#oxford hollow is too narrow too

[zhalfirin-binds]

So, what happened was, I was rushing a step. Simply as that. Printing was already weird, because for some reason printer simply decided to stop printing before the last 2 sections were printed. (There was paper and toner a plenty.) I noticed as I was building sections/signatures (and after I had to literally had to fold back EACH sheet because I somehow had folded them all the wrong way, but it was fine, no harm done. Easy fix.)

I took extra care to fold the last sections correctly, got to sewing, finished the book and only on reading noticed... the very last section was folded the wrong way. All present and accounted for, but each sheet was out of order which made reading a hustle.

Luckily this is an easy fix.

I printed the last section again. Folded and cut in half so I had single sheets

In the next step, I cut out the pages in the wrong order and left over a small ledge, about 3-4mm. I used the cut out pages to adjust my book height. (I trim my books so the newly printed sheets were not the same height anymore as the trimmed book block).

I applied a small strip of glue on the freshly printed sheet that was next in order and pushed it under the first small ledge. (A piece of paper helps with getting a clean line and really just gluing a small strip without too much glue on it.)

I did the same with each new sheet and pushed it under the next empty ledge until they were all glued in. Now in correct order. Last I put some blotting paper and something (it's silicon paper, I use silicon paper for that, but really, a sheet of plastic sheet protector does the job just the same) to prevent any possible excess glue from gluing the papers to each other instead of just the ledge and let that dry between boards and with a weight on top

Last I trimmed the front edge again so the added sheets were the same length as the ones in the book block.

(Oh, and have a peek at this too narrow oxford hollow that got pulled loose.)

[shutteredislands]

REYLO MODERN AU FIC RECS

Hi!! I spent my entire winter break reading reylo fics and I feel like I’ve found some gems! I’m boring and don’t like angst, so most of these are pretty fluffy, however, always read the tags before reading. Anyways, happy reading!

Already Home -  College, Roommates, A/B/O, Soulmates AU - Complete - Rated E - 79k

“Oh stop being all Alpha-y.” She flexes her foot, rolling her ankle as if to prove a point, and he doesn’t miss the wince that crosses her expression. “You aren’t my Alpha, and you definitely aren't my soulmate,” she mutters.

He can’t help but let out a dry laugh. “Thank god for small mercies.”

Okay so this is a trope fest but it was so good! I’m not gonna explain the plot in depth because I think going in blind is best for this!

Baby, It's Just Biology - Professor/Student, A/B/O AU - Complete - Rated E - 113k

For Rey Jackson, trying to finish your degree in Biomedical Science at Harvard is difficult enough when you're one of the few Omegas on campus.

It's made even more difficult when your Professor is the one to trigger your heat. You can't help it, it's just your biology.

An Alpha Omega love story.

This is the perfect balance of angst, fluff and pure smut. This one Is a lot angstier than anything else on this list, but you can see every stage of this relationship and I loved it so much! Please read the tags on this one!

I’ve got you (under my skin) - Nanny/Single Parent AU - On Hiatus - Rated E - 81k

“Hi, I’m Rey. I’m here for the—”

“Nanny,” Ben blurts out dazedly, still trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts. “You’re the nanny.”

Her smile hitches up a little wider. “Well, I might be.”

Suddenly, Ben thinks he might be in for a whole new world of problems.

Because Rey Johnson is still most likely the only thing standing between him and disaster, that much hasn’t changed, not by a long shot.

And Ben can’t seem to stop staring at her mouth.

In which Ben hires Rey to watch his son... but he can’t seem to stop watching her.

Okay so I almost never read WIPs, but this one was left off in a pretty good place so don’t worry about cliffhangers or anything. I am a sucker for single dad!Ben so expect more of these. I loved this fic so much and get ready for a SMUTFEST.

Light My Fire - Rivals to Lovers, College, A/B/O AU - Complete - Rated E - 20k

When rivals Ben and Rey break into a professor's office together, it comes out that Rey might not be the Beta she thinks she is.

I’ve never been the biggest reader of enemies to lovers, until this. This was so so so good! I loved their banter so much, and this is another smutfest lol.

Peacock - Fake Dating, Enemies to Lovers, Neighbors AU - Complete - Rated E - 72k

Thanks to a series of misunderstandings, failed attempts at flirting, and loud Katy Perry music, Ben grows to hate his new neighbor.

Proposing to her wasn't the best solution to his problems.

This is, hands down, one of the funniest fics I have ever read. I cried actual tears because of how funny this is. Slowish burn, but their banter will keep you engaged the whole time. I love this so much!!

An Unexpected Vacation - Scientist, A/B/O AU - Complete - Rated E - 62k 

“You don’t care that someone, that people will watch you fuck?” He looks two seconds away from puking. “Like multiple, multiple people will be able to describe your vagina. They’ll probably analyze it in a boardroom. Someone will feel proud about a shitty PowerPoint full of annotated pictures. They will use words like ‘arousal fluid’ and consult charts and these things will never not be digitally saved. That doesn’t bother you?”

“Are you suggesting my vagina is unworthy of analysis?”

--

In which Rey attempts to bolster her bank account by volunteering to fuck an Alpha in a scientific study. Plans go pear-shaped when she accidentally triggers scientist!Ben’s first Rut.

This was a really funny smutfest and I loved that. I loved Rey and Ben so much, and Ben was the perfect “I hate everyone but you” boyfriend! I love this!

She Doesn’t Normally Bite - Single Parent/Teacher AU - WIP - Rated E - 37k

Ben Solo is a single dad to 6-year old Ellis. Her teacher isn't the old-cat lady that he expects and naturally, sparks fly when they meet. Rey helps show Ben that he is allowed to be happy and the romance is DELICIOUS. There will be the happy ending we all deserve.

Both Ben and Rey have a lot to navigate, and of course - things are never straight forward.

Tw: Bens wife died when their daughter was born - whilst it is mentioned periodically, it does not form a significant part of the story. There'll also be warnings in the notes for the particular chapters it'll be mentioned in.

THIS THE ONLY WIP I WILLL EVER READ REY AND BEN ARE SO FREAKING CUTE AND ELLIS IS SUCH A CUTE KID AHHHHHHH! That is all.

Down an Inch, Up an Inch - A/B/O, Soulmates, Gym Rats AU - Complete - Rated E - 60k

Omega instructor Rey has always been the master of her domain at Rebel Belle Barre and wouldn't dream of dating an Alpha.

When her new neighbors at Supremacy Bootcamp start ruining her classes with their terrible music, she storms over to give them a piece of her mind. She challenges the beefy ex-Marine owner Ben Solo to a plank-off and the loser has to take the other's class. When they spark an unusual connection, can Rey stay away for long?

Has she bitten off more than she can chew with the gentle giant Alpha with the warm, sad eyes?

SMUT FREAKING FESTTTTT. Okay but I loved these two so much, even though I am opposed to working out in any shape or form! I love the non-traditional soulmate part, and I really loved Rey in this. 

Tea for Two - Enemies to Lovers, University Setting AU - Complete - Rated E - 67k 

'"This is a tea house, you know." The plummy, ultra-posh voice startled Rey Kenobi from her day-dreaming, almost spilling the scalding hot coffee over her chest.'

Rey, an American former hacker, turned cyber security expert, has been commissioned by Oxford University to protect their systems from hackers. Unfortunately, she has to work closely with Professor Ben Solo, Merton Professor of English Literature who also happens to be Lord Ben Solo, member of the English peerage. And an unmitigated snob.

She drinks coffee. He drinks tea. He only reads classic literature. She reads Marvel comics. He is nobility. She is a nobody.

Things should go swimmingly, shouldn't it?

SO. MUCH. UNRESOLVED. SEXUAL. TENSION. I loved the slow burn aspect because I sat in bed because I was waiting for them to bone for so long. And after they bone its a smut and fluff-fest I loved this so much!

And They Were Roommates - Roommates, A/B/O AU - Complete - Rated E - 49k

“This isn’t going to work.” He points a finger between the two of them. “This arrangement.”

Her eyes narrow. “You didn’t put any specifications on who could apply.”

“Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck then, the action making it look longer, making her wonder what it might feel like under her fingers. “You have to know that this isn’t a good idea.”

She knows what he means, she does—but she’s so tired of being brushed aside for her designation that she challenges him anyway. “And why not?”

His eyes bore into hers, his expression blank as he says, “Because I can tell how much scent-block you put on—and I can still smell you.”

In which Rey’s new roommate turns out to be a lot more than she bargained for.

EVEN. MORE. UNRESOLVED. SEXUAL. TENSION. Like these two would be eating cereal and I would be chanting, “bone! bone! bone!” the whole time. I loved these two, and the family aspect of this one was so good.

Imprints - A/B/O, Boss/Employee AU - Complete - Rated E - 74k

“I was happy you’ll be working with someone you know. He’ll take good care of you.”

Take good care of you.

The words send a shiver down her spine, sparking memories that flood her with embarrassment. She feels a strange itch just below her ear, her gland giving a phantom pulse as if her body remembers the incident even still.

Suddenly her triumph fades into dread, the idea of working here leaving a hollow pit in her stomach. Poe is still talking, but she doesn’t hear most of it. Her mind is firmly trapped in the vivid memories of six years ago— in a moment she wishes she could forget.

By the time she hangs up the phone— she isn’t sure anymore if she can do this.

Okay so this is pretty popular so I wont say too much, but it lives up to the hype. Smutfest, fluff and angst rolled into one beautiful fic! 

Bespoke - Enemies to Lovers, Boss/Employee (?) AU - Complete - Rated E - 38k 

When new stylist Rey Jackson receives a request to dress the hottest (and most unfashionable) new actor in Hollywood, she gets a lot more than she bargained for.

Mentally AND physically.

Because Ben Solo is freaking massive.

THIS WAS SO HOT OMG! Smutfest but also super cute. Another “I hate everyone but you” version of Ben I fell in love with. Loved this!

Incognito - Coworkers AU - Complete - Rated E - 30k

“Somehow Rey’s coworkers find out about her Daddy kink. They all kink shame her for it, except her coworker Ben. He has something else in mind.”

This was so funny! Ben and Rey were so cute, and I love Finn and Rose in this too! This was great!

A Home For Christmas - Single Parent, Sugar Daddy AU - Complete - Rated E - 109k

Rey is a struggling single mother who needs to do right by her daughter, even if it means she needs to steal. Ben is sad and lonely, recently divorced for the second time. When Rey's daughter picks him to help her find her mom, their paths cross and their Christmas becomes a little more bright.

This was so freaking cute OMG!! I know I say that a lot, but this was so adorable! I loved Ben and Rey so much, but Nova was obviously the star of the show. I cannot recommend this enough!

Unsuppressed - Office, A/B/O AU - Complete - Rated E - 49k

Rey had only ever encountered two Alphas in her entire life that had been unsuppressed. And now this third one that stunk up the entire building. Not that it stunk, his scent. In fact, it was the most delicious thing Rey had ever smelled. ///////////////////////////////////// Ben Solo closed his eyes as he rode down the elevator from the 40th floor to the lobby, trying not to reach up to his glands to scratch them. Somehow, it felt like he always caught the elevator that was dripping in the Omega’s scent. The one that wandered around the building without any suppressants. The one that smelled better than any Omega he had ever smelled before.

STRAIGHT FLUFF AND SMUT OMFG!!! I loved this so freaking much! This was whatever the opposite of unresolved sexual tension and slow burn. Like Ben and Rey tried to make this a slow burn but they could not keep their hands off of each other. I loved this!

Sunshine and Gunpowder - Hitman, Surprise Parents AU - Complete - Rated E - 48k

She’s a teacher who would do anything to protect her student. He’s a glorified hitman with a heart of black gold.

Together, they make up odd halves of a beautiful whole.

THIS WAS SO CUTE!! Like, yes, I know Ben is a hitman, but when I tell you he was the softest hit man I have ever read, Temiri was so cute in this! I loved Ben and Rey, and their UST made me love them even more. Han and Leia are also hilarious in this! 

It Takes a Village - A/B/O, Surprise Parents AU - Complete - Rated E - 40k 

Who knew that all it would take for Rey Johnson to interact with her enigmatic Alpha neighbor without wanting to melt into a puddle of hormones was a baby being abandoned at her doorstep?

Not her. That was for sure.

THIS IS THE CUTEST ONE YET! I REREAD THIS QUITE OFTEN! LIKE AHHHHHHH SO FREAKING FLUFFY! NOT EVEN A WHISPER OF ANGST AND A LOT OF SMUT I LOVED THIS SO FREAKING MUCH AHHHH! AND THE EPILOGUE MADE ME CRY!

Sensual Storytime - Office AU - Complete - Rated E - 23k

When Rey Johnson starts a new job, her initially antagonistic relationship with Ben Solo from IT turns into friendship... and maybe something more.

Little does she know he also moonlights as Kylo Ren, the creator of her favorite audio erotica. One day at the office, worlds collide, and she realizes the sweater vest-wearing nerd of her dreams is also the tattooed fantasy man she listens to while getting off every night...

THIS IS MY FAVORITE REYLO FIC EVER. I RECOMMEND THIS TO PEOPLE WHO DON’T EVEN LIKE STAR WARS! THIS IS COWORKER BANTER LIKE NO OTHER. AND THE SMUT ? UNPARALLELED. READ THIS NOW!

That is all I have time for right now, but I’ll make another list later if anyone would like that! Please take care of yourself and have a great day! 

