mitt, pulling the pans out. 

“Should we maybe go shower now and then come grab these?” You ask, looking back at him. 

“Good idea,” he nods, grabbing your hand and quickly pulling you down the hall. 

You laugh, trying to get him to slow down, but it’s no use. He’s too much bigger than you for anything to be effective. He turns the shower handles on and adjusts the temperature while you pull an extra towel from the closet for him. 

You strip down and step in, letting the warm water wash over you. Shane steps in a second later, huddling underneath the stream and kissing your shoulder. You usually couldn’t keep things under control when you were together, but this time it’s different. 

Shane is being gentle, rubbing your shoulders and telling you how pretty you looked the night before, ‘not that you don’t look pretty now’ being tacked on with it. You smile, letting him talk and talk, as he seems to not be running out of things to say. 

You both take your turns getting cleaned up, a blush taking over your face when he watches you shamelessly. He doesn’t have to say a word for you to know his mind is on other things, but he behaves himself. 

He steps out of the shower first, holding your towel out for you and holding a hand out as you stepped out after him. You head right for your room, opening your closet to try and find something to wear. Shane wanders over to your speaker, turning it on and shuffling a playlist on his phone. 

You immediately start to dance a little, loving the song he’d picked. You slip a bra and underwear on, walking over to Shane as he sits on your bed. He reaches out to hold the hand you stick at him but he doesn’t move, other than the big smile that covers his face. 

“Dance with me, baby,” you smile, trying to tug him with you. 

“I don’t wanna dance right now. You do your thing,” he laughs, watching you like it’s the best thing he’s seen in weeks. 

You shrug and continue around your room, mouthing the words and pointing at him every so often. You’re pretty sure he takes a video of it, but you couldn’t care less at that point with the way he keeps laughing, the sound filling your room along with the music. You were so happy to have him back. 

You finally get your outfit pieced together, walking over to Shane and giving him a quick kiss, “okay I’m going to go do hair and makeup.”

He groans but lets you go, finally standing up to get his own clothes on. You go to work in the bathroom, noticing Shane after a couple minutes out of the corner of your eye. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching you get ready. He doesn’t say anything, but the curious look on his face makes you blush, his gaze a little more intense than usual. 

Instead of any response from him as to what he was thinking, he brushes his teeth quickly and kisses your cheek, leaving you to finish up your routine. Once you get the finishing touches done you put everything away, going to find where Shane had wandered off to. 

In the corner of your sectional couch, with ESPN on in the background, you find him trying not to nod off. You laugh and walk around, planting yourself between his legs and leaning back against his chest. 

“Huh?” He asks, startling a little. He wraps his arms around your waist and tries to blink hard, willing himself to wake up. 

“I knew you weren’t ready to be up and moving,” you say, leaning your head back against this chest, “you need more sleep, don’t you?”

He sighs, leaning his head back against the cushions, “I mean maybe like a power nap. I’ll be good to go after that.”

You grab one of his hands, lacing your fingers through and agreeing, “maybe we should just stay in today. Stay on the couch and watch some movies or whatever. I’ve got a new bottle of wine I haven’t opened yet.”

You turn a bit to look up at him, smiling when you see his jaw dropped. You laugh and reach back, trying to push his mouth closed, but he sticks his tongue out and licks your finger. 

“Shane, that’s gross!” You giggle, wiping your finger on his pants. 

“It’s gross that you made me get up and shower just to change your plans and have us stay inside all day,” he huffs, but holds you tight against him. 

You hum, settling back into him, “tell me you don’t wanna stay here instead and we can go.”

“Well,” he says with a shrug, “we’re already comfortable here so I don’t want to make us move. Plus you’re the cutest thing when you get wine drunk and start telling me how much you like me so staying in sounds good with me.”

You groan and cover your face, because of course he’d bring that up. He loved to pick on you about that and you had yet to have anything like that you could pick on him for. 

“It’s okay, baby. You might be a little wild and crazy sometimes, but I still think you’re amazing. I’m the lucky one here,” he says, looking down at you with one eyebrow raised and a little smirk on his face. 

“You’re getting soft, P. I like it,” you smile, snuggling back into him. 

You let out a big sigh, letting your eyes close as you feel a wave of tiredness wash over you. Maybe Shane was onto something with the whole staying home thing. He’s almost asleep when he mumbles something you manage to catch before you fall asleep yourself. 

“Love you, beautiful.”

[egcdeath]

wrong place, wrong time

summary: a drunken mishap leads you to reconcile with someone from your past. (based off this prompt)

pairing: andy barber x reader 

word count: 2.1k

author’s note: this fic has been sitting in my drafts, half finished, for like months. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: extremely brief mention of cheating

“I just think things would be better if we… you know, saw other people,” Oliver explained through the phone. 

You sighed dejectedly into the microphone, before deciding to hang up, and aggressively tossing your phone onto the leather seat next to you. You’d already had a shit day at work, and you really didn’t think that you could handle all of this today. Especially considering that you were almost certain that there was the hint of a feminine giggle in the background of that call.

You’d been expecting this for a while, your relationship with Oliver had been falling apart- slowly but surely- for a few months now, and he was ‘working late’ way too many nights for you not to be the slightest bit suspicious. But it still hurt, you were now single, and you’d essentially wasted a precious year of your life with a douchebag who ended up leaving you anyway.

You pressed your foot on the gas, and began your drive back home, before telling yourself fuck it, and deciding to turn onto a side road so you could head to your local pub. 

-----

Several drinks later, you were extremely drunk. From that point on, everything was a bit of a blur.

You stumbled out of the bar (against your own will? You vaguely remember someone telling you that you needed to leave), sat in the back of an Uber (how much did you tell them? Probably too much), arrived at your home (but why weren’t your keys working?).

Things were a bit less blurry here. You can remember yourself repeatedly stabbing your keys into the door, and when that didn’t seem to work, deciding to hoist yourself over your fence, and get in through the back.

During this whole ordeal, you tripped over a seat on the patio, losing a shoe in doing so, and nearly fell into a pool, since when did my house have a pool? You ignored that thought, then opened the back door, getting in with no resistance. 

You hobbled inside, closed the door behind you, then stumbled up the stairs, before finally finding your (?) bedroom. You flopped down in bed before realizing that you really needed to pee, and as you went to go find your bathroom, everything seemed to go black. 

----

You woke up extremely disoriented in a vaguely familiar bathtub. It faintly smelled of pine, and possibly a hint of vanilla. The tub had a modern and sleek look, yet appeared to be as sterile as a hospital room. This was absolutely not your home. But it possibly belonged to someone you knew. The tiles lining the wall did seem to ring a bell somewhere deep in the foggy abyss of your hungover brain. 

As you sat up, you groaned due to the consistent pulsing in your head. This had to be one of the worst hangovers you’d had in a while, and you were lucky that you didn’t lean over and empty the contents of your stomach right that instant.

“Stupid fucking Y/N,” you whispered to yourself. “You’re lucky all of your organs are still intact.” After stating this, you glanced down at your torso just to make sure. But a larger question still remained, where were you? Did you hook up with someone? Did you just randomly break into someone’s home? That’s a little ridiculous. Who would do something like that?

Apparently, drunk you would. In the process of exiting the tub, you concluded that you absolutely were in someone elses' gargantuan of a home, and that that person was undoubtedly down the hall, taking a phone call. Also, you were definitely missing a shoe.

You glared at yourself in the mirror, smeared makeup on your face, hair that looked so frizzy that you may as well have been struck by lightning, and of course the overwhelming scent of dry liquor that seemed to be seeping out of your skin. You turned on the sink and splashed your face, trying to completely wake up, and to partially figure out if this was real life, or just a horrible dream. 

“Fuck!” you exclaimed out loud to yourself. How would you even get out of this situation alive? Perhaps you could find a window to jump out of. No, too dangerous. Hide in the bathroom until the man leaves? Well, everyone has to go to the bathroom at some point. Leave without being spotted? Mhm, very likely. Go talk to the homeowner? It doesn’t seem like you have any other option right now. You internally screamed at yourself for being so reckless, especially having gone through all of this drama for a guy who didn’t deserve one ounce of your attention.

You slipped off your remaining shoe, then slowly made your way out of the bathroom, peeking behind the doorway to see if the coast was clear, and trying to plan your explanation in the process. As you peered around, searching for the quickest and easiest exit, you realized just how familiar the home was. But what really did it for you was a painting on the wall. 

This was Andy Barber’s home. The same man you hooked up with a few times before ghosting. You sighed exasperatedly at your own poor decision making for what felt like the millionth time that morning.

You had to get the hell out of here. Fast. Lost shoe be damned.

You somewhat remembered the floor plan, so managing to get out unnoticed began to seem just a tad bit more possible. You began to jog it down the hall, trying not to be too heavy footed as you went, in the event that Andy was standing in the eyeline of one of the open doors. Unfortunately for you, in the midst of your beeline down the hall, you were spotted. 

“What the..? You know what Lynn, I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“I can explain! Don’t like… kill me or something. I promise you that this is just a big misunderstanding,” you were speaking without really processing anything that you were saying. You turned to face the man, and couldn’t help but to smirk a bit at the sight of him. You forgot just how attractive he was, with a full beard, fluffy hair, and soft blue eyes that seemed to be boring straight into your soul from across the room. Not to mention his sculpted body, which you swore you could make out beneath his sweatpants, and worn white shirt. Really, Y/N? First you ghost a man, break into his home a year later, and now you’re objectifying him? 

You moved towards the door and began to speak again, your words flowing out at a million miles per minute, “Uhm, so long story short, I basically got really drunk last night, and I thought your house was mine, so I kinda broke in. But I’ll be seeing myself out now,” You gave a curt smile, and looked towards the stairs. “Before I go, any chance that you’ve seen my left shoe somewhere around here?”