[pressedinthepages]

Scene

next fill for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

also big thanks to @major-trouble for beta-ing and @sometimesiwrite and @rawrkinjd , as well as friends in the Cake Shop for helping me spin this story together <3

Prompt: Remote/Magical Toys

Relationship: Geralt/Eskel

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: modern au, soft dom/sub play, subspace, domspace, public sex (kinda), marking, bruising, reverse stripping (aka getting dressed), dressing each other, edging, orgasm denial, frottage, penetrative and oral sex (m/m)

Summary: After a hard day, Geralt found his husband, Eskel, getting ready to treat him to a relaxing evening out.

Geralt sighed as he pressed the garage control that was hooked onto his visor. He leaned his head back against the well-worn interior for just a moment before pulling out his keys from the ignition and pushing open the driver’s door. The bed creaked as its weight resettled from Geralt rising out of the truck. He pushed the door shut with his hip, wincing a bit as the hinges groaned. Gotta add WD-40 to the list.

He ran his hand down the line of his jaw, scratching the tired skin lightly. His feet hurt, his back hurt, hells, even his eyes felt strained on the drive home in the light from the late afternoon sun. But even before he opened the door that led into the house, Geralt could feel the low thrum of music being played just a bit too loud, and he wouldn’t have been able to suppress the grin on his lips if he tried. Eskel was cleaning.

Something low and cozy unfurled itself in Geralt’s stomach, stretching out languidly in the relief of feeling at home. Eskel, with his broad shoulders and penchant for wearing trousers that were just a tad bit too snug around his bum, was just beyond that door, tidying his big ol’ heart away while waiting for Geralt’s return. Coming home to his husband never failed to make Geralt’s knees wobbly with affection and sweet words spill unbidden into the air. No matter what had happened that day, no matter how drained Geralt felt before he crossed the threshold into their home, Eskel was somehow always exactly what he needed.

And it varied. A lot. Some days, Geralt needed soft words and cuddles on the couch that stretched into the pastel lights of pre-dawn. Other days, Geralt needed Eskel’s sharp wit and bold hands that took him apart atop their crimson bed sheets. And still others, such as this day that found Geralt, he didn’t really know what he needed. He was really looking forward to their dinner out, a chance to relax and unwind without any of the outside world pressuring in, but he couldn’t quite place where he needed his head to be to feel at peace.

Geralt shook his head fondly as he turned the brass knob, stepping through and letting it click shut behind him. The sweet, crisp scent of Pinesol greeted him as he walked into the house before toeing off his work boots in the laundry room. Geralt’s socked feet padded quietly out into the hallway, following the sound of instrumental lo-fi playing through a speaker towards the kitchen, where he was met with a pair of fiery golden eyes and a palm facing him, willing him to stop in his tracks.

“AH, ah, don’t come into the kitchen. Just mopped,” Eskel smiled as Geralt backed away with a smirk, his own palms turned up in peace. “Just have this last corner to hit and then I’m good to go.”

Geralt hummed and leaned on the frame of the doorway, his eyes tracking down the swell of Eskel’s arms at the seams of his well-worn henley, the dark hair flopping down into his eyes with just the hint of a little curl at the ends. Eskel turned his back to him and pushed the mop into the corner, scooting backwards bit by bit.

“Hair’s getting long,” Geralt drawled. “You’ll be needing some of my hair ties soon enough.”

Eskel huffed and glanced over his shoulder, still swiping back and forth across the floor and blowing his hair away from his eyes. “Got an appointment next week for a trim, it’s gettin’ to be a bit mu-”

“Cancel it,” Geralt whispered as Eskel reached the edge of the tile and his bum knocked into Geralt’s hips. Geralt set his hands on Eskel’s waist as he stood to his full height. One of his hands trailed up Eskel’s back and tangled into the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I like it long like this…”

Eskel hummed from low in his chest, rumbling back into Geralt. “I’ll think about it.”

Geralt pressed his lips into the hollow of Eskel’s neck. “Please do. We should get ready for dinner.”

Eskel nodded and swallowed thickly, taking a calming breath before reaching for the mop bucket and toting it back into the laundry room. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the echo of Geralt’s lips still floating on his neck. He heard the low hum of the water heater kick on as Geralt got into the shower, so he unceremoniously dumped out the dirty water and left the mop propped up to dry.

He puttered around briefly, rinsing off his hands and patting them dry on his jeans as popped back into the kitchen, keeping his feet light as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet. He quickly filled it with ice and water from the dispenser in the refrigerator before walking back down the hallway towards their bedroom. Eskel pondered as he walked, honing in on Geralt’s disposition. He had clearly been in a good enough mood to be a tease, but Eskel wasn’t blind. He could see the dark circles tinging the tender skin under Geralt’s eyes, the weight of his consciousness dangling heavily from his solar plexus and pressing behind his ears.

Eskel moved over to the bedside table and set the glass of water down and left his phone to charge before walking to their closet. He had an idea, and a damned good one at that. He just needed to move quickly in getting himself ready so that he could focus on what Geralt needed. Eskel stripped out of his comfortable lounging clothes and chucked them aside, cocking his hip as he decided what to wear.

He slid on a slightly more respectable pair of jeans that hugged his ass quite nicely, sitting comfortably on his hips. Next, a simple hunter green button-down, loosely tucked in with the top few buttons left undone. Eskel finished it off with a dark brown leather belt and a pair of grey oxfords. Easy enough, he thought as he heard the shower turn off. Now, for the fun.

Eskel strode back and forth between the closet and the bed a few times, depositing new items with every pass. A pair of dark, not-quite-black jeans, a blue shirt with silver pearly buttons and a subtle paisley print, a soft pair of briefs, all folded neatly at the edge of the bed. Geralt’s most comfortable pair of nice boots, the soft leather buttery as Eskel set them with a pair of socks peeking out.

A simple black box, no larger than a shoe box, was set atop the comforter as well. It had been tucked away for a solid two weeks, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to reveal as Eskel’s surprise. Eskel put his hands on his hips and looked down at the spread just as the bathroom door opened, the soft spice of Geralt’s body wash carried over on a burst of steam. Eskel turned around and smiled as Geralt quirked his brow at him. “What, no red shirt tonight?”

“Variety’s the spice of life, Geralt.” Eskel tracked his eyes slowly, obviously, reverently over Geralt’s hair already neatly tied at the nape of his neck, down his broad chest and his narrow waist, his skin glistening with water droplets that trailed their way down to the towel slung around Geralt’s waist. “Speaking of, can we do a scene tonight?”

Eskel flicked his eyes back up to Geralt’s face, his sharp eyes catching the blush that just barely crept up Geralt’s neck. It even peeked a bit over the faint freckles on Geralt’s cheeks, like watercolors sweeping across parchment. It was that, those little things that no others had the privilege of witnessing, that always gave Eskel the most euphoric sense of joy.

Geralt nodded and cleared his throat lightly. “What-uh, what did you have in mind?”

Eskel held out his hand and his smile grew as Geralt slipped his fingers in between his own. “I want to take care of you, let you have a quiet night where you can get away from all those thoughts bouncing around your skull.”

Geralt hummed and looked over Eskel’s shoulder to the bed with a cheeky smirk. “Picked out an outfit for me?”

“Mhm.” Eskel ran his other hand up Geralt’s shoulder and watched the goosebumps bloom in its wake. “Figured that even if you don’t wanna scene, I could still help you get ready.”

“Tell me more.” Geralt appraised the box on the bed suspiciously, but with an enthusiastic glint in his eyes.

Eskel followed his gaze. “We’ve got a quiet booth for dinner tonight, set aside in a corner. I’ll dress you, be sweet. But I figured that tonight might be good to try this out…”

He turned and grabbed the box, handing it to Geralt to open. Geralt’s fingers worked quickly, tipping the lid open and turning out what lay inside into his palm. It was a toy made of velvety black silicone, a sleek graduating plug with a tapered tip and a flared base. It was reminiscent of some of the toys that they had used in the past, but Geralt could tell by the way that Eskel was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet that he was in for a pleasant reveal of just what this toy had to offer.

“I’ll work you open,” Eskel rumbled, reaching behind him for his phone, “and put that in. I-I’d like for you to wear it at dinner. And...I’ll be able to do this-” Eskel pressed on the screen on his phone and the toy gently vibrated in Geralt’s palm, practically silent, “whenever I want.”

“A-are you gonna make me cum at the table?” Geralt whispered, glancing back and forth between Eskel’s fingers and the still-vibrating plug.

“Would you like that?” Eskel asked, removing his thumb from his phone, letting the toy fall still.

Geralt swallowed thickly and let his mind wander. No work, no outside world. Only Eskel, the man that he loved more than words could dare to say, doting on him and showering him in pleasure that he so rarely afforded himself. It didn’t take long for Geralt to make up his mind. “Y-yeah, I’d like that.”

“Then when we get back home,” Eskel slipped his phone into his pocket and rolled his sleeves up to his forearms, revealing olive skin dusted with pearly scars here and there, “we can indulge more. But I think we should just keep the scene for the dinner.”

Geralt nodded, “I agree. I know that I’m going to want to ravish you by the time we get back here.”

Eskel brought his hand up to Geralt’s neck and pulled him in, resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes. He breathed in deeply, the soft musk of clean Geralt warming his chest and down his hips. “Safewords?”

“You know my word.”

“Doesn’t matter. Still need you to tell me.”

Geralt sighed with a smile that betrayed the tease on his tongue. “Steel.”

Eskel nodded. “Steel.”

“And yours?”

“Silver.” The word dripped from Eskel’s lips, passed merely on his breath to Geralt’s ears.

“Silver.” Eskel watched Geralt’s eyes begin to haze over with his eagerness, his readiness for what was so close to come.

“Ready then?” Geralt nodded and blinked, clearing himself for the touch of Eskel’s hands and the mind-bending surge of Eskel’s being bleeding into his own.

Eskel took a deep breath and felt himself slip into the role, the dominant, the caretaker. He stood up straight and allowed all of the bold streaks within him to flare out into the very tips of his fingers where he reached to pull Geralt to the edge of the bed. “Let’s get you dressed, love.”

Geralt sighed as soon as he felt Eskel’s strong touch on his skin. Eskel could feel the steady thrum of his heart in his chest, and he watched Geralt’s eyes haze over and flick down, slipping into his own role as the submissive, the wanted, the cared-for. A lazy smile pulled at his lips when he looked back up into Eskel’s eyes, and Eskel could practically taste the adoration that swam around in his vision.

Geralt’s skin was warm and dry as Eskel ran his hands over his shoulders and down to the towel at his waist. He untied the little knot and pulled it away, leaving Geralt’s side for a moment to hang it on the hook on the bathroom door. He heard the low whine that tore itself from Geralt’s throat and he hummed reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love. Just don’t want to leave a mess. You saw all the cleanin’ I did today?”

Geralt nodded as Eskel came back to him, stopping behind him and resting his hands on his hips. He peered around and met Geralt’s gaze when he turned his head, two pairs of maple-gold eyes boring into each other. “Did it for you. I’ll always do it for you, anything.”

Geralt gasped as Eskel’s hands pushed at his hips, leading him to prop one knee up on the edge of the bed and brace himself on his hands atop the dark sheets. Something low and intense burned in Eskel’s stomach at the little noise, so acutely aware of how difficult it was to drag noises like that from Geralt. “Y-hmm. You know that I’d do anything for you, Eskel. You need only ask.”

“I do,” Eskel murmured, kissing down the line of Geralt’s spine, smirking at the goosebumps that erupted around his hips, “in a heartbeat. You’re my everything, and I know that you love me more than you can rightly say.”

Geralt could feel the denim of Eskel’s jeans scratching against the backs of his bare thighs, setting their two roles apart in stark contrast. Naked, needy, exposed. Dressed, giving, guarding. The rough planes of Eskel’s cheek glanced over the small of Geralt’s back as he kneaded his hands gently into the swells of Geralt’s bum, leading him into the headspace of comfort, care, trust. Geralt felt the reins of his mind loosening with each moment that passed, yielding to the loving hands that roved restlessly atop his skin.

Eskel’s blood thrummed molten in his veins as he reached to the bedside table and found the bottle of lube, watching the little shudder along Geralt’s hips as he clicked open the cap. “Now,” he groused, slicking his fingers in a generous amount of the lubricant. “Don’t want to get you too worked up. This is for later, but I want you to be stretched out and comfortable.”

“A-alright-” Geralt hummed as Eskel gently pushed at the tight ring of muscle between his thighs, not actually pushing in, but more around. Loosening him. Relaxing him.

Eskel’s mind and body warred with themselves as he watched Geralt shake ever so slightly under the ministrations of his fingers. Eskel inhaled deeply, centering his energy in his pelvis and the tender spots behind his ears. He slowly pushed into Geralt’s entrance just up to his first knuckle, smoothing his other hand back and forth over Geralt’s hip. He bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep it together, dammit as the keen from behind Geralt’s teeth reached his ears, the sight of Geralt’s toes curling as he attempted to quell any other little noises from betraying his tender state. Geralt’s hole fluttered and pulsed around him as he slid his finger out and back in again, working it just a bit deeper each time. Once he was buried up to the knuckle, Eskel let out a breath that he hadn’t realized that he had been holding.

“Gods, Geralt,” he breathed, entranced by the sight of his finger, shining with lube, pressing in and out and around Geralt’s entrance. Eskel’s cock was certainly showing interest, twitching in the rough confines of his jeans. “You always feel so fucking good for me.”

Geralt’s breath punched out of his chest, his arms suddenly falling slack so his hands bunched in the soft fabric beneath them, his face braced against the comforter. A small voice at the back end of his mind fought the praise, told him that he didn’t need it, that he didn’t deserve it. But this was Eskel talking. Eskel, who had known every inch of Geralt, inside and out, for as long as either of them could remember. Eskel, whose own secure walls had been methodically weathered by Geralt’s love. Eskel, who loved him more and more every day.

So Geralt really couldn’t find it in himself to listen to that insignificant voice. It wasn’t terribly often that either of them had the opportunity to scene quite like this, as Geralt’s mind tended to be far more...stubborn than Eskel’s when it came to letting go. Oh, but when he could? Geralt indulged.

Eskel dripped more lube down Geralt’s cheeks, sliding in a second finger on his next pass. Geralt’s back arched and Eskel watched as the muscles in Geralt’s thighs and down to his calves rippled. Geralt let out a shuddering breath, the end tinged with a growl from the back of his throat.

Patience, Eskel. He had a very specific goal in mind, and that goal required resistance, endurance, restraint. Never mind that his cock was trying valiantly to make itself known, to get him to just rip his trousers off and sink into that tight, wet heat. Eskel hung his head as he worked Geralt open, willing himself calm, searching out the path to Geralt’s pleasure that had become so well traveled for him.

Geralt pushed his hips back into Eskel’s fingers, searching for more. “Esk, please. I-I need-”

“I know what you need, love,” Eskel hummed and tightened his hold on Geralt’s hip, stopping the roll of his hips back onto his hand, “and what you need, Geralt, is a bit of patience.”

Geralt gasped as Eskel thrust a third finger inside of him, stretching him wider and searching for that hidden spot nestled away. Eskel shifted, placing his knee up on the bed beside Geralt and twisting his arm so that he could crook his fingers just so. He finally brushed over that spot that sent stars up Geralt’s spine, but he didn’t linger. He couldn’t.

“You ready?” Eskel rumbled, loosening his grip on Geralt’s hip. A low growl peeled from his chest when he saw the red marks shaped in the pads of his fingers, knowing that they would soon be pretty purple bruises on one of Geralt’s most intimate spots.

“Y-yes,” Geralt sighed, sliding into a whine as Eskel pulled his fingers from inside of him. The toy was light in Eskel’s hand as he coated it with lube, dripping an extra little bit between Geralt’s cheeks as well before pressing it just barely against his entrance.

Geralt tried to rock back into the contact, his hand reaching back and grasping desperately to twine his fingers with Eskel’s. Eskel’s heart soared in his chest, feeling just how badly Geralt wanted this. He stroked his thumb over the back of Geralt’s fingers as his other hand slowly guided the toy into Geralt, lightly thrusting through the tight ring of muscle until it sat comfortably flushed inside of him.

Now, it was nowhere near the size of Eskel’s cock. It was only about the length of a typical plug, and the girth of two of Eskel’s thick fingers. But it still filled Geralt quite nicely, his slender fingers clenching the blanket with enough vigor to leave creases in their wake. His eyes rolled back into his head and all he knew was pleasure in its purest form, a constant thrum inside of him as his body adjusted to the toy.

Eskel couldn’t tear his eyes away. Geralt, bent over on the bed, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths, his ass shining with the lube that dripped languidly down the insides of his thighs. The peek of the toy, a black flare sitting nestled along the slope of the inside of Geralt’s cheeks. Eskel slid his hands through the coarse hair on Geralt’s thighs and back up once again, spreading his ass and taking one last, long look.

“You alright if I go grab a towel? Need to get you cleaned up before dinner.” Eskel murmured low, trying to keep his voice steady and calm while a different part of his brain that he was trying very hard to ignore was stomping its feet and losing itself in the ideas of just what Eskel could do with Geralt right now, dammit.

Geralt grunted and relaxed his hands, searching for words that landed no further than the tip of his tongue. Eskel grinned to himself as he watched the gears kick back on in Geralt’s head, cracking through the haze of the subspace that he had so gently, so lightly been cradled into. He hadn’t truly slipped completely into that haze beneath consciousness, but he was lingering in that odd, yet still quite pleasant, space in-between.

Eskel shook his head and gave Geralt just a moment longer. It was so easy for either of them to fall silent while in the cozy embrace of subspace, even one as light as where Geralt found himself. But then, when adjustments needed to be made and the two of them needed to move on to the next part of the scene, they needed words. Not mumbles, not shaken heads. Clear, not cock-drunk words, that show that they came from a settled mind and knew just what they wanted.

“Geralt,” Eskel gently stroked his thumb back and forth on Geralt’s hip, coaxing him back into himself and lowering his head down to be level with Geralt’s. “Need you to use your words. Tell me, can I get a towel for you?”

Geralt’s chin turned lazily towards him, his honey-golden eyes blinking with an ever so slight furrow of his brow. “M-mhmm. Yes, Eskel. I’m good. I’m here.”

Eskel nodded, pressing his lips to Geralt’s temple and scritching the hairs at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “Alright, I’ll be quick.”

He stepped into the bathroom and found a clean washrag, running it under some warm water and ringing it back out before quickly washing his own hands. As he stepped back into the bedroom, Eskel found Geralt sprawled exactly as he left him, thighs open and head resting on the comforter. “Melitele help me,” he whispered so as not to startle him out of his fragile state of bliss, “Geralt, you are far too pretty.”

Geralt grunted again, a huff of laughter playing on his tongue. “Nuh-uh,” his voice was muffled where his lips turned into the soft red blanket, “y...you’re too pretty. With your long hair, fuck. Can’t wait to pull on it.”

Eskel shook his head and smiled, carefully reaching out to drag his fingers up Geralt’s leg. His heart warmed in his chest and the swell of Geralt’s wish sent lovely visions through his head. “Hush, you. Let me clean this up…”

He slid the warm towel around Geralt’s bum, gently wiping away the stray lube and beads of sweat that had found their way into the small of Geralt’s back and down around where the toy poked temptingly out of him. Eskel hummed low as he went, carefully wiping around Geralt’s front and finding him a bit more than half-hard.

“Well,” Eskel rumbled, using a firm hand to clean away the last few drops of lube from where they had dripped down his thighs, “someone has been enjoying themselves…”

“Mhm,” Geralt sighed, lifting his head up and propping himself onto his hands. “No shit. You were buried to the knuckles and have been whispering sweet things into my ear. Can you blame me?”

“Never,” Eskel whispered, wiping his hands off and pressing his lips to Geralt’s shoulder blade. “Now, I need you to roll over so we can get you dressed. Go slow, don’t want to jostle anything unnecessarily. And don’t even think about tryin’ to help me get you dressed. That’s my job.”

Normally, Geralt would give him snark with his sharp tongue about getting him worked open and kind of sticky so soon after his shower. He wouldn’t want the praise, the soft attention. But Geralt in this role? He had needs locked away that his conscious mind wouldn’t let spill from his lips, wouldn’t allow him to seek out with just anyone. But Eskel? Oh, Eskel had torn right past the walls that Geralt had kept so strongly built around his most tender parts long ago, but it wasn’t often that Geralt let himself get this relaxed, this malleable.

Eskel guided Geralt gently but with confident hands, hands that had squeezed and molded and felt every inch of skin on his body more times than either of them could count. Eskel smoothed his hands down Geralt’s hips and over his thighs as he settled on his bum with his legs hanging off the side of the bed, resting back on his elbows and looking up at him through his lashes. He’d started the journey back into himself from the fog of pleasure, though he was still pliant and smiley when he met Eskel’s eyes.

“How’s it feel, Geralt?” Eskel’s breath caught in his throat when Geralt swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His cock, nestled half-hard at his hip, was beginning to flag just a tad, though it was clear that Geralt was fighting for any modicum of self-restraint.

“Mmm. ‘s good. Comfortable.” Geralt’s voice was rough gravel at the bottom of a riverbed, bubbling and tumbling up his throat. Eskel squeezed Geralt’s thighs, reassuring them both in the soft gesture.

Eskel nodded with decisiveness, letting his fingers slip from Geralt’s legs. “Right then. Let’s get movin’. Underwear first.”

Eskel picked up the soft dark pair of briefs, running his fingers along the waistband. He knelt down between Geralt’s legs, pressing his lips to the inside of his knee. He slipped the shorts over one of Geralt’s feet, followed closely by the other. He pulled them up slowly, letting them chase the path that his lips made until he reached the crest of Geralt’s hip. Eskel tapped his fingers on the side of Geralt’s leg and flicked his eyes up to him, a wordless request. Geralt clenched his jaw as he lifted his hips off the bed and Eskel quickly pulled the underwear into place.

Geralt let out a soft punched noise from his chest as he landed back down on the bed. “Alright?” Eskel asked, standing back to his full height.

“Mhm,” Geralt sighed, his eyes fluttering slightly. “Just...snug in there. ‘S nice.”

“Good,” Eskel grinned, reaching down to adjust how Geralt’s cock was sitting in the soft cradle of the briefs. He was hot and heavy in his palm, valiantly pulsing with Eskel’s barest touch. “Now, give me your hands. I’m gonna help you up and into your pants.”

Geralt grunted, moving like his arms were pushing through jello, slowly sitting up and slipping his fingers into Eskel’s. His chest was flushed pretty pink and his skin was pleasantly warm to the touch. Eskel gently pulled him up, smoothing his hands up Geralt’s arms as he adjusted his weight to standing on his feet once more.

“There’s my man,” Eskel growled from the space nestled right beneath his sternum. Geralt’s knees wobbled as he gasped into Eskel’s ear, clenching his teeth before setting himself right once more.

“M’kay,” Geralt swallowed and nodded, that same soft look still swimming in his eyes. “We can do pants now.”

Eskel pressed his palm firmly into Geralt’s chest above his heart, running his fingers through the dark thatch of chest hair. He leaned over to the bed and picked up the neatly folded jeans, letting them open as he dropped back to the floor at Geralt’s feet. He felt Geralt’s eyes on the crown of his head as he situated the legs of the pants in between them.

“Ask first,” Eskel looked up, catching the bright flicker of Geralt’s eyes boring down into him.

Geralt’s cheeks flushed a bit further, trailing down his chest. “C-can I touch you? Please?”

That was always the most difficult part for Geralt, scene or no. Saying, out loud, what he desired. Not for lack of trying on either of their parts, and they had known each other intimately for so long that they knew, most of the time, just what the other was seeking. But they both knew, too, how long Geralt’s stubbornness would keep him bottled up and silent, keeping down his own wants and needs in pursuit of Eskel’s. But that wouldn’t do.

So Eskel, in an effort to nudge Geralt into being more comfortable with saying what he needed, asked him to. Often. And Geralt had responded well, especially when Eskel offered his soft, gentle praise in return.

“Of course, love,” Eskel said, lowering his voice to as growly as it dared get. “I am yours to touch, always.”

Gods-be-fucking-damned, Geralt thought as he looked down at Eskel, his face level with Geralt’s still quite interested cock and his comfortably full ass. Eskel was clearly affected too, his chest flushed red through the peek at the top of his shirt, his trousers just a tad too snug around his arousal. Geralt threaded his fingers in the soft mahogany strands of Eskel’s hair, just running idly as Eskel’s hand found his ankle.

“This one first,” Eskel said, still staring directly into Geralt’s eyes. Geralt lifted his foot and let Eskel slide the denim over and up, letting the leg pool around his ankle when he led it back down to the floor.

“And the other, now.” A mirrored repeat, Geralt’s fingers still running rivers in Eskel’s hair. Longer than it had been in quite a while. Little curls on the end, enticing him to wrap his fingers in and hold fast. But that wasn’t part of the plan.

Not that night, anyways.

Eskel stood slowly, hooking his fingers into the waistband and dragging the jeans up Geralt’s legs. The denim hugged his legs firmly when Eskel stood back to his full height, his eyes still locked with Geralt’s as he settled the waistband on his hips and did up the zipper and buttons. Geralt had softened enough by that point so as not to be completely obvious in the tight pants, though Eskel still used a gentle hand to guide his cock into a comfortable position.

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek as he felt Eskel’s hands smooth up over his stomach and onto his neck, cupping his cheeks and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Geralt turned his head just a tad and slotted their lips together, not pushing or deepening, just sort of... holding each other, feeling the sweet embrace of their lips against one another. Geralt sighed as Eskel moved away, grabbing Geralt’s shirt off of the bed.

“Come now,” Eskel chuckled, “can’t just kiss you all day. We’d never actually get to dinner.”

Eskel led Geralt with a hand on his hip to spin, his chest now at Geralt’s back. Eskel dragged his nose down the slope of Geralt’s shoulder as he slid the sleeves of the shirt over Geralt’s hands and up his arms. The fabric was cool over his flushed skin, light and breezy despite the stuffy appearance. Eskel adjusted it so it sat correctly over Geralt’s broad shoulders and skated his hands back down to Geralt’s hips. He tapped his left hand twice right over Geralt’s hipbone, prompting a spin once more.

Geralt smirked and spun around on the balls of his feet, just slow enough that he knew would push and prod at the bottom of Eskel’s almost endless well of patience. He knew he had hit it perfectly when Eskel’s crooked brow came into view, one of his hands resting comfortably on his cocked hip.

“How long do you think I can keep this up before you look at your watch?” Geralt drawled, playful affection tinting the heavy snark in his voice.

“Geralt…”

“Well, you’ve spent a decent chunk of time playing with my ass, at this rate we won’t be getting to any sort of restaurant before …”

Eskel tilted his head, a playful warning, but a warning all the same. He was, after all, the one in charge. “As much as I would love to watch you try and find out, we’re not testin’ my resolve this evening. Not yet.”