It was clear that Andy was very confused, but as you read his face, you could see that he was far more intrigued than angry. “Hey, not so fast.” He approached you quickly, his eyebrows lifting in surprise, and his mouth gaping open slightly. “No fuckin’ way. Y/N?”

You scratched the back of your head awkwardly and nodded, “yeah.” 

“You’re not getting off the hook that easily. Lucky for you, I was about to make breakfast, aaaand I’m not totally opposed to being joined,” he gave you a genuine smile, and a playful little shrug. 

“That’s fine with me but- this sounds kinda strange- can I use your shower first?”

“Go right ahead. Mi casa su casa, right? I mean, kinda sounds like that’s what you were thinking last night,” Andy peered at you inquisitively at this, “I’m just kidding. Feel free to use anything you need.”

You couldn’t even blame Andy for his passive aggression, but that didn’t stop you from sulking the whole way back into the bathroom.

----

“I forgot how good your water pressure is,” you announced while coming down the stairs, clad in a college hoodie that you’d found in the depths of Andy’s closet, and shorts that were just a tad too large for you.

“Thanks, I guess?” Andy flipped a pancake, then turned to get a good look at you. 

“You’re welcome. It smells so good down here,” you slipped into a barstool at his granite island, and observed him while he cooked, “so... you still live here alone?” You asked while you were passed a mug of coffee.

“Well, yeah. I mean that’s kind of what happens after your wife and son die.”

“Uhm.. sorry. For bringing that up again,” you glanced down awkwardly at your dark drink. 

“It’s okay, they’ve been gone for a while,” he sat down at his seat, setting down a plate of food for you and himself. “What’ve you been up to? Apart from breaking and entering, of course.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you began, cutting into a syrup-soaked pancake. “You’re no saint either. I can’t think of anyone in their right mind who would gladly break bread with someone who drunkenly broke into their home.”

“That’s fair,” Andy stated, almost dismissively. “But it's not like we’re total strangers. We have history.”

You scoffed at this, “like hell we do,” you muttered. “Anyway, things with me have been pretty boring. Same job. I had a boyfriend, but he just dumped me like, 12 hour ago. I’m pretty sure that he’s been cheating on me for like, the past four months.”

“That sucks,” Andy commented, shoveling a piece of pancake into his mouth. 

“Yeah, it does. How about you?”

“You know, same old. Still an ADA, still getting messages from random people about that trial, and of course, still perpetually lonely.”

“By no means do I mean to impede, but maybe you’d be a little less lonely if you let people in,” you suggested, looking up from your food to Andy, whose face gave away the offense he was feeling, “I said maybe.”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, brows furrowing.

“Come on, Andrew. You know exactly what I mean. Like with us, I thought everything was going perfectly well, until I was half asleep and you were telling me that you weren’t ready to commit. Literally moments after you were balls-deep in me.”

“Don’t call me that, Y/N,” Andy squinted at you in agitation. “Is that why you stopped picking up my calls?”

“What do you think?”

He sighed softly, “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been trying to do better. I talk to a… counselor… every now and then. Everything’s just been different ever since they passed, you know? It’s hard to form connections after your most intimate ones disappear in the blink of an eye.”

You frowned a bit at the man, and set down your fork. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Do you, though? Get it?”

“Not really. I was just trying to be supportive,” you turned a bit in your seat to get a better view of Andy. “I just wonder if we had this conversation a year ago if you and I would be in a better position now. I really liked you a lot.”

Andy was silent for a moment, and observed you pensively. “Let’s try again, then. It seems like you and I both are ready for something new.”

“Oh Andy,” you rubbed the back of your neck anxiously. “I just got out of a relationship less than a day ago.”

“Then we can take this, whatever it might end up being, slow. It would be nice to have a friend around who doesn’t just want to talk about work, and tell me that they’re sorry for my loss.”

You nodded, “I’ll probably need a shoulder to cry on at some point sooner than later.”

“So... friends?”

“Friends,” you agreed with a smile and a lift of your shoulders. 

Part of you hoped that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something great.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 5

Neil x Reader

Chapter 5: Blue blood

(see chapter 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: everything should be easier from now on, right?

warnings:  language, alcohol mention, 18+

author’s note: I know part 5 was supposed to be a finale. 

It’s not.

This is just where the story took me, and I think splitting it this way is going to pay out in the end.

song for this chapter: Laurel - Blue Blood

Anyway, enjoy! And let me know what you think, please?

-----

You stared at your boss, trying to wrap your mind around everything you’d just heard.

“Does that technically make me--?

“An assistant squad leader, yes,” said The Protagonist. “At least for the time being.“

He didn’t need to say anything else - you were well aware he meant it could go both ways from now on.

You nodded, glancing to your left at Neil.

“As long as it’s not an assistant to the squad leader...” you said and shrugged, trying to keep a straight face while Neil snorted loudly at your comment. You exchanged quick looks and you finally allowed a small smile to appear on your lips. It felt good to catch him off guard for once, and him getting a reference was a nice surprise as well.

“What’s so funny?” the boss asked, eyeing you warily.

Just as you opened your mouth to apologize, Neil collected himself enough to let out a long musing sigh.

“Ah, one could dream.”

You let out an exasperated huff and kicked him in the ankle, stifling a giggle. Fucking hell, you didn’t know what had gotten into you. Or him, for that matter, almost choking with laughter at your reaction.

TP must have been thinking the same because his eyes darted between both of you from under a raised brow. He cleared his throat.

“Are you two done?” he asked, and something in his tone made you straighten in your seats instantly as if you were two misbehaving kids in the principal’s office. “I need the first drafts from you by tomorrow noon.”

“Of course. Thank you, sir,” you said, internally cursing at yourself for losing your cool.

Your boss shook his head slowly and you could swear his usual polite expression cracked for a split second, revealing a glimpse of a smug smile hiding in a corner of his lips.

“Now go, before I change my mind.”

You grabbed the documents from the desk and mumbled a quick goodbye on your way out.

Neil followed you closely, his sparkling eyes showing no remorse for what had just happened.

“Would be easier if you still despised me, wouldn’t it,” he teased as he closed the door behind you.

You groaned and smacked his arm with the papers.

“What makes you think that I don’t?”

“Oh please,” he let out a throaty chuckle and sent you a roguish smile. The way he seemed to be almost obnoxiously confident in how this combo worked on you drove you mad every time. Not that he was wrong, it simply didn’t help the case he was trying to make. “Meet me at my place later?”

You gaped at him. “Can’t we use the conference room?” you asked and started walking down the empty corridor, hoping that being on the move would help your clearly malfunctioning mind.

Neil matched your pace. “It’s gonna take hours and the chairs there are far from comfortable.”

“Who would’ve thought you have such a sensitive ass,” you snickered and narrowed your eyes. “Admit it, you’re just looking for an excuse to lure me to bed.”

You stopped by the elevators. Neil hummed as he reached out to press a button to call one to your floor.

He leaned your way slightly and lowered his voice. “I think we’ve already established that we don’t really need a bed for that.”

...fair point. 

You swallowed with effort, turning his way. He was looking at you with an amused expression on his face, but you saw the way his gaze darkened under your stare. You could be annoyed with him being inappropriate all you wanted, but you had to admit - it was kind of reassuring how some things stayed the same after the recent events.

“Promise to behave?”

Neil raised a brow and a corner of his lips twitched.

“Only if you do.”

“Deal,” you said and walked into the elevator, nodding in a greeting to a couple of agents inside.

As the door closed with a small hiss, you caught a playful twinkle in the blue eyes.

“And only till we finish preparing that draft.”

His voice could be the prime example of corporate professionalism, and that one out-of-context line was obviously not enough to send an elbow to his ribs without raising suspicious looks from your colleagues.

...but you did it anyway.

---------

The time in Neil’s apartment could be counted by the emptied cups of coffee, the amount of scratched ideas, or the number of times you caught each other glancing at one another. And when you finally got close to cracking the case of planning that temporal pincer movement, it was already late in the evening, and you were glad you’d spent the last couple of hours on a comfy sofa instead of one of those god awful chairs in the conference room.

Neil kept his promise and was surprisingly easy to work with. His take on things, not yet tainted by years in the field, provided many fresh ideas, while your experience allowed you to catch and assess any potential risks on the fly. The way he paid attention to your words and cared about your feedback made you feel heard and appreciated, and that was something you weren’t quite used to. You didn’t have too much time to muse over it though, because there were still some parts of the plan you had to go through and the exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, making you less and less productive with every passing minute.

You crumbled a piece of paper in your fist and groaned, tossing it on top of a small pile of paper balls on the floor. As you moved your hand to your face to pinch the bridge of your nose, you noticed red and blue smudges from permanent markers covering your palm. Fucking hell. Choosing to rest your forehead on your knuckles instead, you closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts. You heard Neil standing up and moving to the kitchen. Seems like he needed a break as well.

A moment of silence was abruptly interrupted by the clanking of glassware. You raised your head and stretched your arms, only then realizing how stiff you felt after so many hours curled in one spot. Just as you got up, Neil came back with two glasses of what seemed to be a whiskey.

“Drinks?” you asked, puzzled. Anything with caffeine would be more fitting with your current state, especially since you were not done with the work yet.

Neil smiled as he handed you the glass.

“Thought we could take five minutes off to celebrate.” Seeing your perplexed face, he beamed a bit wider. “...your promotion?”

You laughed at your own confusion. Right. Shrugging lightly, you stirred your glass.

“Oh, it only means I got stuck with you, and I don’t know if it’s a thing to celebrate,” you said, holding back a mischievous grin.

Neil rolled his eyes and let out an amused sigh. “Drown your sorrows then.”

“That I can do,” you arched a brow and chuckled. “Cheers!”

The glasses clinked and you met Neil’s glance with something new shining from under the usual playfulness. He noticed the curiosity in your stare and smirked as he took a sip of his drink, sitting down on a sofa.

“You know what else we could use those five minutes for?” he asked casually, leaning back on the pillows with a roguish smile you knew too well.

You looked him up and down slowly, hoping the whiskey would help with the sudden dryness inside your mouth. That slightly unbuttoned navy shirt with rolled-up sleeves and the way he spread his legs made you weak. You mustered all the self control your tired brain could scramble before speaking again, the lit-up eyes being any indication of the effect he had on you.

“It’s closer to four now, I’m afraid.”

Neil put down his glass on a coffee table and knitted his brows together, pretending to run a short calculation in his mind.

“Ample.”

You downed your drink and teased, “Is it now?” as you placed the empty glass next to his.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said and reached out for your hand, pulling you to him before you could say anything else. As you fell on him with a quiet yelp, Neil wrapped one arm around your waist, securing you on his lap.

A faint protest about the draft not being finished got stuck in your throat. Captivated by the look in his eyes, it dawned on you that it was the first time you were so close, now without the rage boiling in your veins, without the danger of someone walking in on you; just you and him, focused on each other, too awestruck to make the next move.

You brushed a wild strand from his forehead and your fingers traveled further through his hair. Neil’s forehead creased, his jaw went slack and he searched your gaze, trying to figure out your intentions. As your eyes wandered around his features, your fingertips followed them unhurriedly. Grazing lightly against the eyebrows, gliding over the cheekbones, trailing along the sharp jawline till his breath hitched and his lips parted ever so slightly. You noticed how longing his stare became and you smiled softly. Was he always so gorgeous?

Leaning in and cupping his face in your hands, you could feel him tense for a split second, but as soon as you pressed your forehead to his, the arm wrapped around your waist pulled you closer to him and Neil exhaled slowly. He lifted his hand from your lap and his long fingers combed your hair and slid down, rubbing your neck gently.

You closed your eyes and let out a small sigh, relaxing under his touch, under the heat of his body. Breathing in the scent of his cologne, both arousing and grounding at the same time. Tilting your head, you nuzzled his nose and you could feel his brows furrowing as he followed your motion, stroking your nose up and down slowly. Tenderly. Brushing his lips with your fingertips, you lost yourself in this moment. In the warmth spreading through you. In the way your breaths intertwined.

Your hands traced back to his jaw and you felt it clenching in response.

Neil’s hand left your neck and you opened your eyes, only to notice his conflicted expression. And a glimpse of sadness tainting the blue irises. Seeing the confused look on your face, he palmed over your hand on his cheek, pulling it away hesitantly.

“We should get back to work,” he said, avoiding your gaze, his voice raspy and hollow.

The heart sank in your chest as you sprung from his lap. Of course.

“Yeah, right, sure,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling lightheaded, with the cold sweat slowly drenching the back of your shirt and the pulse pounding heavily in your ears.

You were such an idiot. Should have known better. You were never gonna learn, huh?

Gritting your teeth, you grabbed the markers and a fresh stack of papers and sat down on the floor at the far end of the coffee table, trying to ignore the enigmatic stare being sent your way.

Neil let out a deep sigh and reached out for his unfinished drink. As he put down the empty glass, he shook his head, looking somewhat defeated.

You cleared your throat and resumed where you'd left off, determined to get over the last details of the operation as soon as possible. Luckily, focusing on the work numbed down the crippling embarrassment. At least for the time being.

And although the initial flow was nowhere to be found, the plan was ready and bulletproof in a little over an hour. The presentation was finished. And so were you. Or at least that’s how you felt, collecting various blueprints and schematics covering most of the flat areas within your reach. 

You looked around, checking one last time if everything was ready to submit.

“Guess that’s it,” you said and started gathering your things, getting ready to leave. 

Neil followed you to the hall and watched as you put on the coat.

“Listen, I...” 

Holding your breath, you turned his way. Waiting for his next words.

Meanwhile, he struggled to find them, and a frustrated frown clouded his features.

“...let me at least call you a cab?”

The void in your chest grew an inch. Right.

“I’ll take a walk.” Your mouth contorted in a weak attempt to smile. “See you tomorrow, blondie,” you said dryly and walked out of the apartment, nauseous and desperate to get some fresh air.

How silly of you to think that it could be about anything other than sex. 

That’s what you get for being willing to open up.

Yet another painful reminder that you weren’t a relationship material. 

You exhaled shakily as your legs carried you to the only place able to stop your mind from spiraling.

Aim and pull the trigger. 

Repeat.

Simple.

(next chapter->)

[ffwriterbts]

Lunar- BTS Werewolf AU Part 2

AN: As I’ve said before, if slowburn BTS werewolf AUs that have springlings of angst, smut, and fluff, this is the story for you! Other than that, please leave a like or comment so I know you’re enjoying the story!! I’m also looking for a beta reader or two for this story, if you’re interested in that! Just shoot me a message or leave a comment and I’ll get in touch!

Word Count: 2455

Warnings: None

Posted: 12 Dec 2020

Masterlist 

Previous Next

Eventually YN fell asleep, but she couldn’t remember when. When she woke up, however, she was laying down, with the wolf’s massive head resting on her stomach. Absently, she strokes the soft fur around his ears, sighing and curling into the blanket. She can’t help but love the feeling of it between her fingers, smiling to herself as she thinks semi-clearly about the events of the night for the first time. 

YN is completely shocked by the events thinking about them now. This giant wolf not only understands her, but he talks back. He was comfortable in her home, the doors were big enough to take him in easily, and he was oddly sweet, in making her finish the chicken. And to top it all off, he was severely injured! Taking a quick glance at the bandages, YN has a passing wonder as to how much healing the wolf had done overnight. 

Quite suddenly, the wolf lets out a short growl, and YN jumps. The massive head lifts, looking her in the eye, her hand still tangled in the fur behind his ears. It seems like forever that the two stare at each other, eyes locked, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. 

He breaks the intense eye contact, turning his great head and yawning before standing. YN watches in awe as the wolf stretches, careful of his injury, before he turns back to look at her expectantly. 

‘Eat?’ 

The voice, low and clear and much less pained, startles the girl into motion. 

“Yes of course, let me make you some meat. How’s beef sound? I’ve still got a lot of that in the fridge.” YN stands, quickly clearing the blankets and pillow from the ground. Hearing no clear objections, YN heads into the kitchen, ready to prepare enough food to feed an army. 

She doesn’t pay too much attention to where the wolf is or what he is doing, but she can feel his eyes following her from one place to the other, and she can feel the draft from the door that he had nudged open. Quietly, she explains what she’s doing to the wolf, wanting him to be comfortable. 

She couldn’t have explained why she felt the need to tell the wolf everything she was doing, but for some reason she felt that it was important that this wolf trusted her. 

It is because of this that YN is in the middle of explaining why she prefers to use one seasoning brand over the other when the wolf lets out an ear-shatteringly loud howl. She flinches so hard she almost spills the cooking meat, hands flying to cover her sensitive ears as she whips around to find where the wolf is and what he’s doing. 

The great wolf, his beautiful black coat shining in the morning light, is standing just outside her back door, eyes gliding over the trees as he lets out another howl, his face turning up to the sky. He looks like he is waiting for a response, and YN can tell that he got one when his head snaps sharply to the left of the small path YN loved to take. 

Quite suddenly, the wolf turns around, padding back into the house and partially shutting the door behind him. He leaves enough room that he could stick his nose or paw into the crack and open it if he needed to, giving himself an out. YN lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when the wolf returns to lazily lying in a patch of sun in the kitchen, his attention fully on YN and her movements while she makes the food. For whatever reason, she didn’t want the wolf to leave just yet. 

                                                           ~~~

The rest of the morning and the afternoon go well, with no hitches or startles. YN quickly falls into the habit of telling the wolf all the things she’s doing, not wanting him to be startled by anything she’s doing, and the wolf just watches her, not reacting much to what she does, and instead occasionally bumping his head into her hand for a light scratch behind the ears. 

When YN changed his bandage after they ate, she was shocked to see how much he had healed. While the wound was still clearly very tender, it looked like it had been healing for weeks or months instead of just a few hours. YN shook it off, deciding that it was just some strange ability this even stranger wolf had. It had been shown to her clearly before this point that he was special in more ways than one, so why not have accelerated healing? 

After the bandages were changed, and YN told the wolf just how well he was healing, the pair went back into the living area. YN took a seat on the lovely leather couch her uncle had left her, taking her usual seat and telling the wolf that he could come up if he wanted and was able. With a small noise that YN couldn’t place, the wolf clambered onto the sofa, laying his great head in her lap again. 

Without a second thought, YN turns on the TV and absently begins to stroke the fur around the wolf’s ears, relaxing at the repetitive motion and mindless noise. Together, they sit like that for a few hours, both of them resting and healing and mulling over the events that had happened to both of them. 

                                                             ~~~

There they stayed, for a long while, both half asleep and mulling over the events of the past 24 hours. YN was slowly coming to terms with everything that had been happening around her, with all of the weird things this strange, inky wolf could do. Absently, she wondered what else the wolf could do, and if the fanciful bedtime stories her uncle used to tell her were actually true. 

The wolf seemed to be resting peacefully, seemingly completely unaware of the turmoil swirling around in YN’s head. The wolf was just waiting, wondering when the rest of his pack would get there, and what the determination about YN would be. He knew that, despite his growing fondness for the strange human, if the rest of the pack didn’t share his liking for her, he would be forced to do things he would rather not do. 

When the door bursts open, YN might as well have jumped completely out of her skin. When before there was relative silence and peace, the room now had an unknown number of bodies snarling and pawing around. YN was understandably terrified, not having any idea as to what was going on or how that would affect her. 

The black wolf that she had been sharing her home with for the past day rose to his feet, eyeing up the other wolves that had entered the room. YN could feel the tension as the black wolf snarled, snapping as the other wolves did the same. All she could think about were the sharp, gleaming teeth and huge bodies around her in a way that was almost suffocating. 