Eskel smirked, hooking his fingers into Geralt’s belt loops and yanking, slotting their hips together and brushing their noses. “For now though,” he whispered into Geralt’s mouth, having ended that bout of silliness quite effectively, “let’s wrap this up, shall we?”

He ran his hands up beneath the edges of Geralt’s shirt, all the way up to his collarbones before grabbing onto the fabric. Eskel started a few buttons down, showing off a triangle of pale skin marked with shiny scars and smattered freckles. Eskel’s fingers danced quickly down the rest of the pearly buttons, neatening and straightening as he went all the way down to the last one. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Geralt’s cheek as his hands snaked around his waist, tucking the hem of the shirt snugly into the band of his trousers as they moved back around to the front.

Geralt returned the peck on the cheek before Eskel backed too far away, smiling at the soft blush that skated over Eskel’s nose. “Anything else?”

“Sit back down on the edge of the bed,” Eskel slipped his phone out of his pocket and looked at the time before setting it on the comforter. “Need to get your shoes on, then we should be ready to go.”

Geralt nodded and sat, kicking his feet idly while Eskel knelt back on the floor. “Got my good boots out?”

Eskel looked up at him through his lashes, “Of course I got the good ones, this is not amateur hour, Geralt.”

Geralt nodded and set his feet on Eskel’s thighs. ��I like these boots.”

Eskel smiled and pressed his lips to the inside of Geralt’s thighs, kissing the rough denim and feeling the yield of the soft flesh nestled beneath. “I know. ‘S why I picked them.”

Eskel moved quickly, easily slipping the socks onto Geralt’s feet, followed by the comfortable leather boots. Eskel did up the laces, only knotting them a single time. Just as Geralt preferred.

He stood, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of Geralt’s thighs. He kissed Geralt gently before grabbing his phone, backing up just outside of arm’s reach. “Right then, love. Wanted to ask you something. Would you like to see how the toy feels when it’s on before we leave, or would you rather it be a surprise?”

Geralt met Eskel’s eyes, finding them clear and soft. Not the eyes of his dom, demanding answers and compliance with only a look. No, those were Eskel’s eyes. The eyes of the man with a heart of gold that Geralt loved more than life itself. Geralt shook away the last tendrils of the hazy submissive role that had enveloped him so nicely over the last while, mulling over his two options clearly in his mind.

If there was something that Geralt tried to avoid at all costs, it was surprises. Generally speaking, it was rare that anything ever truly surprised him, but there were always some exceptions. Even still, he preferred to be prepared for any possible outcome, especially when his ass was involved.

But fuck, when it came to Eskel? He would put his life in Eskel’s hands without a second thought. He knew that Eskel would never do anything to put him too far outside of his own self, his own comfort. Eskel knew him better than any other person, inside and out. He would never ask for anything outside of what Geralt would ever want, and he would handle Geralt with the finest gloves like the finest china.

Geralt’s eyes flicked to Eskel’s fingers. Before, when he had been teasing, Eskel’s fingers tapped his hip and flexed impatiently. An act. But in that moment, while Geralt was deciding just how he wanted to find his pleasure? His fingers were still, his posture relaxed and his eyes searching Geralt’s as if he could find the answers to all of life’s problems in the sunrise-golden irises.

Geralt cleared his throat and smoothed his hands over his thighs. “I...I want it to be a surprise, please.”

Eskel smiled warmly, clicking to lock his phone and slipping it back into his pocket. “Alright, good. But...and just so you know, I would’ve said this either way, but you have to be vocal with me. Need you to be honest, all evening. Less, more, not enough, stop. Anything and everything that you’re feelin’, I need to know. You have to promise me that, Geralt.”

Sure, Geralt was putting his trust, his vulnerability, his control, into Eskel’s well-worn hands. But...not really. They both had control, they both knew that this was a two-person dance that needed communication. And Geralt knew that Eskel would never ask for something that Geralt could not give, not now and not ever. So Geralt didn’t need to think twice about nodding, saying, “Of course, Eskel. I promise.”

“Wonderful,” Eskel rumbled, slipping back into the dominant headspace now that he had gotten confirmation of their needs. “Now, let’s get in the car.”

The car ride was quiet, peaceful. Eskel drove, one of his hands gripping onto Geralt’s thigh the entire journey. Not with any sort of force, but strong enough for Geralt’s mind to latch on to and yearn for more. Besides that, Geralt didn’t really know where they were heading. He figured it would be somewhere nice, especially as Eskel had spent so long planning this evening out.

“I can hear you thinkin’ from over here,” Eskel grinned, peering over at him before returning his eyes to the road. “Go on. Ask.”

Geralt swallowed and blinked out the window at the sunset, bright oranges and reds and purples painted across the sky. “What, uh… where are we going for dinner?”

Eskel grinned and squeezed his thigh lightly, pouring every ounce of his love into the tips of his fingers to bleed into Geralt’s leg. “I’m taking us to Falenti’s, I know you like their Saltimbocca…”

Geralt’s eyes lit up and flicked over to Eskel, finding the self-satisfied grin that tugged at the scar over his cheek. “I do love that sauce. Will… will you order for us?”

“Was hoping you’d ask that,” Eskel blinked slowly, his voice tumbling lower and lower the closer they got to the restaurant. “I like when you let me take care of you like this. You won’t have to think about a thing.”

Geralt preened the slightest bit in his seat and threaded his fingers with Eskel’s, letting Eskel stroke his thumb over the back of his knuckles as they pulled into the parking lot.

The weight of the toy in Geralt’s bum shifted as he rose out of the car, drawing a gasp up into his chest. Eskel knew, of course, and walked around to slide his hand back into Geralt’s. “Alright? Still good?”

Geralt grinned and leaned his head onto Eskel’s shoulder. “Yeah, still good. I’m… I’m excited.”

Eskel’s eyes went soft and his smile felt so much more real in that moment when he pressed his lips onto the crown of Geralt’s head. “Me too, love. Me too.”

Eskel led the two of them into the restaurant, a burst of cool air welcoming them as the door opened. They approached the host stand, finding a young woman with kind eyes and a bright, if not a little too much so, smile on her face. “Hello gentlemen, doing alright this evening?”

Eskel smiled and pulled Geralt closer, wrapping his arm around Geralt’s hip. “We’re doin’ wonderful, thank you. We have a reservation under ‘Rivia,’ please.”

The young woman tapped a few keys on the desktop in front of her before grabbing two menus. “Follow me to your table, your server will be right with you.”

Eskel guided Geralt by the hip, feeling the barely-there softness of the tummy that he had been trying to get Geralt to build for years beneath his fingers. Just as requested, the two of them were escorted to a booth in the corner, sequestered away from other patrons. Private, or as much as they could be in a public restaurant.

It was dark, lit only by a lone sconce on the wall that bathed the mahogany table in a warm glow. “As I said, your server will be with you shortly.” The young woman left their menus on the table and departed, leaving the two men to relax into their seats across from one another.

Eskel watched Geralt shimmy and shift around in the seat, attempting to find a comfortable position with the secret hidden inside of him. Eskel smirked, pulling his phone out of his pocket and onto the table, Geralt’s eyes immediately shooting over to it and back up to Eskel.

“Now, we won’t start at least until I’ve ordered,” Eskel said as he opened his menu, his tone borderline flippant. “After, though, ’s free game.”

Their server came over, another young woman dressed entirely in black, with a black apron tied around her waist. “Hello gentlemen,” her voice was quiet and calm, gentle waves in the dark air. “My name is Lou, I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start you boys off with something to drink, or are you ready to order?”

Eskel slid his foot up the outside of Geralt’s calf, causing him to jump slightly in his seat. Eskel grinned with a wink before turning to Lou. “I think we’re ready, actually. We’ll just do water to drink, and we’ll start with the Zucchini Fritti. I’ll have the chicken Bellini, and he’ll have the Veal Saltimbocca. We’ll have to see how we’re feelin’ for dessert, so we’ll decide on that later.” Eskel’s voice was still low, almost growly, and Geralt was mesmerized as he listed off their order. Struck dumb, he watched their server bounce away before returning with their glasses of water, leaving them alone once more.

Eskel sipped his water, looking straight over the table at Geralt, whose own eyes were glued to where Eskel’s free hand now hovered over the screen of his phone.

“T-thank you for ordering for us, Eskel,” Geralt murmured, watching the minute tease of Eskel’s fingers just barely not touching the screen.

“You’re very welcome, my love,” Eskel replied, just as quietly. “Wanna start you slow, so you have a chance to get used to the feeling.”

Geralt nodded, feeling a rush of heat bloom up his chest as he squirmed a bit in his seat. Eskel chuckled, seeing the enthusiastic glint in Geralt’s eyes as a good sign.

Geralt watched as Eskel finally, gently pressed his finger to the base of the phone and dragged up, only just barely on the screen. He felt the toy rumble to life, and he gasped despite being prepared for the sensation. It was pleasant, and Geralt already itched for more.

Geralt hummed and let his eyes fall closed, his fingers gripping onto the edge of the table. “Fuck, Eskel,” he breathed, his lungs playing catch-up with how intensely his heart was beating, “f-feels so good.”

Eskel was enraptured, watching in real time as that familiar submissive haze fell over Geralt’s eyes. “’M glad, will this be what you need?”

Geralt nodded and swallowed thickly, letting his head fall to his chest. Eskel hummed and drew his fingers up under Geralt’s chin, lifting his eyes back up to him. “Words, love.”

Geralt’s cheeks flushed and Eskel smiled, keeping his eyes soft. “Y-yes, Esk. It’ll b-nnng. It’ll be perfect.”

Eskel bit the inside of his cheek as he spotted their server returning to their table just as Geralt’s hips started to shift back and forth, chasing the soft vibrations of the toy. Eskel took his finger off of the phone and Geralt’s eyes shot open, defiant and his mouth fell into a grimace that disappeared as soon as their server came into view.

“Alright boys, one order of the Zucchini Fritti. Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you,” Eskel said, shooting a sly look at Geralt out of the corner of his eye.

Lou left them once more and Geralt sagged into the cushions, his chest heaving with deep breaths. “Shit. Can always trust you to let me get all caught up and then fucking cut me off-”

Eskel hummed and reached for one of the little rounds of crispy zucchini. “You gotta trust that I know what’ll be good for you. Within reason, of course, but I want you to be able to let me take the reins. Without attitude.”

“You love my attitude.”

“I do, just as I love the rest of you. But if you want to be bratty, maybe I’ll just keep you on the edge all night, not let you finish at all?”

Geralt coughed as he sipped his water, sitting back up in his seat. Well. I guess that’s me shutting up... for now. “N-no. I’ll behave. Promise.”

Eskel grinned wolfishly. “Good. Now, let’s eat for a bit, then we can keep playing.”

They ate quietly, letting their minds relax and settle back into the liminal space nestled between their brows. As the plate was emptied, Eskel reached across the table and grabbed onto Geralt’s hand. Lou came back around and took the dish, letting them know that it may be a while before their entrees came out, as there had been a mishap in the kitchens.

“Not a worry, Lou,” Eskel smiled kindly, “we’re a patient bunch.”

“Most of the time…” Geralt grumbled under his breath.

Eskel clenched his jaw and shot Geralt a Look with his eyebrows raised. “When it counts, we’re very patient. Don’t worry about us Lou, we’ll just... relax for a bit.”

Lou had no sooner spun on her heel away from her table when Eskel slid his finger back onto the screen of his phone, cueing the toy inside of Geralt to vibrate significantly more intensely than it had before. Geralt clenched his fingers in Eskel’s hand and his body clenched before relaxing right back into the weight of the toy. His hips thrusted absently with the vibrations, following the pattern that Eskel drew back and forth on his phone.

In the back of his mind, Geralt was minutely aware of their public situation, especially as the crotch of his trousers drew tighter around his growing erection. But Eskel was whispering across the table to him, boring his golden eyes up and down Geralt’s body as if it were the first and only time that he’d ever get the chance to see him like this.

“Gods, Geralt,” Eskel breathed, tracing arches up and down on his phone to increase and decrease the speed of the vibrations of the toy in waves. “You know, I bet that if anyone were to look over here right now and see you thrustin’ up so desperately into nothing, they’d be so godsdamned jealous of me... cause I’m the one that gets to sit here and watch.”

Geralt felt like he couldn’t breathe, his body like one big nerve ending that kept twitching and shaking. The toy pressed against his prostate and he could feel his cock leaking into his briefs, and he just barely bit back a moan that threatened to escape from behind his teeth. Geralt glanced up at Eskel and came this fucking close to cumming in his pants then and there.

To anyone on the outside looking in, anyone who didn’t know the intimate tells that Eskel so carefully kept stowed away, he would almost look bored as he absentmindedly scrolled around on his phone. But Geralt, who knew every minute thing that made Eskel who he was, could see right past it. Eskel’s barrel chest, dusted with coarse dark hair that peeked through the V of his unbuttoned shirt, was flushed maroon and hitched with deep breaths taken through his nose. His hand, still gripped in Geralt’s fingers, was sweaty and his eyes were dark and lusty as they tore like fire over Geralt’s skin.

Eskel slowed the toy down, tapering the vibrations until they stopped all together. Geralt knew now to trust in Eskel’s judgement, especially considering that he really was gloriously oblivious to the specifics of their surroundings. Eskel took a deep breath in and leaned over, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Food’s on the way. Take a deep breath, love, you’re doing so fuckin’ well.”

Geralt let a dopey smile pull at his lips as he stretched his fingers and his legs out, still comfortably aroused, and maybe a little frustrated with being cut off again, but endlessly loved. His mind swam with the look in Eskel’s eyes, the lingering warmth of Eskel’s hand still nestled in the grip of his fingers.