Fear was rolling off the girl in waves, to the point that the wolves all were put on edge, looking for a threat deserving of that great amount of terror. 

It takes a couple minutes, but eventually all the bodies in the room calm down. YN gets off the couch and heads towards the kitchen, giving herself the illusion of an escape that puts her mind at ease. At this point, she is able to see that a  beautiful grey wolf and two light brown wolves have joined the black wolf she had opened her home to. 

Her living area is filled with the sounds of the wolves “talking” to each other, which YN decides not to break until there is a reason to. 

‘Who are you?’

Once again, the voice is directly in YN’s head, but this time it isn’t the black wolf. It seems to be coming from the grey wolf, but YN couldn’t be sure of that. 

“I’m YN, I moved in a few months ago. My uncle left me the house when he passed.” She answers simply, eyes flitting between the new wolves as “her” wolf comes to stand beside her. There seems to be some sort of silent communication going on between them that YN isn’t privy to, though she feels that it’s important for some reason she can’t place her finger on. 

‘Niece? Good.’ 

The same voice is in her head, and the fierce look in the eyes of the wolves fades into a softer, more general one. YN is confused by the statement, and the actions, remaining on edge, awkwardly shifting on her feet. 

“So, uh, do you guys want some of the beef I made earlier? I don’t know how far you guys have gone or have yet to go but food’s always a good idea, right?” YN can feel her ears burning with an unknown embarrassment, as she looks between all of the wolves before her. 

One of the light brown wolves yelps and heads towards YN, who puts her hands up on instinct, fear rising in her chest that she was going to be the one on the menu. Instead of attacking her through, the massive animal licks her palms, yelping some more as the word ‘eat’ is exclaimed into her mind. 

Letting out a little giggle and petting the massive head before her, YN is put more at ease, smiling as she turns and walks into the kitchen properly. 

“Well, I’m not quite sure how I’ll do this, because I only have one of these big bowls and there are four of you here, but I’ll figure it out.” YN muses to herself, again telling the wolves everything she’s doing so they don’t think she’s up to something, completely unaware of the fact that each and every one of the wolves in her home can read every one of her thoughts with complete and utter ease. 

“Oh! I have a baking sheet! I can just put it on there and you guys can share, yeah?” YN asks, dropping to her knees to rustle through a cabinet and find the baking sheet in question. Hearing no complaints, YN prepares the meat for the wolves, placing it carefully on the floor, holding onto one corner so it wouldn’t slide around on them. The two brown wolves quickly move to take tentative bites, the more playful of the two occasionally tossing his head over towards YN to receive a few scratches before returning to his eating. 

Once they finish, YN takes and dutifully cleans all the dishes she had made that day, ears straining to make sure she wouldn’t be attacked from behind, but yet trusting them enough to turn her back to them. She sings softly as she works, playful kid songs that she used to sing with her grandparents as she did her chores, inadvertently playing those loving memories for the wolves in her room as she does so. 

By the time she has finished with her chores, she turns to find the black wolf asleep directly behind her in a nice patch of sun, the grey wolf is carefully watching her actions from the corner of the room, and the two brown wolves laying further away, also having found nice patches of sun to lay in. YN smiles to herself, finding the sight of the wolves lounging in her space oddly sweet, before stepping over the black wolf, crouching down beside the great beast, giving him a few soft pets to partially rouse him, waiting for his eyes to open before letting him know that she would be checking his wounds and changing his bandages. 

She could feel the shift in tone as the great wolf let out a bit of a whine as the bandages come off, the others perking up a bit to watch what YN was doing, immediately ready to jump to his defense if she were to try to hurt the wounded wolf any more. 

Weary of the eyes on her, YN sets about making sure that she has everything she needs to clean the wound and change the bandages with as little pain to the wolf as possible. 

“Alright wolf, this is the part that stings, I’m so sorry.” She mutters under her breath as she does what has to be done, impressed by the amount of healing that’s been done already. 

“At this rate, you’ll be good to go by late tonight or early tomorrow morning.” YN sighs, taking the old bandages and throwing them out, before turning towards the wolves again. 

Checking the time, YN shakes her head and explains to the wolves that she is going to go to the study and write, as that’s what she usually does during this time, and that they are welcome to come with her if they want to. Turning on her heel, she heads towards the study on the second floor, fully expecting the wolves to either leave, or to just stay where they were. She really did have work to get done, regardless of the strange wolves that seemed way too comfortable in her space. Deadlines were deadlines, and she really didn’t want to have to crunch out a crap chapter for her editor, regardless of everything going on around her. 

What YN didn’t expect was for the black wolf to follow right behind her, limping slightly as he goes, but following nonetheless. Or for the two brown wolves to half-bark at each other, following behind their inky counterpart much more playfully, bumping into each other in a way that YN would have said must have been painful. Or for the grey wolf to follow behind them, much more somber than the duo in front of him, moving smoothly and surprisingly silently through the house.

“You do know there’s no sun to lay in, the study is the innermost room. Please don’t mess anything up, if you can help it, the study is my private place, really.” YN speaks much softer than she had been, causing the wolves to pay more attention to her words than before, feeling the importance of them. 

She opens the door, smiling to herself at the sight of the beautiful old books, the scattered journals, the overstuffed-and-ancient chairs, the slightly dusty paintings on the walls from artists YN couldn’t hope to know, the soft lighting, everything. It was comforting, but packed full of memories, some of which were still too painful and fresh to think of. 

YN heads over to the giant desk, opening her laptop and settling into the seat. She was aware of the four pairs of eyes that followed her movements, and she similarly followed theirs as they each found areas to curl up in. The grey wolf stayed by the door, facing it as if to make sure nobody tried to come in. The two brown wolves circled around the room a bit, before settling down by the overstuffed couch against one of the walls, both of them moving around periodically. Something in the back of YN’s mind told her that they were young, restless in a way that gave away their age.

It was the black wolf, however, that captured most of YN’s attention. He decided to place himself directly behind the huge desk chair, similarly positioned to the grey wolf, in the way that he seemed to be there for some sort of protection. She thought it was strange, the way these giant wolves were being so gentle, so protective. 

They settle in like that, with YN quickly getting immersed in the chapter she needed to finish, words flowing out of her in a way that made her feel almost buzzed. She loved that feeling- the feeling of creating, of making something out of nothing and breathing life into something so dead as a piece of paper or a computer screen. 

The whole scene was peaceful, in her opinion. She felt protected, she had ideas flowing out of her, and despite the fact the desk and it’s accompanying chair were both way too big for her and a little uncomfortable, she absolutely adored the study and all it had to offer. For whatever reason, it felt to her like home- the wolves in her space, the ideas, the old-artsy style of the room, all of it. 

[scummy-writes]

This is really awkward but heyo lets talk about things I never wrote when I said I would

There's probably been a lot, though first thing that comes to mind is me promising to at least try to finish requests that were sent out to me as far back as literally a year ago. Then, it's the 'suitors reacting to mc being pregnant' series I wanted to do, but ended up being unable to. I think there's been snippets of old fics I've wanted to publish (like some kinktober snippets, or drabble ideas I shared, other small things), said I would publish sometime 'soon', and then never did.

I don't know how to really Approach the topic because it's going to be a lot of excuses in the end, even when I'm wanting to try and explain the reasoning behind it all.

I can be firm in saying that, at the time, I did fully plan on finishing what I had set out to do. I wanted to, but then I got held back from doing so. From life events, but also a lot of mental issues.

This is probably going to sound so stupid, especially since I've been writing for years, but I have such godawful anxiety when it comes to writing.

I used to have a lot of fun with it, and I still do whenever I manage to finish something, but as much as I hate to admit it, being hounded on for over a year about writing a character 'ooc' in a past fandom really did a number on me. It's not fun waking up to messages chewing you out about how ooc a character is, and that stretching out to cover a whole year.

I've gotten made fun of irl for my writing as well. Like back in highschool teachers mocking my stuff in front of the class and my friends chiming in, all of that fun stuff.

In a lot less words; now I just get scared of writing characters that I don't feel at least like. 80% confident in writing.

So thats the reasoning behind me saying I'll do a full suitor series in xyz, and then never ended up doing it. I get too nervous its going to be too disappointing, and even when I thought I could do it and had ideas to apply, I chickened out. I couldn't convince myself any of the ideas were good enough and constantly scrapped it all.

And that in turn stretches out to requests. I thought at first I was just too stressed from comms/pandemic starting/work, but i think it still links back to that. I get insanely nervous about posting things, and its only gotten worse as time goes by. (Like, hey, I've been trying to work through it. I was seeing a therapist, but after her kinda scoffing and laughing at me regarding writing, kinda accepted she couldn't help me out in that department. )

And then, in turn, a lot of this applies to fics. I know I've posted drabble snippets before and said something along the lines of trying to tackle x drabble after I finish y thing, and then seemingly never doing so.

When, currently, a lot of kinktober drafts have morphed into a longer christmas fic that I never got done on time. (And, you guessed it, it's because I keep convincing myself its not good enough to pursue). Not all of them. I mean, some have pushed towards a oc fic for Amélie, some for other smutfics, etc. (Recycling I guess?)

I sound completely bonkers in all of this

I just don't know how to explain it. I mean "Hey, I fucked up, I'm sorry if you all felt lied to, I'm sorry" just seems lazy, and I just want to make it clear that there's reasons behind everything, the lack of fulfillment wasn't supposed to hurt anyone, it just. Happened. I'm sorry.

I wish it could be as easy as just sitting down with a word document open and just Going, but it's not. I'll sit in front of an open word doc for hours and just spend the time convincing myself no ones going to enjoy whatever it is I'm working on.

Which, is NOT a commentary on a lack of support or something. You guys have always been sweet, and in my opinion you are all quick to leave nice comments on whenever I do manage to post. (And those comments are not tossed aside, I really do appreciate all of them)

It's more of a commentary on my mental state I guess, and how bad my anxiety with writing how gotten. You guys don't get to see a lot of the 'fun' behind the scenes of a few select friends having to basically hold my hand while I agonize over publishing a new fic or not.

None of this is said to guilt anyone, because no one following me should feel guilty. No ones pressuring me outside of myself, and you guys support me and are always nice. It's just the remnants of a weird stalker/harrassment issues I've had, and irl issues. I mean. Hell, I feel like it's normal to have issues after going through a year of regular harrassment.

Just. Hoping it sheds some light on things. I get that it's annoying regardless, and I understand that, I would just feel worse if I didn't try to explain why I never got around to finishing them.

I'm trying not to promise stuff as often. Because I'm going into another month of working overtime, and, honestly, I'm trying to prepare on finding a new job. My current one is causing me to go through new anxiety meds and making me freakout way more than a job should.

In light of that, I will guarantee that I'll do the theo pegging fic. I can't promise finishing other fics or drabbles, but since the fic is supposed to be a celebration for you all, I can't not do it.

I can't guarantee *when*, it might be months from now, but I will have it done eventually. I'd feel worse than ever if I didn't, and that will drive me to finish it eventually.

That's the only thing I feel comfortable promising right now.

I'm sorry for such a long and spirialing post. I've been feeling guilty about a lot of this for a while now, and then it was brought up that I've probably or have made a lot of people feel lied to. So I thought I would attempt to address it.

In other news, due to work, I haven't been posting much and have been somewhat 'hiding' in my server. Sorry for barely any activity, I just feel kinda. Annoying. So I haven't been on tumblr much.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au - 14

“So. You’re a shapeshifter huh?” Eskel asked taking a drink from his water skin. Leaning performativity casual against the stone. The mangled side of his face hidden from view.

“Yep.” He tugged the wool cap over his ears to cover against the biting cold of the courtyard. Ciri’s power sung out in frustration as she repeated the training drills over and over again. As she had been for days.

Hopefully they’d call a break soon or he would have to before she bubbled over.

His skin prickled with discomfort. Eskel hummed so quietly he’d only noticed it when Lambert had taken Ciri out hunting and they’d run into each other in the library. The tiny thrum of his magic.

“Bloody well glad for it too. I’ve no idea how you all stand winters up here as people.” He tucked his glove under the sleeve of his jacket before returning them to their spot under his armpits. “Half tempted to spend the winter as a polar bear so I don’t freeze to death.”

“You could. Lambert would be very jealous.”

“Ah but I’ve seen your very impressive bear skin rug and I’d hate to give you any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“I know.” He bumped their shoulders together. “I’m messing with you.”

A few beats pasted before Eskel burst out with a forced ease, “Lambert caught a buck last year and Geralt wouldn’t let us eat it because it looked too much like you apparently.” Eskel’s nerves made him want to fidget. But it was really far too cold to move his hands from their warm spot.

“You did eat it though right? Because otherwise that’s a huge waste.” He smiled crookedly, watching him from the corner of his eye.

“Course. He didn’t talk to us for a week.”

“And you noticed?” Eskel smirked back at him. Easily in spite of his discomfort. He smiled so easily. Eskel's amusement tickling his skin.

“It took a few days.”

Ciri’s frustration grew several decibels and he pushed off the wall. “You are far too attractive for any of our good.” He told him before he leapt from the staircase they’d rested against, soaring the space between them.

He cawed out his approach as she swung at the training dummy and-

Suddenly he was flying in the other direction.

He shifted before he smashed into the ground and rolled with the force of her shock wave.

“Ow.” He protested when he finally came to a stop in a snowbank.

After one too many moments of silence he looked up. To all the wolves gapping at Ciri and her frozen in place. Training sword held in place where the dummy had once been, now it's straw was scattered across the yard.

“I’m fine thank you for asking.” He called out. Unsticking them all as they looked to him. “Just got thrown across the courtyard. Totally fine. No need to worry about the poor bard.”

“Jaskier?” She turned, far too much concern in her eyes.

“No I am actually fine.” He assured standing and brushing snow off. Tugging the cap down to insure it stayed in place. He frowned. “Better than fine actually.” His skin was warm and his ache that had settled into his bones disappeared without a trace. The bruises he felt should have been forming didn’t. “No harm done. But I do think it’s time for a break yes?”

They nodded. “Early lunch.” Eskel agreed. As they stalked down into the hall.

They set the table as the witchers finished the meal prep and he curled up on the arm of Ciri’s chair and began finger brushing her hair so he could braid it.

“You’re not scared?” She asked as he worked free a knot.

“Of what? Cause I’m scared of a lot of things- spiders. Frogs. Wasps. Cages. A string breaking while I preform at competition-“

“Me.”

His heart broke for her and he continued his work without pause. “No. Don’t see the point in that.”

“You’re afraid of frogs but you don’t see the point in being scared of someone who threw you across the courtyard?”

“Someone has never tried to eat a frog before and nearly died from the hallucinogenic affects I see. It was not a pleasant afternoon and I feel completely justified.” He ran his fingers threw her hair once more to check before starting his braid. “You accidentally threw me across the courtyard, which Geralt has also done and most of them weren’t accidents, and I feel better than I have in years so no. I’m definitely not.”

She was quiet as he worked so he hummed a song to fill the space.

“You’re really not hurt?”

“Really not hurt.” He promised. “Haven’t felt this alive since- oh.”

“Oh?”

“Since your mother tossed the entire banquet hall away to protect your father.”

She spun her head to him and he barely managed to hold onto the braid. “You were there?”

“Front row to the whole debacle. Would you like to hear about it?”

She nodded as they heard the other’s voices down the hall. They both glanced to the door. Unable to not listen.

“Wasn’t just some sign shit Geralt- that was fucking magic. Real chaos. We don’t know shit about real magic! You can’t expect us to-“

“I know you think human hearing is terrible but it’s not that terrible boys!” He called out to them finishing the braid. “How about I tell you that story after dinner? Hm?”

She nodded. He kissed her crown and he watched her sit up. Regally. Preparing for the conversation ahead.

“Ah to suffer another meal with the witcher’s terrible table manners.” He sighed as they dropped the food on the table. “The things we must bare.”

She shot him a small smile.

“How come you didn’t tell us she had magic!” Lambert snapped at- at him?

He blinked at him. “What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell shit like that- why didn’t you tell us!”

“Huh?” He glanced at the others at the table. Irritation or concern or confusion on their faces as they studied him. Including Geralt’s. Which was the real shocker. He looked between Geralt and Ciri; who appeared just as flummoxed by the situation as he was, as he gapped.

When it became clear that no one else was going to answer his very obvious question he forced the words out in a voice that was, perhaps, slightly higher than intended. “I thought you knew.” He told Geralt with a wave of his arms.

“How would I know?”

The incredulity in Geralt’s voice was just insulting frankly. He waved between them. Noises floundering out of him. “I- what- its- what.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. “What other blatantly obvious things am I supposed to tell you now? The sky is blue. The keep is made of stone. Ciri has magic. I thought you knew!”

Geralt sighed into his hands. Lambert speared a hunk of lunch.

“Can you tell how strong she is?” Vesemir asked pragmatically as he grabbed his own food. “If we can train her-“

“Oh you definitely can’t.” They glared at him. “What? The only one here with anything even approaching magic is Eskel and no offense but you’re nowhere near her level.”

Eskel sat up a little straighter in his seat as he devoured his lunch.

“Who is?” Geralt asked. “Near her level.”

He leaned back in his chair and thought about it. He didn’t grab any food. He wasn’t hungry and probably wouldn’t be until the magic wore off.

He’d eaten as a griffin though. His mouth tasted like blood- but he hadn’t needed to had he? He’d just wanted to. Wanted to eat and sleep and kill.

Show me what you are.

“Jaskier?” He jolted and looked over at Ciri.

“Ah. Well. You know Yennefer?” Geralt shot him a dirty look. “Just checking, you’ve had issues with amnesia before! Anyway.” He continued with a wave of his hand. “If Yennefer is lightning then Ciri is the sun.”

They all stopped. Actually that bread didn’t look half bad. He ripped a chunk off and chewed on it.

“So.” He mouthed around the bread. “She’s going to need an actual teacher.”

“Could you do it?” She asked.

“No.” He laughed around the bread crumbs. “I am magic. That doesn’t mean I can do magic.”

“Marigold?” Lambert suggested. Triss- he supplied after a moment.

“Sure.” He agreed. “After Yennefer turns us down.”

The room dropped several degrees as he chewed.

“Why would we ask Yennefer first?” Eskel growled.

Geralt sighed. “Because if we don’t she’ll never let the slight go.”

“Is” Ciri hesitated, taking in the faces around the room. “She that bad?”

He wobbled his head. “Well.” He drew out the word. Thinking of all the times she’d treated him like nothing- like less than nothing. Like something that had once had great value but was now irrevocably broken.

And then he thought of the other mage. So much weaker and yet able to dominate him completely.

How Yennefer had never done that. Had never wanted that. Even though it would have been so easy.

And then he thought of Ciri and how much she needed Yennefer. How her chaos swelled and terrified her. How Yennefer was lighting in a bottle and might be the only one who could teach her to control the sun.

And then. Then he followed the djinn’s magic in Geralt’s chest to the lightning in her veins. To the longing in her chest.

She wanted something real.

“No.” He said at last. “We all just took Geralt in the breakup.” He grinned easily.

There were several snorts and Geralt glared fiercely at him.

“You.” Ciri glanced between him and Geralt. Trying to judge the situation. “Dated her?”

“That’s a word for it.” Lambert grinned nastily into his ale. “I’d call it-“

Geralt smacked him.

“Why’d they break up- I hear you asking.”

“She didn’t!” Geralt growled.