Two steaming plates were set before them, deep aromas tickling Geralt’s nostrils. His mouth, having already been watering from their previous activities, sighed in contentment.

“Alright, how’s everything look?” Lou asked, looking back and forth between Eskel and Geralt.

“Looks perfect, Lou. Thank you.” Eskel smiled as Lou turned away, lifting his fork and putting together a generous mouthful of sautéed chicken smothered in a creamy white wine sauce with roasted peppers and olives. His eyes fluttered shut as the softly savoury taste hit his tongue, indulgent and instantly satisfying the craving in his stomach. He still felt the tingles of a craving much lower, baser, but it was quieted for the time being.

Geralt discreetly adjusted himself as soon as Lou had stepped away, giving him the perfect timing to make himself comfortable once more. His prosciutto wrapped veal wafted a heady scent of sage and fire-roasted garlic up to smother his senses, and though Geralt could not ignore the still weight resting in his bum, he found himself seeking out the intense flavors that rested atop the plate.

The two of them ate in relative silence for a bit, broken only by the occasional murmur or offer to try each others’ dish. Every now and then, Eskel would nudge his knee up against Geralt’s, putting soft pressure to just... feel him.

“Geralt...” Eskel put down his fork and finished chewing, looking for his husband’s eyes across the table.

“Yes, love?” Geralt’s eyes flicked up briefly to Eskel’s, then back again when he saw the fond look at him across the table.

“Can—sorry, do you mind if we step out? I’d like to just talk for a bit if that’s alright. Only if you want, if you need to stay in it, I’m happy to stay.”

Geralt’s chewing slowed as he, too, lowered his fork. “Sure, we can pause. You alright?”

Eskel smiled reassuringly, “Yes, Geralt, I’ve never been better.” He reached for Geralt’s hand across the table, “I’m just… I’m incredibly happy, you know. With the life we built and the life we share.”

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Geralt said fondly. “If we can ever get the tiling in the downstairs bathroom finished.”

“That is your pet project Geralt, and you know it.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I finally decided on the colour—”

“Aaand let me guess: you’re waitin’ for it to go on sale?”

“That was one time, Eskel, and you know it.”

“That’s all beside the point. This all started because I was feelin’ a bit romantic, you ornery old thing.”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to side track you. There’s a reason I married you, you know?” Geralt sighed fondly and rested his chin in his hand.

“Only the one?”

Geralt shook his head with a smirk turning the corner of his lip. “If we’re counting the entirety of ‘Eskel’ as a single thing, then yeah. Just the one. Although, putting a vibrating plug in my ass and taking me out to dinner is pretty high on the list.”

“Shame those things weren’t around for our wedding night,” Eskel cheeked, waggling his eyebrows.

Geralt narrowed his eyes playfully. “First of all, are you calling us old? Secondly, I cannot imagine walking around with this thing in my ass at our reception.”

Eskel shrugged. “Who said it would’ve been you wearing it?”

“Careful, now. I can’t get too far away from the scene or I’ll never get back in.”

Stroking his thumb over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, Eskel smiled softly. “Of course, love. Maybe we’ll revisit that idea later. You know, sometimes I wonder just what I did to deserve you in my life.”

Geralt’s heart swelled and he squeezed Eskel’s hand. “You didn’t have to do anything, Esk. We deserve each other, always.”

“I love you Geralt, I can’t say it enough times, but I do. So much.”

“I know, Eskel. I love you too, forever.”

They slipped back into a comfortable silence, just relaxing and enjoying each other’s air. Their plates slowly emptied, neither of them bothering to worry about saving anything for leftovers. Just as Geralt was sopping up the remainder of the sauce at the bottom of his plate with a chunk of bread, Eskel coughed lightly.

“Wanna get back into the scene, love?”

Geralt nodded, giving Eskel’s hand one last squeeze before slipping it away. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Might need a minute, though.”

Eskel smoothed his hand on his jeans and set his fork down on his barren plate. He dropped his voice back down into the just barely growly register that he knew set Geralt’s blood alight. “What do you need from me?”

Geralt’s fingers flinched and he dropped the bread onto the plate, spattering the sauce just a bit. “Shit, just that. J-just talk to me for a second.”

Eskel cocked his head and leaned back in his seat, letting that bold streak that rested low in his stomach crawl up into his chest and down the line of his shoulders. “Want me to tell you how good you’ve been all evening? How I’ve been sittin’ here, watchin’ you give yourself over to me like it’s still that very first time, or maybe how nicely you fit in the palm of my hand?”

Geralt’s eyes, already hazy and soft, followed Eskel’s hand as he reached over to his neglected phone. He felt himself clench around the toy in anticipation, but Eskel only slipped the phone into his pocket and bored his intensely golden eyes back into him, so deep that Geralt felt his very being warm with the twin suns of Eskel’s eyes.

“You alright, Geralt? Feelin’ good, drifty?”

Geralt hummed and nodded his head, resting his hand in his lap, letting just the tip of his fingers brush over his comfortably interested cock. His breath pushed out of his lungs in a soft keen, briefly closing his eyes in an effort to keep himself together under Eskel’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Geralt, I need words. Feelin’ good?”

Geralt cleared his throat and reopened his eyes, patting his own thigh a few times to wrangle what little bit of control that he still felt behind his eyes. “Y-yeah, Esk. ‘M floaty. But not too floaty…”

“Good,” Eskel rumbled, and Geralt felt the soft vibrations up his spine even without the toy inside of him even being turned on. “Will you be alright for me to run to the restroom for a moment?”

Geralt clenched his jaw with a light chuckle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll try not to get into too much trouble without you here.”

Eskel smirked. “Geralt, that’s the only time you ever do get into trouble. Ah, hang on. Lou’s coming back, but I’ll take care of her. Just be good for me, yeah?”

Geralt hummed a quiet, “Yeah, Esk,” just as Lou rounded the corner of their table. “Everything good here? I’m guessing you won’t need any boxes,” she smiled, lifting their empty plates away from the table and balancing them on her arm.

Eskel smiled back, crossing his legs beneath the table and brushing against Geralt’s shin. “It was delicious. Now, I think we’re actually going to skip dessert tonight, but is there any way that we can just sit here for a bit longer? We don’t get to go out terribly often, an-”

Lou held up her free hand and shook her head with a grin. “Not a worry, gentlemen. You can have this spot for as long as you’d like, and I’ll leave you be. Just poke your head around if you need anything, and I’ll leave the check up at the host stand.”

Eskel nodded and he shifted in his seat, the weight of his phone burning a hole into his patience. “That’s perfect, Lou. Thank you so much, we’ll be sure to give you a shout if we need anything, but I think we’re good for the time being.”

“Wonderful,” she smiled and turned away, leaving Eskel to quirk his brow at Geralt.

“Sure you’ll be alright?”

“Mhm. I’m good. Gonna miss hearing you talk. But ‘s okay. You’ll be right back.”

Eskel smiled and nodded. “I sure will. Won’t be but a moment. Promise.”

Geralt watched through hooded eyes as Eskel sauntered off towards the restrooms, his shoulders broad and imposing even through the low, dim lights of the dining area. Geralt’s mind felt warm and while he immediately felt the loss of Eskel being within his reach, he knew that rationally, Eskel would never actually leave him for long, especially not during a scene. Over the years, they’ve figured out a balance, a dance back and forth of where their hard boundaries lie, and what could give with the well of their trust. Geralt allowed himself to relax back into his seat and his mind began to wander, floating out into the hazy edges of his awareness while waiting for Eskel’s return.

In the meantime, Eskel pushed open the swinging door to the restroom and let it fall shut behind him. He took a deep, calming breath in through his nose and held it, clenching his jaw as he counted back from ten. Watching Geralt, so willing, so relaxed, so eager, fuck it was doing things to his head. Well, and to his cock.

Eskel stepped up to one of the urinals and undid his belt and opened the fly of his jeans, letting his half-hard cock bounce into the open air. He was tempted, just for a moment, to take himself well and truly in hand and finally grant himself that sweet relief that had been hovering on the horizon for the better part of the evening. But no, no he couldn’t do that. It would be wrong, a cheat in their game. They were both clearly aware of the expectations, and Geralt had handed himself over to Eskel with the explicit trust that Eskel would be in complete control. And Eskel choosing to get up and leave Geralt alone in the tender embrace of his light subspace while he jerked off in the bathroom felt... wrong. Like he distorted and tainted the trust that was so delicately gifted to him and had lost control.

They both knew that nights like this, placing their very beings into the hands of one another in pursuit of comfort and indulgence, were for each other. They focused in on what the other needed, what they wanted. Geralt trusted Eskel to handle him with hands honed from years of practice with each other, and Eskel trusted Geralt to do the same.

Eskel sighed and hung his head, closing his eyes and focusing on anything other than the hot thrum of his blood calling him to seek out his climax. He relieved himself quickly, tucking himself back into his jeans and washing his hands. The hum of the hand-dryer was still resounding off the walls as Eskel glanced around the empty bathroom. He smirked to himself as he slipped his phone out of his pocket. Just a tease…

Geralt’s mind had just started to feel thorny around the edges, turning in on itself with harsh spikes when he felt that same soft rumble start up at the base of his spine. Ah, he thought to himself as his lips turned up in a soft grin, just as I was starting to miss him.

His arousal swelled between his thighs as the vibrations intensified, growing higher and dipping back down to a gentle hum in slow waves. Geralt’s mind wandered to Eskel, his beautiful, glorious Eskel, hidden away and still thinking of him. He arched his back and tried to sink his hips into the comforting pulsations inside of him, so achingly close to the sensitive bundle of nerves that had been relaxed away. His body yearned for more, everything tensing and relaxing and seeking out that which had not yet been awarded.

Three long, hard bursts shot up his spine and Geralt gasped, his eyes flicking over to where Eskel was exiting through the restroom door. His eyes were on Geralt the entire way back to the table, but Geralt’s eyes were on Eskel’s thumb, still pressing up and down on the screen of his phone. Feeling the patterns as he watched the separate movements that caused them in real time made his cock flex hard in his jeans, his hips stuttering as he felt the beginnings of climax overtake him.

“Not yet,” Eskel growled as he slid back into his seat, lifting his thumb completely from the phone screen. The toy came to a halt, dragging the explosive release of Geralt’s climax back down into the small of his belly as his lungs heaved in desperate breaths.

The phone clattered onto the table just as Geralt felt the tinglings of feeling return back to his fingers where they had been gripping onto the edge of the table. Geralt clenched and unclenched his jaw, seeking Eskel’s eyes in his own.

“Got pretty close there, huh?” Eskel drawled, thick and husky with just the hint of a tease seeping from behind his teeth.

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, screwing his eyes shut, still achingly within reach of his climax, even without the constant hum of the toy inside of him.

“Do you wanna cum, Geralt?”

His eyes shot back open and found Eskel’s finger hovering over the phone’s screen. He felt every thing all around them: the cool air coming from the vents above them, the well worn cushions beneath them, the lacquered wood beneath his fingers, the rough denim over his thighs. The soft cotton of his briefs sliding and pressing into his cock, slick and catching with the amount of precome that had been leaking from his neglected tip.

“Tell me,” Eskel whispered, coaxing Geralt along, putting the words right at the tip of his tongue, leaving Geralt with only the need to push them from his lungs. “Tell me, and you’ll have it.”

The air felt suspended around them for what could have been the beginnings of a lifetime. Neither of them could look away, their golden eyes melting into ore between their prone forms. Geralt was ready, so fucking ready, and Eskel was ready to give it to him. It wasn’t exactly the most difficult choice that Geralt had ever had to make.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed, tasting his desperation claw its way up from his chest. “P-please, Esk. M... make me cum.”

Eskel smiled, his teeth bared and almost wild as he pressed his finger firmy down to the screen, causing the toy to vibrate strong and fast and hard, pulsing against Geralt’s prostate and fucking holding there. They both knew how close Geralt was. His cheeks were flushed high and pink, trailing in soft brushstrokes down his neck and below the collar of his shirt. Eskel reached out with his free hand and grasped onto Geralt’s once more, watching Geralt’s hips reach a breaking point in their rhythm before suddenly stilling.

Geralt came with only the slightest noise, just little stunted, guttural grunts escaping up out of his chest, his eyes screwed shut as his climax overtook him. Geralt’s hips twitched and stuttered in aborted thrusts, completely unconsciously. His conscious mind was nowhere to be found, floating through time and space with the comfort of being cared for and grasped onto whiting out his vision. His mouth hung agape and he threw his head back against the high back of the chair, his chest heaving, racing, trying to bring him back into his own mind and into Eskel’s waiting hands.

Their surroundings started to push at the fuzzy edges of Geralt’s mind, the muted sounds of a still busy restaurant, Eskel’s finger slowing the toy down to a low rumble, the cooling wetness pooled in his briefs. Eskel’s voice, fading into the soft mush of his mind, “-so fucking good, Geralt. So beautiful, you’re killin’ me. You’ve gotta know how much I need you, need you more than air, love.”

Geralt blinked his eyes back open, finding Eskel in a... precarious position. His own chest dark and ruddy, little pearls of sweat beading in the hollows of his exposed collarbones. Sitting across from Geralt with his broad shoulders, hips slightly slumped to accommodate the now far-too-tight crotch of his trousers, eyes dark, mouth open slightly with his free hand beneath the edge of the table. Gerat could see from the way that he was moving that he was just barely palming himself through his pants, not seeking his own climax yet, but so starvingly desperate that he truly could not help himself.

Eskel’s thumb rubbed slow, soothing circles over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, escorting his mind with an anchor to tether his focus. “M-may I come sit next to you?”

Geralt smiled dopily and nodded, chuckling a bit as Eskel clambered out of his seat and into the spot at his side with all of the grace of an over-excited newborn horse that hadn’t quite found its legs yet. Eskel set his hand at the nape of Geralt’s neck and pulled him close, slotting their lips together with a fervor that only barely made its way to the light of day. Eskel rumbled soft whispers into Geralt’s mouth as they kissed, praises and words of wonderment, somehow sounding half-drunk and stone-cold sober in the same breath.

Eskel pulled back only enough to allow words to drift over the air between their lips, resting their foreheads together and rubbing his thumbs back and forth through the soft hairs at the base of Geralt’s skull. “How’re you feeling, love? Comin’ back?”

Geralt smiled, blinking slowly at Eskel and glancing around. He was no longer exactly blindingly comfortable, especially with the feeling of his own spend cooling in the tight embrace of his briefs, though he still felt safe and content and sated, wrapped in Eskel’s arms. “Yeah, Esk. ‘M good. That was... fuck, that was nice.”

The smile that Eskel shot Geralt was one that would saunter unbidden through Geralt’s mind until the day he ceased breathing on this earth. It was light and soft, lilies preening in the moonlight under which they bloomed. “Yeah? Here, hang on. You sh-”

“Yeah yeah, drink some water. I know,” Geralt grinned, pecking his husband on the lips once more before pulling away, though Eskel still kept him comfortably within his embrace. The glass of water, sweaty with condensation, was cool as Geralt lifted it to his mouth, letting it calm his humming muscles as the water spilled out and down into his throat. “You always break out of the scene so soon, ‘s always when I cum-”

“You’re just so damn sweet when you finish, Ger…” Eskel nuzzled his nose into the crook of Geralt’s neck, his brown curls tickling the tender skin and bringing goosebumps in their wake.

The weight of the toy still sat warm inside of Geralt, and though he flexed around just the smallest tinge of oversensitivity, it was... well. It was another thing for his mind to focus in on and cling to. “So, handsome,” Geralt set the empty glass down onto the table and ran his finger down Eskel’s neck, trailing through the dark thatch of chest hair that peeked out and hooked into the V of his open shirt. “Wanna let me take you home?”

They wasted no time in making themselves scarce, Eskel nearly ripping his jeans in his haste to remove his wallet from his pocket. He left a (thankfully, already prepared) wad of cash on the table as a tip for Lou and tucked his far too obvious for polite company erection into the waist of his pants. Eskel scooted out of the booth first, holding out a hand for Geralt to take as he followed suit.

They hurried to the host stand, settling their bill before leaving, tearing through the front doors as if their very lives depended on them getting back to their home right the fuck now. Eskel reached over the center console once they got into the car and kissed Geralt with enough heat to make a damn volcano jealous, nipping his lip and breathing his name into his mouth before pulling away like he had been struck by lightning.

“Gotta-” Eskel swallowed thickly and put on his seatbelt with a look on his face like it was physically paining him to part from the soft warmth of Geralt’s lips. “Gotta get home, or else I’m just gonna fuck you in the car.”

Geralt hummed and did up his own seatbelt, letting Eskel shift the car into drive and pull away from the restaurant and onto the highway. “A tempting offer. But both of our backs would be fucking shot in the morning. Gettin’ too old for that.”

Eskel chuckled, crooking his eyebrow. “You’re tellin’ me. Maybe we should take up yoga-”

“Don’t you even start. Unless I get to watch you do nude yoga on a mountaintop while the sun is rising, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Maybe we’ll head up the mountains for our next vacation, see the leaves change colors?”

Geralt sighed with a lazy smile playing at his lips. “T-that’d be nice.”

Eskel hummed, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while. That is, until they got about halfway home and Geralt started to get bored. He looked over into Eskel’s lap, finding him still hard and tenting his jeans, his hands twitching restlessly on the steering wheel.

“You know,” Geralt hummed, reaching over and placing his hand high up on Eskel’s thigh, firm and holding fast just shy of where he knew Eskel was aching for his touch. “I have some ideas for just what I’d like for us to do when we get home.”

Eskel quirked his brow and kept his eyes stubbornly on the road, though his knuckles grew white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. “Y-yeah?”

Geralt then started whispering, honey-laced sweetness tinging the fucking list that he rattled off into Eskel’s ear. Everything from how he wanted to draw out Eskel’s pleasure for as long as he could last, down to licking the salt of his spend off of every inch of where he marked Eskel’s body as his own. Eskel groaned and his breath hitched every now and then, his knee bouncing with anticipation and just the briefest tinge of impatience.

Eskel threw the car into park once they pulled far enough into their driveway to not get clipped by cars passing on the road, his parking job about as straight as he was. He jumped out of the car and didn’t even make it to the damned door before he started stripping out of his clothes, popping open the buttons of his green button down and tugging it free from where it had been tucked into his jeans. Geralt followed behind him with a smirk, stepping across the threshold of the house and over Eskel’s haphazardly abandoned shoes.

Geralt pulled the front door shut and locked it just as Eskel crowded up behind him, spinning him ‘round and cupping the nape of his neck with his hand.

Eskel kissed him deeply, licking into his mouth and moaning, trying to undo the dainty, pearly buttons of Geralt’s shirt that he had so delicately done up only a few hours prior.

“Geralt,” he could taste Eskel’s moan on the tip of his tongue, calling out to him and begging for everything that he had.

“Yes, love?”

“Take me to bed.” Eskel’s eyes were wide and dark with lust as he finally yanked the sleeves down Geralt’s arms and let it fall to the floor.

Geralt led him towards the stairs, both of them frantically stripping their clothes away, leaving Eskel completely bare and Geralt still in his briefs when they got to the foot of their bed. Eskel dropped to his knees and mouthed at the soft cotton of Geralt’s briefs, nosing along the mostly-soft cock that was still damp with his spend.

Eskel’s eys swam with the vision of Geralt, his hands spread out on their table as his climax washed over him, his eyes hazed and his jaw slack with all-encompassing pleasure. Eskel shifted his knees forward and dragged his hard cock along Geralt’s shin as he teased his cock with his lips, suckling and groaning into his hip.

“E-Esk,” Geralt breathed, sinking his fingers into mahogany brown hair that had no business being as soft as it was. “Fuckkk, you’re too good to me.”

Eskel shook his head and rutted his hips against Geralt’s leg, dripping precome into the coarse hairs that trailed down towards his feet. “N-no. Not good enough. Never good enough for you. But you make… you make me better. Better than I ever thought I could be.”

Geralt knew that feeling. Hells, he felt it every damn day. But they both knew, logically, that they were everything that the other needed, everything they wanted. Eskel would say it though, whenever it popped into his mind, he would question why Geralt chose him. After all these years, everything that they went through together, he still couldn’t let himself believe that he could be enough for Geralt.

Geralt gently tugged Eskel’s hair, tilting his head back to look him in the eyes. Those beautiful golden eyes, brimming suns nestled in the warmest face one could ever hope to find.

“Doesn’t matter if you think you’re good enough,” Geralt murmured, tracing the line of Eskel’s brow and down his jaw, “but that I choose you. Everyday, I choose you. I love you more than every moon, every planet, every star in the sky. And I love you more every day.”

Eskel groaned and leaned forward, licking the line of Geralt’s growing arousal through his briefs. He could taste Geralt’s spend through his briefs as he licked and sucked at the dark fabric, coaxing his husband back to full hardness while Geralt’s fingers combed his hair back from his face, his spine shuddering.

“F-fuck,” Eskel gasped, resting his forehead into the crook of Geralt’s hip, still licking softly at the base of his cock through his briefs. “Ger, I-I need to be inside of you, please”

Well, and who was Geralt to deny a request like that?

"Hmmm, best quit dawdling with my briefs, then. Get in me," Geralt rumbled with his fingers still snugly nestled in Eskel's hair.

"Is this proactive enough for you, then?" Eskel smirked up at Geralt as he yanked his briefs down his legs. Geralt chuckled as he stepped out of them and Eskel shouldered his way between his thighs. He was gentle as he reached back behind Geralt’s balls, wrapping his fingers around the base of the toy and wiggling it free, soothing his fingers around the now empty, pliant hole. “Fuck, you’re still so fucking wet. All this lube and cum here, bet I could just slip right into this loose little hole, couldn’t I?”

And then Geralt felt his feet leave the ground as Eskel gripped hard onto his hips and shoved him backwards, sending him flying through the air to bounce onto the bed. Now, Geralt would deny it till the day he died, but he let out a short, barking, high pitched squeal of delight in the brief moment of being sent airborne by his husband’s hands.

Eskel crawled onto the bed and hovered over him, growling as Geralt planted his feet and twisted the two of them, pushing and yanking and wrestling atop the covers until Geralt was firmly settled atop Eskel, straddling his tree-trunk thighs.

Geralt settled his bum on Eskel’s hips, slotting their cocks together and thrusting lightly, sending sparks up both of their spines at the sudden rush of pleasure that shot through their bones. Eskel keened from the backs of his teeth and his grip tightened on Geralt’s hips. “D-don’t tease, please-“

Geralt grinned wolfishly. “You’ve been teasing me all night, love. You can’t take even a little?”

Eskel growled and his hips thrust harder, faster, bouncing Geralt in his lap. “You already came, I’ve been half-hard since I got you dressed.”

Geralt ground his hips down and cut Eskel off with a groan, still the great heft of muscle and softness under his hands. “I want to ruin you, love.”

Eskel moaned and threw his head back. “Do it, please Geralt. I’m yours. Fuckin’ wreck me.”

Geralt shifted his hips and lifted up on his knees, taking Eskel’s cock in his hand. He watched the shiver ripple through the small of Eskel’s stomach before he scooted himself forward and lined him up at his comfortably stretched entrance and started to sink down oh so slowly.

“F-f... fucking shit, Esk-” Geralt could barely connect strings between words as he was filled so completely, so perfectly.

Eskel moaned loud and unabashedly, his voice cracking as Geralt’s hips met flush with his own. “I-I was right. Sti-mmm. Still so fuckin’ loose, took me like nothing.”

“Now,” Geralt leaned down and brushed his thumbs over Eskel’s nipples, relishing the shockwave that it sent through the surface of his skin. “I’m going to ride you, and I want to make you cum so hard that you won’t be able to walk until tomorrow. Deal?”

Eskels eyes rolled back in his head as Geralt clenched his muscles around his cock, groaning into the space that kept Geralt’s lips just out of reach of his own. “Hu-h... yes, fuck. Deal, p-please…”

Geralt circled his hips and rolled back and forth, not driving Eskel in and out, just coaxing him into every nook and cranny nestled away inside of him. He sat up, bracing his hands on Eskel’s chest, his fingers dimpling into the soft muscle that tensed under his touch. “Mmm, feel so good, love. I wanna watch you shatter for me-”

Eskel’s breath hitched as Geralt shifted up and rocked back down, the slick slide of his hole gripping his cock like the last tether to the map of euphoria he was so desperately following. “I-shit, not... not gonna last long, not like this--”

Geralt leaned back down, the angle pushing Eskel deeper inside of him with each soft, devastatingly slow roll of his hips. “Then don't.”

Eskel felt every inch of his cock dragging along Geralt’s walls, impossibly warm and slick and tight, overwhelming him as he finally found the path to his release. But Geralt was trying him, forcing his hand at patience and restraint. Long, slow thrusts down, driving them further into truly becoming one. His mind frayed at the edges, electric tendrils sparking alight as Geralt’s pace just barely, minutely started to falter, both of them finding themselves at the edge of their patience.

And as Geralt was ruining Eskel, Eskel blabbered endlessly about how good Geralt was. How he loved seeing that floaty look in Geralt's eyes at dinner, knowing Geralt was trusting him entirely. Fuck, how good he looked when he came, and how Eskel could hardly control himself.

Eskel knew how to make it go a little faster. Geralt admired Eskel’s patience, it was something that had cradled him during the hardest days and the warmest times. Especially since Geralt had the patience of a hamster. All it took was a little... tactile persuasion.

Eskel’s hands found those same marks on Geralt’s hips that he had left behind earlier in the evening and fucking lifted him, dropping him back down as Eskel’s cock drove into him at the pace he’d been chasing so desperately.

Geralt slid his hips up and down, taking off at a breakneck pace that Eskel encouraged with wordless gasps and huffs from the depths of his lungs. Their skin slapped hard, Eskel’s shouts of pleasure tearing from his throat nearly drowning out Geralt’s sighs and quiet groans in response.

Geralt tried to keep control, to keep Eskel worn thin and ragged. But Eskel had at least 50 pounds of muscle on him, and besides, Geralt was fucking weak for being a little manhandled like he was nothing. He could feel every shudder that worked its way beneath Eskel’s skin, calling out to him and enticing him closer and closer to his own release.

“E-Esk-” Geralt breathed, his thighs quaking and his stomach clenching with anticipation of what was about to spill from his lips. “Ta...take what you need. F-fuck me, go on-”

Eskel ground his hips up, shoving his cock deep within Geralt with a dull roar that clawed its way from his throat and into the static air that dripped with their arousals. Eskel sat up and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, his fingers digging into the hollows at his shoulder blades before twisting them around, practically throwing Geralt down onto the bed and hovering over him.

His hair, soft and curled at the ends, dripping beads of sweat onto Geralt’s cheeks, hung down in curtains that bounced and flailed as Eskel ploughed into Geralt. He was mindless, everything he ever wanted to know was hurtling towards him relentlessly from where it was tucked away inside of Geralt. Eskel would follow Geralt to the very ends of the Earth, and Melitele’s tits, it fucking felt like he was about to find that threshold.