“But she would given the opportunity.” He smirked as Lambert shoved him in retaliation. Distracting him. “And the answer is Geralt makes terrible life choices.”

She softly laughed and he counted it amongst his greatest victories.

“What can you shift into?” Vesemir asked, pointedly not looking up from his book, where they all gathered around the fire before bed. A storm howled outside. He suspected if not for the warmth of Ciri’s magic he’d be frozen from the draft alone. The impressive amount of furs Lambert was wrapped in strengthened his conclusion. He adjusted the cap over his ears anyway. “Geralt’s only mentioned beasts before but when you meet back up he said you were a griffin.”

Geralt tensed against his back and Ciri glanced back at him from where she was propped against his legs. He turned the page, even though he hadn’t finished reading it, to show how nonplussed he was by the question.

Over the years he’d only ever explained what he could do, what it meant, his limitations perhaps a handful of times. There were so few people in the world he’d trust with this.

His life he trusted to a great many friends. But this. This was his freedom.

“Suppose I’ve never felt like a griffin before.” He didn’t intend to feel like one ever again. “Or had the magic needed to follow through on such an impulse.”

“So if you had the magic,” Vesemir glanced at Ciri, “And felt like it you could be anything?”

“Well I think you’re underestimating the importance of feeling like it but I suppose that’s the general stroke of it.”

“Have you been a bed? A chair? That’d be real helpful I bet. Hide in a broom closet and just. Be a broom til the mob passes.”

“Have you ever really felt like an inanimate object Lambert?” He shrugged. “Shifting into a mouse usually accomplishes the same goal anyway.”

“If you shifted into the monsters in the bestiary Ciri could safely apply the skills she learns on how to identify and best the different creatures.” Vesemir stated.

Ah. Now he knew why Vesemir had brought this up when Geralt had clearly told them not to, based on the way they’d all danced around their questions since he’d arrived. Well. Except Lambert, but he'd only arrived a few days passed.

“The day I turn into a necrophage is the day I die. Seen more than enough of their innards over the years to know that’s never going to be in the cards thank you very much.”

“Alright no necrophages. But anything you could shift into we could add a far more detailed description of to the bestiary. Updated drawings. Behavioral notes-“ Eskel seemed remarkably enthused about the idea.

He thought about how empty the library was. Figured there was probably a reason for that.

“He’s not a party trick.” Geralt snapped, very valiantly.

“No, no it’s fine.” They all looked so excited by the prospect. Ciri’s eyes were gleaming. He itched under the cap. Hats were really not his look. But it was better than his hair. “Requests? I make no promises about being able to do it but I can certainly try.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned.

“I’ve got energy to burn after this morning.” He reassured waving his hand in Geralt’s face behind him. “Which you should know given the bonfire you made when you used igni to light the fireplace.”

“That was cause of you?”

“Pretty sure.” He nodded to Eskel. “Requests? Or shall I go back to my book?”

“A unicorn?” Ciri asked.

Simple enough in theory but, “They’re extinct.” A sad truth Geralt had confirmed years ago. “I’d rather not be the last of my kind.”

Are you the last unclaimed familiar? There are so few of you in this world. The mage had said. Had he ever met any? Where their thousands of people like him who hid in small mage-less towns or wild unkempt forests. Who didn’t shift and stayed safe in a single form their whole lives?

Maybe there were countless people like him and he’d just never recognized them- how would he recognize them? Maybe there were loads of them and he just didn’t know where to look.

Or maybe he was one of the last. One of the last whose mind wasn’t held under chaotic waters to drown until he forgot everything he was.

Maybe he was one of the last.

Then where had they gone? There were days long past where every sorcerer, mage and druid had a familiar. Someone like him.

He’d never met any who did. Not that he'd met many.

“You could do the griffin again. Since we know you can shift into that.” Eskel suggested.

Geralt’s arm squeezed at his bicep. Like he suspected what a bad idea that was.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to see the form that hadn’t recognized him even a little.

“You could always try a dragon.” Geralt teased before leaning in and whispering right into his ear. “You don’t have to. We can just leave.”

The sparkle in Ciri’s eye grew.

“The only issue there- since I now know they’re real- is that I’ve never seen a living one. That egg does not count!”

“Borch wasn’t dead?”

“What?” He snapped around blazing fury. “Borch was a dragon?”

“You. Missed that part?”

“I am now Extra mad you didn’t wake me up. I could have seen a living dragon? You ass!”

“Not my fault you slept in!”

“Do you want to play the blame game about that day- because I definitely think missing seeing a living dragon is one of the lesser issues I could choose to be angry about.” He collapsed into Geralt’s lap and glared up at him. “Hm? Hmmmm?”

Geralt looked away but nodded.

“Glad we agree. Alrighty let’s see what I can do.” He climbed off the back of the couch. He was irritated and wanted to impress his cub. His mate’s family. That would help. Probably.

He shifted up into a bear. Because it was easier to feel big when one was big.

Lambert whistled.

What had he grabbed onto to become a griffin anyway?

He’d been caged. He was cold. He was alone and unwanted but not powerless.

He wasn’t powerless now. He could protect-

His mouth was full of blood.

The form snapped under him. Dropping him down until his heart raced and his incisors grated against each other and his ears were tight against his back and-

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s hand reached down to hold him and he shifted up to meet it. Tail wagging slowly even as his ears stayed folded back. “That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

They liked his songs well enough but that was all he had. He wasn’t pretty or handsome with his terrible hair shoved into an ugly winter toque and Geralt's ill fitting clothing and he wasn’t strong or helpful or a good cook. He couldn’t teach Ciri magic. Couldn’t hunt them more food even as he ate theirs.

No wonder your mate’s dead.

No wonder your mate didn’t want you.

Maybe she’ll make a better travel companion then.

They’d asked one thing of him and he couldn’t even do it.

It was easy to be a form he loved.

He didn’t love the griffin.

He didn’t love what it had done. Even if it had saved him.

He was scooped into strong arms and there was a dismissal of “Bedtime,” and he tried to swallow the sounds escaping his throat. Tried to stop the way his paws shifted to claws shifted to wings.

He couldn’t even do this. Couldn’t even be something useful.

Sure he could be a horse and carry them when Roach got tired. Could scout as a raven or pull buckthorn from a river without risk of drowning. But all the wolves and all the cats and Witchers knew he wasn’t useful. He didn’t want to be.

And when he wanted to be he couldn’t.

“Jaskier.” Geralt repeated under the blankets in their bed. “Talk to me.”

There was a request there- what shape do you want me to be- I’ll stay that way forever if it means you’ll keep me. Please.

“Thank you. Can you tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t done,” He grit his teeth as he pulled him in closer to his chest. “That in a long time.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not.” Geralt squeezed the back of his neck. Tension leached from him. Geralt nuzzled at the toque pushing it up with his nose.

He grabbed it. Pulling it down firmly. “Don’t.”

“Jaskier.” He plead.

He curled tighter in on himself and pulled the hat over his eyes. “Just couldn’t find a form that fit. Hope you got me out of there before it got too repulsive- although maybe Ciri will appreciate knowing she’s not the only one who can’t control her magic right? Gotta find the little victories.”

“Jaskier what’s this really about?”

“Nothing.”

Geralt grumbled his frustration.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t about anything.

It was about how maybe he was the last of his people- his family- and it was about how his form wasn’t what he needed it to be and it was about the things he’d done that he couldn’t remember and didn’t want to and the blood in his mouth and it wasn’t about any of that.

He was scared and frustrated and alone and not good enough and-

“Is Jaskier okay?” Ciri called from the crack in the door.

He shifted out of the bed to her despite Geralt’s protests.

“I’m alright.” He leaned against the door frame. “I’m sorry for scaring you- I know its very upsetting looking when I shift like that.” He didn't know but the way Geralt paled after an attack like that was proof enough.

“Was that because I asked you to shift? Or because of this morning?”

“No.” He crooned. “No. I-“ He paused. Took her hands in his. “It was like this morning. You got frustrated and your magic responded. My shifting responds to my emotions too so when I got overwhelmed that happened. But it doesn’t hurt.” The emotions that caused it hurt. But the shifting didn’t at least. “Promise I’m okay.”

She watched him sternly.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and rolled back on his heels. Sweeping a hand in front of his face dramatically. “I’m very worried Yennefer responds quickly to our message because she always looks immaculate and I am really not a hat person.”

“Really?” Her lips curved upward just a twitch.

“Ciri dear I am wearing Geralt’s clothing! I haven’t worn a color in months. Months!” He slid down the door frame and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I’m dying. Melitele forbid Yennefer see me like this. My reputation will be ruined. Ruined!”

Ciri huffed out a laugh. “Oh no. How terrible.”

“It is! I could hear the sarcasm in your tone but I am ignoring it for the sake of our friendship!” Geralt picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. “The audacity! The horror!” He continued to lament as they bid good night.

Geralt dumped him in the bed. “Gonna tell me what it was actually about now?”

“I am genuinely concerned about meeting Yennefer looking like this.” Geralt scowled down at him. “Would you feel confident and prepared if you had to face a monster without your armor?”

“Yennefer isn’t a monster.”

“You’re missing the point. I like how I look. I know it’s just hair and I know it’s just clothing but I don’t look like me. I don’t feel like me. I’m wandering the woods without armor and even when I’m not being attacked it’s still scary because I know how easy it would be to bleed me out.”

Geralt considered that and slowly sat down next to him. “Okay. I don’t know how to fix that.”

“Time will fix it. I’ll visit a proper barber and my tailor in the spring and all will be well again.” He knew that. He did. It just didn't make it easier.

He nodded. Tilted his head and looked at his face. Then dragged his gaze lower to the way his body did and didn’t fill out Geralt’s clothing. “I like how you look.”

“Sure you do.”