Their arousal kept building, bouncing and amplifying off of each other, neither of them able to so much as think further than the immediate moment. Completely lost, with only each other to guide them. It was an overwhelming, all encompassing euphoria that just refused to reach a peak. They sprinted together, needing just that one last little push to finally plummet into blissful oblivion.

It was Geralt who finally spoke, husky whispers as his nails scratched along Eskel’s scalp, clawing at his hair in an effort to find something to hang on to. His bottom lip was swollen from where he’d been biting it, and the words tumbled off of his tongue unbidden. “Esk-love, p…please-“

Geralt didn’t often beg. But when he did? It was almost exclusively when Eskel was balls deep inside of him. And Eskel was weak for it.

The fucking sound that Eskel made when he climaxed was world-shattering, to say the least. A growl torn up from his chest that bursted into a shout, followed by high, breathy gasps into Geralt’s mouth. Eskel’s eyes screwed shut as he ground deep, his hips stuttering and his jaw flexing and shaking as his climax overtook him. Geralt felt the vibrations of Eskel’s chest where it pressed into his own, and when Eskel finally leaned down and mashed his lips to Geralt’s:that’s what finally set him off.

Geralt’s cock flexed and his legs shook where they were wrapped around Eskel’s waist, hot white spurts of spend shooting out of him. Nothing outside of that moment mattered, there was nothing that existed other than the heavy weight of Eskel resting atop him and grinding as he spilled into Geralt. Geralt’s body shook with waves of pleasure that threatened to send him into an impossible spiral into endless euphoria.

Eskel dragged his hands along Geralt’s sides, pressing his lips to any and every inch of skin that he could reach as their orgasms faded, leaving them dripping sweat and breathlessly gasping into each other.

“Damn,” Eskel panted, his voice hoarse and lined with velvet. “Geralt, you came on the sheets again.”

“Fuck,” Geralt twisted his head around, finding the small pools of his spend seeping into the dark maroon of their sheets. He grinned and stuck his tongue out, lapping up a few drops of spend from where it had spattered onto Eskel’s chin. “You love it. I’ll throw the laundry in before I go to work tomorrow.”

“We gotta get better about puttin’ the towel down,” Eskel sighed, resting his forehead down onto Geralt’s. He felt the occasional stunted flutter of Geralt’s ass around his softening cock and fuck he was so warm and good and everything Eskel could ever dream to want.

“Sheet’s are already fucked, go ahead and pull out,” Geralt murmured, trailing his fingers through Eskel’s hair and twisting around the ends.

“What if I wanna keep it in? Just for a bit,” Eskel rumbled, brushing their noses together and blinking his bright golden eyes with just enough softness to melt Geralt’s heart.

Geralt hummed and ran his hands down Eskel’s flanks. “I like when you keep me full. I could take a little nap like this.”

“Go ahead,” Eskel whispered, watching Geralt’s eyelids flutter diligently. “Rest, love. You know I’ll still be here come morning.”

Geralt shook his head and huffed from his nose. “Nuh-uh. W-wanna just hold you. Like this.”

They lay together like that for a long while, Eskel wrapped up in a tight warmth and feeling Geralt’s hands slowly track up and down and across the planes of his back. Everything was so soft, so warm, and watching Geralt’s eyes slowly drift shut, stubbornly blinking back open before falling closed, was lulling him into that liminal space that drifted just before sleep.

“L-“ Geralt cleared his throat and pressed his lips to the corner of Eskel’s mouth, right in the crook of his scar. “Love you, Esk.”

Eskel rolled them to the side and tucked Geralt into his chest, shifting their legs so that Eskel’s soft cock could still rest nestled inside of Geralt. “Love you too, Geralt. Endlessly.”

[demisexualemmaswan]

the story can resume (2/???)

A/N: "I'll definitely update in October," I said to myself two months ago. I tried to write but I admittedly struggled a little bit with writing this chapter. Hoping you'll enjoy this chapter! Also, I thought Henry was going to bet he sole narrator and then the muse decided otherwise. Hoping you’ll enjoy Emma and Killian’s perspective too! 

Summary: “The story can resume. … I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.”An unfortunate misunderstanding caused by secrets and naivety forces a young couple to be torn from each other far too soon. It’s up to Henry Nolan to put the clues together and right the wrong he has caused his sister and the man she loves most.Inspired by the book/film Atonement for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon.   Tagging: @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @teamhook @jarienn972 @dreameronarooftop15 @captain-emmajones @klynn-stormz @snowbellewells @csalltheway @captainswanmoviemarathon @captainswan21 @xsajx @lonelyspectator12 @yasbio2015 @mariakov81 @xarandomdreamx 

[Read on Ao3] 

--

“And he burnt the manuscript?” Killian asked angrily, digging another hole in the ground for the new shrubbery.

“He tried to,” Emma sighed from where she was lounging on the grass. “Apparently it was rescued from the fire with only a singed back cover and enough emotional scars to almost keep Henry from writing ever again.” She closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the sun. “Was it a mistake for me to leave, Killian?”

Her voice trembled and it stopped him in his tracks. 

“I...I can handle it when father gets like that. It’s been this way for ages, and he’s never understood Henry. I should’ve stayed here to protect him.” She slung her arm over her face to stop him from seeing her tears. He could tell by the way her chest hitched a little bit. “At the very least, by now they would’ve married me off and I could do something they’d actually be proud of.” 

“Emma,” Killian murmured, putting the shovel down. He furtively glanced around to make sure no one was watching him before he sat beside her. “Emma, love. You would’ve hated being stuck here. As awful as those gits were to you, I know how much you relished using your mind the last four years. You’re brilliant in so many other ways that your father is an arsehole for being unable to appreciate. There’s no point in sacrificing your happiness for everyone else’s. You deserve to be just as happy as any of them.” 

He reached out to touch her and then thought better of himself.

Killian glanced around again to make sure that Emma was the only one who had heard him. If he was to be honest, he had gotten quite used to the freedom that had come with being at Oxford. No one scrutinized their every movement, he could speak his mind to Emma, and she could  speak hers in turn. If anything, their time away from the manor had solidified their ironclad friendship. When they were taking the train home, Emma curled into his side as she slept, the nightfall cloaking everything that they had wanted to hide from each other, everything they’d wanted to ignore. But daylight had thrown everything into a sharp relief. 

Their stations, and Emma’s family, would never accept him as being more than the servant boy that they found on the street. Which would’ve been perfectly fine, if Killian had not been ardently and devotedly in love with Emma. He had no idea if she returned his feelings, but he fancied himself the keeper and protector of her heart. 

(He had other feelings toward Emma that he would only act upon when he was alone, as he pictured the hollow of her throat, her hair tossed back and what she would feel like around him.)

He would just have to simply resume the task in secret. If anything, it made him feel like her knight, championing himself for her, promising himself in all things to keep her heart safe. He was quite sure Emma would break his nose again if he ever verbalized his feelings, either sort of his feelings. She was a tough lass and she certainly didn’t need to be rescued. An incident in a bar at Oxford involving one Neal Cassidy and a broken foot  certainly proved that to all and sundry that Emma Nolan was not to be trifled with. 

But Killian did not mind building his best friend back up when she felt knocked down. She was fierce and brilliant, but it did not change that she needed to be reminded of this when the world knocked just a little too harshly. 

“I’m supposed to be picking flowers,” Emma muttered, finally drawing her arm away from her face. Her eyes were dry, if a little red. “David’s coming home today. For a visit. Did you know?”

“Aye, I’d heard,” Killian murmured. “A very reliable author informed me.” Warmth and amusement flooded his tone and Emma chuckled softly in spite of herself. “He’s bringing the fiancee. Mary something.”

“Mary Margaret. And two friends: Walsh Ozman and Graham Hubert,” Emma sighed, her green eyes flickering up to him. In the sunlight, he could see the golden flecks that were found in both Henry and David’s eyes, but they made her eyes look all the more striking. “Apparently they’re both extremely eligible bachelors.” Her voice hardened and her eyes narrowed. 

“Well, you can always break their noses and send them running,” Killian said serenely, standing up and getting ready to return to the yard work. 

Emma rolled onto her side and looked up at him, a smile playing on the corners of her lips. “It didn’t scare you away,” she reminded him softly.

“And it never will,” he promised, heading over to the wheelbarrow and shovel again. 

Emma’s hand reached for him as if to call him back and then she seemed to think better of herself, her fingers neatly folding in on themselves. “Thank you,” she murmured softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Killian.” She came up beside him for a moment and rested her chin on his shoulder, her arms ensnaring his waist. 

He tilted his head slightly so he could look at her over his shoulder. “You’ll never have to find out,” he promised softly, his lips so close to hers that it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility to just turn around and kiss her. 

For a moment they shared a breath, simply looking at each other. His eyes searched hers, desperate for some sign that he could do what he’d wanted to do for the last four years. Her gaze never broke from his, and he could’ve lost himself in the green of her eyes forever. She leaned in a little closer until a yell from the house distracted them both. 

Emma pulled away abruptly, her breath rattled. Though he had not kissed her, he felt like his lips were buzzing with the anticipation of the act. “I need to go get the flowers,” she rasped, immediately turning on her heel and all but fleeing back into the house.  

“Emma!” Killian called after her, racing to try and grab her hand, to get her to explain, to get her to tell him what the hell that just was. 

But the honking down the lane signified the return of Liam with the car and the arrival of David and their guests. 

And then one car became two, signaling the arrival of Emma’s cousins and Killian sighed. It was going to be a very long day.

--

“But I don’t want to act out your stupid old story!” Jack protested, folding his arms over his chest. “This is horrifically boring! Hardly any violence in it at all!” “I agree, I want there to be some action! I think it’d be rather exciting for Leon to be stabbed at the end and I am an excellent stabber!” Nick added excitedly.

“And I am very excellent at falling over and pretending to be dead!” Jack exclaimed. He leapt to his feet and Nick pretended to stab him. Jack held onto his chest and staggered before falling over, pretending to be dead. “See, Henry?” the boy asked, his voice muffled by the floor. 

“No one is getting stabbed!” Henry protested hotly, crossing his arms. If he had known that casting his cousins in the reading of the story was going to be such an arduous task, he wouldn’t have done it at all. They were every bit as opinionated and bossy as they ever were, and any sympathy Henry had for their plight was long gone in the wake of their atrocious behavior. “If you want a part with stabbing then you can write your own story.”

“Let’s go swimming!” Jack cried, springing up from the ground.  “It’s too hot and I don’t want to write or read any sort of story! It’s summer and I shan’t do any school work while I’m here!”

“It’s not school work,” Henry short back.

“No school! No school!” Nicholas chanted.

“Let’s go for a swim!” Jack cried.

“But then we won’t be prepared for--” Henry started, but the uproar of the twins drowned out his protest as the two bolted out of the rooms, racing to see which one could find their swimsuit the fastest and which one could do the biggest cannonball off the docks. 

“Just a half an hour break, Henry.” His cousin, Ava, had only sat back during the whole exchange with a little smirk on her face. Even when she spoke, there was still a condescending edge to her tone that had Henry crossing his arms. “I’m sure you can manage that for your guests, can’t you? It’s what Uncle Leopold would want.” 

Henry’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, go take your swim,” he muttered, looking at the floor. “I’ll just be up here waiting when you guys get back.”

“Will you rewrite Arabella’s last scene so that she faints?” Ava asked, tapping her cheek. “I’m a wonderful fainter. My drama teacher at school says so.” Henry just nodded mutely. “Good boy,” she said snidely before flouncing out of the room. 

WIth a sigh, Henry sat back down at his desk, pressing his forehead to the wood. There was a moment where he briefly considered tearing up the whole thing and letting his cousins off the hook. But he was sure that it would come back to haunt him someway.

No doubt Ava would complain that Henry wasn’t being courteous to the guests and had destroyed the book because it wasn’t going his way. And then Henry would get a long lecture which certainly would feature the phrase “man up” several times over.

Besides, as much as he wanted to, he was sure ripping up his manuscript would only prove his father right and greatly disappoint Emma. He was more afraid of the latter in that regard that the former and so he set it aside. 

Still, there was nothing that said he couldn’t write a revenge story about his cousins very quickly. That he could shred up so that it would never see the light of day, and it would make him feel more amiable toward his cousins upon their return from their swim.

After quickly adding in a line at the end to indicate that Arabella would faint, Henry began work on his project to let out his frustrations. In this story, he was much braver, all but shouting at his cousins. In this story, his voice roared like a lion when he took back his manuscript from his father and his father kowtowed to his interests. And maybe in this story, he was just a little bit better at math. There was nothing quite like getting lost in a story, as the world around him seemed to fade away. His bedroom no longer seemed to exist, but instead a world of evil queens, werewolves and monsters. He was quite entranced in his plot when a shout drew him away from his writing. Going to the window, he saw Emma and Killian standing by the fountain. Their father’s favorite vase was beside Emma, full of flowers. Henry was too far away to hear exactly what they were saying but he could hear Killian’s voice shouting at Emma. His sister stood stock still before she brusquely began shimmying out of her dress leaving her only in her chemise. Henry ducked away from the window, his heart pounding against his chest. What had he just seen?

Had Killian told her to do that?

--

Emma, after leaving Killian in the garden, had walked back into the house to get the vase. Her cheeks burned with how close she and Killian had been, though she tried to convince herself that it was just because it was hot outside.

She only had a moment’s notice to pull herself together as the twins came barrelling down the hall.