Geralt pushed him back in the bed. Leaning over him. “I do.” A hand came up to his head and pushed under the hat. He tensed but Geralt made no move to pull it off. “You’re not a hat person. I don’t mind that your hair’s not perfect cause it’s still soft and smells like you.”

His other hand and down the fabric of his shirt. “I like you in my clothing because it makes you smell like me. Like you’re mine. Even if it’s not what you’d normally wear.”

He hummed. “You want to show me just how much you like it?”

“I do.” He laced his fingers behind Geralt’s neck and tried to pull him down for a kiss. He didn’t move. “Was that really all that was?”

He closed his eyes. “No. But I don’t really want to get into all of it tonight.”

“Okay.” He said. But didn’t move closer.

He sighed. “What do you think it was? What’s worrying you?”

“You’re still angry about the mountain.”

“Hm. I did apparently miss a chance to see a living dragon so.”

“Mhm.”

He grabbed Geralt and rolled him to his side. “Geralt you’re a terrible liar. And if you hadn’t meant what you’d said, at least a little I’d never have believed you.”

“I was trying to break the bond. I thought I forced you into this life Jaskier.”

“Just like you forced Yennefer?”

He flinched.

“If you’d asked I’d have told you. That I was the one that bound you. That I hadn’t meant to do it and didn’t know what I was doing when I did but that I didn’t regret the time I spent with you. But you did. You regretted our time together.”

His gold eyes squeezed closed. He took several steadying breaths. His thumb stroking a strand of hair that had escaped the hat. “Not everything’s about you Jaskier.”

He frowned but resisted the urge to squawk about how it definitely seemed like it was about him.

“I was hurting from Yennefer and scared I had trapped you and terrified for the child of surprise I’d cursed just like you two. And I’m still terrified Jaskier. I don’t know how to be a father.”

“I’m not sure anyone does. I mean how many kids has Vesemir raised? And I’d be real surprised if he thought he knew how to do it proper.”

“Lambert’s good at keeping him humble.”

“That he is. It’s going to be okay. You’re not doing this alone.” He took Geralt’s face in his hands and traced the grain of his stubble. “Besides. I bet Yennefer’s going to roll up and out-parent both of us so hard that I can safely retire to my true calling of fun uncle.”

“Lambert’s teaching her how to make bombs. I think he’s got that position claimed.”

“Ah well I’ll figure out something.”

“Sure you will.” He smirked.

He propped himself up over Geralt, shoving him onto his back. “Alright I really need to kiss that damn look off your face. We good?”

Geralt smiled and pulled him down into a kiss. “We’re good.”

He walked the wall while the others trained in the courtyard. They couldn’t really expect him to work by himself.

They’d asked him if he wanted to join. Or less asked and more told him to when they'd arrived.

He thought he’d sent a fairly clear message when he flipped them the bird become becoming an actual bird and flying away. Spent the afternoon gathering dirt on all of them. Their horses were just so eager to share.

He’d spent a lot of time and energy not learning how to fight and he wasn’t going to change now just because he was living with witchers.

In a big crumbling keep.

It kind of looked like a fortress. A castle. Like something out of a storybook.

They did already have a princess.

How hard would it be to have a dragon?

He fluttered over a broken section of wall.

His keep shouldn’t have broken sections of wall. How was he supposed to keep his hoard safe?

Cause dragons had hoards. And were fiercely protective of them. He assumed.

What would he hoard? Instruments maybe. Admirers. Books.

Laughter roared in the courtyard. He looked down at them. At his family.

His.

Care for. Love. Protect.

He leapt between the stone’s crenellations.

What else made dragons dragons?

Old. Wise. Powerful.

Well there had to young stupid dragons. He could fill that niche. At least he was powerful. He had the sun warming his bones.

Prideful.

They were beautiful.

He wasn’t right now.

But he could be. He could be whatever he wanted.

The edge of the crenellation crumbled under his feet and he began tumbling down the steep walls to the cliffs below.

“What else can he turn into? Can he turn into a shrieker? A unicorn? A dragon?”

He spread his wings and twisted into the sky.

Freedom. It felt like freedom.

He loved to shift.

He loved this form.

He circled his home. His nest. His hoard, gathered in the courtyard as he landed.

“Fucking hell.”

He settled on the steps into the courtyard and tucked his chin over the edge to watch them back.

“That one’s new.” Geralt told them unhelpfully.

Rude. He huffed at Geralt. All hot air. The snow that had collected on his armor and hair melted.

“You’re a dragon!” Ciri marveled as she slowly reached out to touch him. Her small hand roving over the scales of his face. He rumbled his approval.

“Show off.” He smacked Geralt with the tip of his tail without looking away from Ciri.

“You’re so fucking warm!” Lambert was plastered over his flank. “I’m stealing your bard for the rest of the winter.”

“No you’re not.”

“It’s too damn cold in the keep. He’s mine now. Jaskier you’re mine now. I claim dibs.”

He’s got dibs Geralt. Guess I’m his now.

“That is not how this works.”

“It definitely is.” He’s right. It definitely is.

Geralt turned and started to walk away. He hauled him back by the scruff of his shirt.

Eskel leaned against him. “Not that I’ve seen a lot of dragons but-“

Creative liberties.

“Not going to be terribly educational then.” Vesemir sighed pretending not to be leaning into his warmth as much as he was.

I’m very educational. I’ve taught her what a red dragon might look like.

“Ciri this isn’t what red dragons look like.”

“It’s what a red dragon looks like.” He nuzzled her in approval.

It’s what your red dragon looks like. He pointed out.

“I suppose it is.” Lambert and Eskel made retching noises at Geralt. "What our red dragon looks like."

Ours. His chest broke out in a mighty purr. His hoard.

His family.

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

Just fools in love (first draft, tell me how this sounds in the comments please)

The steam hit Fred's face, leaving him in a coughing fit as he passed through the wall. "We've done this three different times now and the damn steam never makes it easier." George coughed out. Fred and George stepped away from the path of the steam, Bill messing up their hair hair as he passed. "Try not to cause too much trouble this year. I'd love to graduate in one piece." Bill said. "You do realize who you're talking to right?" Fred asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "God, I'm not going to make it am I?" Bill groaned. "Don't give Bill anymore stress this year." Molly said, warning the two twin boys. "We won't." George sighed, clearly lying due to their wonderful reputation around their home. "On the train now, go on. Have fun!" Molly said. Fred pulled George along. "We do not want to see mum cry. Again." He muttered. Carts were already filling up, Fred and George finally finding an empty one towards the back. "Think we'll make it?" George asked. "If Charlie and Bill made it, I think we'll be fine." Fred assured. George nodded before the cart door opened. "Uhm.. do... Do you mind if... I... If we..." You stumbled over your words. "Oh Y/n. Out with it!" Another girl said. You sighed and looked at her. "Can we sit with you?" The other girl asked. "Sure." George nodded. You sat down next to Fred, him looking at your eyes. They seemed to almost swirl with colors. You weren't looking at him though.

You were playing with your fingers. "Y/n, I grabbed this earlier from your bag. Thought you might want it for the train ride." The girl said, handing you a book. You thanked her and made yourself comfortable in the corner, reading silently. "She's not very social at first." The girl said. "I'm George. That's Fred." George introduced. "Angelina. And that's Y/n." She said, you raising your hand as a greeting. Fred couldn't place why you were interesting to him. Maybe it was the pen behind your ear, the band-aid on your knee or the polar opposite friend you somehow made. "No offense but how does a quiet person make friends like you?" Fred asked. "I speak sometimes Fred." You commented. You didn't look up from the book, seemingly enthralled by its pages and contents. "Any reason why she's so charming?" Fred asked sarcastically. "She and I grew up together. She's cool, trust me." Angelina gushed. Fred could've sworn there was a flicker of a smile, daring to grace your lips. You squinted at a line in the book though, underlining it with the aforementioned pen. "she's in deep now." Angelina chuckled.

Angelina seemed used to this, ignoring any of the faces you made as you read. By the time the train finally started to move you finished your book. Angelina noticed the closing of your book and looked over. "Well?" Angelina asked. "Dead. Again. What is it with the Greeks and death?" You asked. "That's like... The sixth one you've read with that outcome." Angelina noticed. "You'd think with so many cautionary tales of fate, they'd stop trying to change it." You shrugged. "What were you reading anyway?" Fred asked. "Ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?" You asked. "Me and George aren't big readers." Fred said. "Hmm." You squinted at him. "We're pranksters." George said. "Little tip: don't drink anything around us." Fred warned. "noted." You muttered. "Either of you fancy practical jokes?" George asked. "I don't mind them." You said earning a snort from Angelina. "What?" You asked. "that's bull." Angelina told them. "Uhm. Hello? Two older brothers? Three legends as Uncles? All of which played pranks on me and others endlessly?" You waved. "Oh? Like what?" Fred asked innocently. "Nice try. Not giving either of you ideas." You said, pointing your pen at Fred. "Y/n does have a talent for outbursts." Angelina warned. You gripped your pen that seemed to rattle at the mention. "Hey! We don't know them and I'm not fond of advertising that!" You snapped. Angelina nodded. "My bad." She said. What... Did that mean?

"Anyways. What houses are you hoping for?" Angelina changed the subject. Fred could've sworn your pen almost... Rattled? "Our family is usually Gryffindor." Fred said, still looking at the pen. You could feel his gaze go from the pen then to you. "I'm fond of Gryffindor too." Angelina nodded. "Ravenclaw seems nice to me." You said. "That doesn't surprise me considering you're the first year that brought a Greek tragedy as free time reading." Angelina chuckled. "whatever." You shrugged. Fred couldn't seem to remove Angelina's comment out of his head. "Oh! Candy cart! Who's in?" Angelina asked. You got up and followed her.

"They seem nice." George said, watching Angelina through the glass. "Did you notice Y/n's pen rattled after Angelina made that comment?" Fred asked. "She might've gripped it too hard." George shrugged. "Maybe." Fred said, watching you through the glass. You soon sat back down and stared at the scenery. "Hyping kids up with sugar before school. Terrible plan." Angelina said, snapping two candy bars in half. She gave George and Fred a piece, sharing the other pieces with you. You ate it, smiling at your friend. Fred swallowed the chocolate. "Remember what Remus always says?" Angelina asked. You let a laugh escape from your lips. "Everything can be solved with a little bit of logic and a whole lot of chocolate." You quoted before laughing again. Fred couldn't help but smile at that sound. It was... Cute.

"Say, Y/n you said you had two older brothers?" George asked. "Yep. Regulus and James." You answered. "So you're with the Black family... Isn't your grandmother--" Fred noticed the pen roll on the seat but you stopped it. "She doesn't know much about her." Angelina answered. "Dad kept me away from her." You answered, gripping the pen.

Focus.

Keep it controlled.

George noticed your eyes, seeming distant as you stared off. "Do you enjoy having older brothers?" Fred asked. "uhm.." you cleared your throat, blinking a few times to regain focus. "They're a pain but I love them." You said. "Regulus is... Interesting." Angelina snorted. "You mean nuts like Uncle James?" You asked her. "I thought James was your brother?" Fred asked. "My brother was named after my Uncle James." You answered. "Actually he wants me to look out for Harry next year." You said to Angelina. "Harry better not turn into more of a pain." Angelina groaned. "You know who he gets it from!" You sighed. "Prongs." You both nodded in unison. Angelina sucked in a breath. "Did your dad give you the--" "It's in my bag." You chuckled. "I swear you're speaking another language." George said. "hmm. Should we tell them?" Angelina asked. You chuckled. "Not yet. Keep the mystery alive." You said. The two boys exchanged a curious look.

A boy popped his head in. "Cold?" He asked you. "A little." You nodded. He tossed you a jacket and walked away as you slid it on. "Who was that?" George asked. "My brother James." You answered. "I don't get it. Regulus acts more like Prongs than James does." Angelina said. "James and I spent more time with Moony and Wormtail than Regulus did." You answered. "Who the heck are 'Prongs', 'Moony' and 'Wormtail'?" Fred asked. "Prongs is my Uncle James, Moony is my Uncle Remus and Wormtail is my Uncle Peter." You answered. "Weird nicknames." George said. "Get close enough and you'll find out why things are weird." Angelina said with a chuckle, passing you a card to a chocolate frog. You stuck it between the pages of your book and gave her a small smile.

Fred almost saw Angelina's words as some unspoken challenge. He did already want to know more about you. Maybe this was like that book you were reading. Maybe you couldn't escape fate.

[sidhelives]

🗑 and ❓ for fanfic asks.

I'm going to do these in reverse order so I can plug a chunk of text under a -continue reading- thingy at the bottom 😉

❓Write an alternate summary for a published fic without using names. (Points if your followers can guess the fic.)

Subterfuge and contemplating murder as foreplay.

🗑 What is one fic idea that you loved at first but then scrapped?

Oh, I have the best one for this.

I had an idea for a sit-com style fic (chapters labeled as episodes, tropey as fuck, the whole nine) surrounding a Hawke who became pregnant with Fenris's kid after their act two encounter but ends up with Merrill during her pregnancy after he bails. Fenris comes back and kind of forces his way into the house to help raise his kid.

Three bisexual idiots and a baby if you will.

I ended up scrapping it because I realistically didn't have any ideas past the premise. I was trying to plot out the pilot and realized I had nothing past the first 1000 or so words.

I might come back to it someday if I find time to actually plan or with a cowriter or something but for now it's permanently set aside.

I provide you my entire, unfinished draft for the pilot of this mess after the break:

And Baby Makes...Four?

A single knock at the door Hawke could ignore. Someone else would get it or the person would go away, in either case it was not her problem, and, Maker, did her feet ache. It was a rare treat to have the opportunity to lounge in an overstuffed sitting chair before a raging fire in the manor library, swollen feet propped up, a book resting on her bulbous belly, and a single knock was not enough to make her even consider tearing herself away from it.

A second knock was annoying, but Hawke met it with the same "not my problem" attitude and focused more intently on her book. Bodhan or Merrill would take care of it, and besides, she had been meaning to finish Hard in Hightown for ages. Varric (or Uncle Varric, as he had begun referring to himself) was getting increasingly put out by her inability to make it through the novel, and it was the least she could do considering how much help he had been recently.

Insistent pounding, however, she could no longer simply ignore. The firm rhythm of metal against wood quickly became grating, and Hawke could feel the nagging beginnings of a headache beginning between her eyes. With an exasperated sigh she tossed the book aside and heaved herself upright, feet and back protesting as she waddled through the manor, the unrelenting bang bang bang of the knocker getting louder with every step.

By the time she reached the anteroom, Hawke was right angry.

Who would be audacious enough to pound on the door of a noble at such a late hour?

Who would be brazen enough to draw the ire of the Champion of Kirkwall?

Who would be stupid enough to invite the scorn of a woman eight months pregnant?

Hawke flung open the door, scowl in place and a scathing string of obscenities ready on her tongue, but they withered as she saw who had come.

"Fenris?"

His hand was still upraised to continue the onslaught of knocking, and he had the decency to look embarrassed about it, tucking the offending limb behind his back and clearing his throat. His eyes flickered between her face and her stomach, settling on the former before he spoke. "Evening, Hawke."

"Evening…" Both his sudden appearance and his manner felt out of character, and Hawke responded cautiously, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What... are you doing here?"

He didn't appear distressed, rushed, or anything else which would explain his presence at her door. He looked as he always did (full armor, massive sword, grumpy expression) but for a large rucksack thrown over one of his shoulders and a noticeable upturn of his sharp chin, which told her that whatever he was about to say had been carefully planned and rehearsed, and would not be easily rebuffed.

"I'm moving in," he announced firmly.

Hawke's brows shot up and her mouth dropped open. "What?!"

"What?!" Merrill's voice echoed Hawke's from the entryway behind her. The elf scurried up to her side, expression modulating between disbelief and disapproval, one hand sliding to Hawke's lower back as the other rested possessively on her belly.

Fenris's attention caught on that hand and he glowered. "That's my child, and I want to be here for them. I have every right."

Merrill scowled. "Oh, yes, now you want to be here? Where were you months ago when Hawke told you about the babe? You had a chance to be there and you decided to sulk in that dismal mansion of yours instead."

"No? Perhaps I should have taken up blood magic, that's solved all of your problems, right?" Fenris pointed a taloned finger at her accusingly. "You don't know everything, despite what the demons you cavort with might have you believe."

"I know enough. I know that when a strong, beautiful woman Like Hawke loves you, you don't throw that away for loneliness and cheap wine." Merrill snapped back, her chest pressing against Hawke's shoulder as she leaned in.

Fenris scoffed. "It's very expensive wine, thank you very much."

Snorting in exasperation, Merrill looked at Hawke who was still gazing at Fenris with a dazed expression. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I'm thinking." Hawke responded absently.

Merrill gaped at her. "Well I've already thought about it." Her attention snapped back to Fenris. "No to infinity. Goodbye."

The dazed look in Hawke's eyes cleared. "Merrill," Her tone was cautioning, and she patted the other woman's shoulder comfortingly.

"Sorry," Merrill's anger deflated slightly. "You tell him."

Hawke smiled appreciatively and kissed Merrill's temple before her gaze wandered back to Fenris, shifting from foot to foot on the stoop. "Why don't you come inside?" She ignored Merrill's indignant look as she stepped out of his way, shuffling her aghast partner with her.

Fenris seemed just as surprised by this turn of events as Merrill was, but recovered quickly, giving a gruff nod and tramping into the chamber.

"You can't really be considering letting him stay?" Merrill complained. "I mean, I'm not naive, I know what you felt for him, after all, babies don't come about due to exhilarating conversations on the redeeming qualities of dusty old bottles of wine. And I know that those kinds of feelings, they're big, they take up so much space in your head, and they're not going to just evaporate in a cloud of smoke, even considering what he did to you." She very pointedly looked at Fenris, who looked away. "But this is our home. This is Little Bird's home. How could you even think of letting him in here after how he's behaved?"

Hawke closed the door behind Fenris, sighing heavily and rubbing her temples. "You're right. Fenris hasn't been as present as I would have liked," she began slowly.

Fenris opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Hawke held up a single silencing finger, giving him a pointed look and his jaw snapped closed again, allowing her to go on. "I know you had your reasons. Perfectly justifiable ones, I will admit, but that doesn't mean Merrill is wrong that I was hurt by what came to pass."

Merrill gaped. "Justifiable—?!"

"But," Hawke cut her off with another extended finger, her raised eyebrow disallowing any further interruptions. "Fenris is correct that he has a right to be here. This is Little Bird's home, and like it or not, he is their father."

Fenris seemed as shocked by this omission as Merrill and gave Hawke a curious look. "I must admit, I did not expect you to be so resonant to the prospect."

"For once, Fenris and I agree on something." Merrill crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her bottom lip in protest.

Hawke shook her head, arms outstretched. "I can't say it's something I'd considered before, but I also didn't expect you to show up on my doorstep. The fact that you came at all—" She sighed and bit down on one knuckle contemplatively.

She looked at Merrill. "Would it really be so bad to have an extra set of hands?" She asked gingerly. "We have the room, and he's just going to get gloomier and gloomier if we say no."

"Have you seen his hands?" Merrill retorted, directing a sharp nod at Fenris's gauntlets.

"They do come off you know," he informed her, eyebrows low.

"Oh that's not what I meant and you know it," Merrill snapped. "You're a killer."

"And you're a blood mage. I don't believe you're in any position to be judging the cleanliness of anyone's hands," Fenris shot back instantly.

"Will both of you knock it off?" Hawke whipped them both with a disapproving glare. "I can't think with the two of you going about each other like hackling hounds."