“I can jump farther than you!” “Well I can swim faster than you!” “Goodness, what’s all this about?” Emma laughed, watching Jack and Nicholas chase each other around the table. 

“Can we go for a swim, Emma, please?” they pleaded in unison, still chasing each other in a circle.

“Yes, of course you can go for a swim!” Emma laughed. “Go on! Race to see who can get there faster!” The boys giggled and went tumbling out of the house, shoving each other as they went. She smiled fondly for a moment before she went back to find the vase.

She picked her father’s favorite vase, knowing that he would want to show it off proudly on the table, and at least if she’d picked the right vase it would be a small recompense for whatever damage she was liable to do later on in the evening. 

Closing her eyes and counting to three, she took in a few deep breaths still trying to will the heat in her cheeks away.

“Why are you so flushed, cousin?” Ava asked suspiciously from the door. 

Emma’s eyes flew open. “Because it’s the hottest it’s been all summer,” she replied. “And I’ve just been in the garden.”

“With Killian, I’m sure.” Her cousin responded, then took a considerable pause before adding, “I’m sure your father would be very interested in hearing about that.” 

Emma did not appreciate the tone that her cousin was taking.  She stepped closer to Ava, just to remind the other girl she was a little taller and a little older. 

“A reminder to you that this is my house, and I am to go where I please,” Emma replied firmly. “And if Killian happens to be working while I’m lounging in the garden, then there’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, I’m sure my father would love to hear how committed Killian is to the upkeep of the estate.” 

She brushed past Ava before turning around and adding, “It would do you well, cousin, to be more gracious to your hosts. You may be a guest, but don’t think I don’t know about the money that’s gone into keeping your family’s indiscretions quiet.” 

“Are you threatening me?” Ava demanded.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Emma replied with a thin smile. “I’m just reminding you that you could certainly practice a little more gratitude. After all, your reputation hangs quite precariously and if you fall out of my father’s favor, then you might actually have to work for a living, cousin.” She tilted her head and added, “Perhaps Killian might be able to teach you about gardening. He’s quite good at it.”

She began to walk away, but Ava was determined to have the last word. “At least I’m not a good-for-nothing like you!” Ava shot back, folding her arms over her chest with a pout.

She stopped in her tracks, turning around to face her cousin. The remark didn’t sting coming from her cousin. She heard it so often that the remark barely made a mark coming from anyone. “Was that meant to insult me?” Emma laughed, the sound high and bitter. “You’ll have to do better than that. I already know I’m a good-for-nothing.”

With that, she walked back out into the garden. Killian straightened up when he saw her, but didn’t dare approach. He went back to his work, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Emma picked flowers while she waited for Ava to stalk past them and follow her brothers. True to form, Ava flounced past them with her nose in the air.

“It’s an excellent bouquet you’ve picked, love,” was the first thing Killian said to her, after a few moments of heavy silence. 

“Yes, I think David will like them a lot,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice bright. “I just need to grab some water from the fountain.”

“Well, that works out for me. Your mother wishes me to water the rose bushes by the fountain. I’ll come with you.”

Emma and Killian walked side by side to the fountain, the only sound passing between them the rattling of the wheelbarrow at first. 

“You’re not a good-for-nothing,” he said quietly to her. “You have to know you’re…”

“I am, Killian,” Emma said quietly. “But you’re sweet for saying I’m not.” Her sigh was heavy. “Knowing me, somehow I’ll have picked the wrong flowers or the wrong vase too.”

“Well, let me water them for you,” Killian offered gallantly when they arrived at the fountain. “So that you can say you didn’t mess up the watering.” He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the vase.

“No, I’ve got it.” She tugged the vase closer to her.

“I insist, love.” He tugged it back to him.

“It’s watering a vase. I can do it.” A firmer tug and a firmer tone.

“Emma, it’s fine!” His handle broke off of the vase and fell into the fountain. His eyes met hers and he shrugged. “Oops.”

“Don’t ‘oops’ me, Killian Jones!” Emma demanded, running a hand over her face. “That was my father’s favorite vase. He’s going to kill me.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Killian replied. Emma took a step forward to yell at him. “Careful!” he shouted. Her feet had barely brushed the jagged edges of the vase and she stopped, frozen for a moment. Realizing that the handle was still in the water, she quickly stripped down to her chemise and dove in to fetch it. She winced when she felt the jagged edge of the broken piece cut into her hand, but she still held on when she came up for air.

“Emma, your hand! It’s cut!” Killian exclaimed. “Let me help.” “It’s fine,” Emma replied, fully aware that she was dripping with water and her chemise was essentially see through at this point.

“Let me help,” Killian insisted again, gingerly taking her hand in his own.

“So now you’re going to a gentleman?” she asked, trying to keep her breath from hitching at just how close they were standing to one another. 

“Goodness only knows what’s been living in that pond and if we have to cut off your hand, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Killian replied. “And I’m always a gentleman.” He took a bottle out of his pocket and gently began pouring it on Emma’s hand. “Ah!” she hissed. “What the hell is that?” “Rum,” Killian replied, closing the bottle and  taking her hand back in his. “And a bloody waste of it too.”

“What? Are you drinking on the job?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow. “Hardly, but it makes for an exemplary disinfectant,” Killian replied. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and began wrapping it around her hand. Using his mouth to secure it, he very gingerly tied it in a knot to secure it in place. “There.”

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, the hairs on her arms standing up.

“Is that all your hand is worth to you?” he teased, pulling back. “Perhaps some gratitude is in order.” He tapped his lips playfully, and Emma rolled her eyes.

“That’s what the thank you was for,” Emma retorted, her eyes shining with mirth. “Besides, it wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me fill the vase.” Killian quirked an eyebrow at her, and she smirked at him, knowing full well that he had blushed when pretty girls looked at him at Oxford. “Please. You couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” Killian taunted, popping the ‘t’ sound in ‘it’.

Emma stared at him for a moment before grabbing him by the suspenders and yanking him toward her. Her mouth slid against his and she desperately pressed into it for more. His arm hooked around her waist while his other hand went to her hair, trying to draw her in closer. She couldn’t help but moan as their lips slid together and he pushed back as if he could never get enough. When they broke for air, she was still clinging to his suspenders. They were sharing a breath, and though Emma couldn’t see Killian’s face--when had she closed her eyes?--he sounded as wrecked as he felt. Then, with a horrified spring of guilt, she realized that this was her best friend, and by kissing him, she could’ve compromised his future and his esteem in her father’s eyes.

“That was…” Killian started, the wonder still in his voice. “A one time thing,” Emma said frantically, pulling away from him. She gathered her things together and headed back into the house, leaving Killian there alone. 

It broke her heart to leave him there, but she couldn’t put his future in danger. 

The kiss made her realize that he meant too much to her for that.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x07)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 07: Team Death Match

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: i don’t know what trope this is but I got inspired to write this after listening to a song THAT I DIDN’T EVEN ADD IN HERE!!!!

Word Count:Ever felt your skull was heavy one day? Out of the blue? Like your forehead and your upper jaw did not seem like they were handling their weight really well. They just want to lie down and then they have the audacity to NOT sleep at night. This has been happening to me for the past five days.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The pitch-black shifted out from a fog, the lens trying to find its focus as a figure appeared in front of it. Then two. Then three. A groan could be seen leaving you as your body tried to find the arms of gravity while your head tried to come back from some dream-like spin. But gravity had other plans and so you swerved a little to find your face moving closer to the ground till a something strong broke your fall. That something strong being Loki's arms holding tightly onto your waist. The touch of cold arms across your scalding stomach was more than welcome by your roiling brain. "Aaah," you sighed with a stupid grin stuck on your face and your barely opened eyes rolling back, "coooold." It was no work for the God to hold you like that but he knew you would go back to sleep if he kept your burning back stuck to his crisp body. And so, without a second thought, he let go of his hold on you, letting you fall on the grass with a yelp and a thump, followed by a groan. The camera recorded his no-fucks-given face.

Loki: *resting bitch face* What. I'm the God of Mischief.  Not God of free air conditioning. *camera pans in* I condition when I please.

"Ow! What the-" you grunt and try- in not any way that would look graceful- to get up- "ahh my butt!" The camera recorded Loki wearing his maroon jacket, the one that flowed with its length- over a black v-neck and equally black denim. "Get your butt up, you traitorous witch. I am never getting stuck with you anywhere ever again." Your furrowed brows could tell you were confused at Loki's words, but they were not as confusing as the greenery underneath you and a tarp over your head shielding you from the scorching star overhead. The shed around you housed wooden tables, crates and surprisingly a lot of weapons on them. "What the hell is happening here?" Your previously spinning head wondered if it felt into another dimension when you hit the ground. "You," Loki pointed his finger right into your face, startling you where you stood, "you are the hell that is happening!" You stood there, your mouth agape, trying to bring out a sound that would reflect the amount of insult you were feeling right now. "Excuse me? What in the flying f-" Loki interrupted you, his palms rising in the idiot-sandwich pose. "Why did you have to touch the video game?! I told you specifically to NOT touch anything while we are in the shop, did I not?!" Standing there motionless, the camera slowly zoomed in to watch your facial expressions reflecting the workings of your brain to recall what Loki was talking about.

Twenty Nine Minutes Earlier "I don't care how weird this planet is, Loki, when you see an antique shop, it is an unspoken rule to check it out. Because a- it always some old stuff lying around and b- it might be haunted." Loki walked in through the door first, looking at the camera. "Says the woman who runs towards her room after switching off the lounge lights," he mentioned to the lens, getting a passing smack on his torso from your figure walking out of the frame. "Hullllowww!" You called out to...no one. "Is there anybody there? Any living or dead? We are walking in your shop looking at your antique stuff." "I'm not with her," Loki imitated your tone, getting an eye roll from you. Lulu settled around your neck like one elongated fluffed-up scarf, not really that eager to explore. Around the four of you was a treasure trove of unidentified and expectedly unfamiliar objects catching your eye from everywhere. There was even a preserved head of what looked like some ancient elk behind the counter- more in a meditative state than dead. Trinkets lay on shelves for the audience to look- one more mesmerised and the others- without any eyes. So to speak. Loki was the only one who did not believe they didn't have an observer. "I don't like this place. Y/N, come on. Let's g-" The camera was already recording the green and red glitter waves coming from the little palette you had touched, sucking all of you in, making the camera go dark before coming to the present.  With the realisation in your eyes and confusion in your brows, you looked at Loki. "Okay, but how was I supposed to know that little old cassette would Jumanji us here?!"

Flashback The recording shows you looking at the cassette while the lens zooms in to the alien inscription shifting to give way to the words writing Jumanji. "Oh! This one says Jumanji!" You tell the camera before picking it up.

You: *suck on your teeth* *guilt in your eyes* *scratch an itch behind your ear* Yeah I should've seen that coming. *watch something out of the frame* *start running with fear in your eyes* I'M SORRIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE- *the lens catches Loki's running figure coming to get you*

"Thanks to you, we are stuck in some netherworld with guns and no way to escape. There are no exits to this boxed hell for all I know," Loki sighed in frustration, giving a rotten look to the guns in front of him. Lulu stood with a tilted head on the table looking at the guns with curiosity, raising a paw to touch them before Loki slowly brushed that furry little limb away, making you press a smile at the tenderness of the situation. "Oh, there is no way out. This is more of a confined match space," you acknowledged out of the blue like just remembered something. The pause reflecting on Loki's face did not give you any clear indication as to how you were feeling. "I-It's the Death Match playground from PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds," you added quietly, before biting your lips. "The last game I played before we all got on a surprise ride to space." Loki narrowed his eyes at you. "So, you are telling me we are in a live setting of the last game you played." You barely shrugged and pushed your chin in as a 'meh, maybe' gesture. "You are absolutely right." A scream escaped your lungs from the husky and somewhat pervy voice from your right, jumping away and right beside Loki, your hand catching his arm for protection against that albino creature with dark eyes standing there like a monster straight out of your nightmare. The change in Loki's stature to a rigid front- while still letting you hang on to his arm- reflected that the God knew something. "Oh, I should have known." "Should've known what?" You didn't. And you wanted to be included "It's a Djinn." "Oh! Oh..." The recognition changed into revulsion faster than the Djinn could say its name. "Yeah. These filth-ridden creatures know nothing but cause chaos whoever they touch. Don't you, Djinn?" "I have a name, Silvertongue," the white one said without blinking, making you wonder if actually had eyelids to blink. "Okay, you guys have to stop calling him Silvertongue," you huffed, "like I've been with this guy for almost a year and there is nothing Silver about him or his tongue. Neither has he been any good at manipulating anyone from our family." Loki looked at the camera with disbelief.

Loki: I have a reputation outside the household, woman. *looks around in caution* *comes close to the camera to whisper*  Do not spoil it! *Your half-assed deep-throated laughter from out of the frame echoed through space* 

"How surprising," the Djinn looked at you with an intense glare through his hollow beady eyes, "for the God who wrecks cataclysm wherever he goes to have a companion." "Okay, Oxford Dictionary," you chuckled, "let me stop you right there. He has a lot of companions. It's just right now, we'll have to make do." If that smooth-skinned Djinn has brows, he would be raising them at you while the camera panned in on his face shifting from yours to his. Loki shook his head, raising his hand a little as if trying to pause the entire conversation. "That's not what he m-" he turned from you to the Djinn- "that is not what she means-you know what, never mind. Get us out of here." No one would have seen it if the camera did not zoom in at the slight smirk on that bare line of lips on that pale face. "Oh, but I cannot do anything, Silvertongue. Your-" he tilted his head at you with creepy eyes, making you shift closer behind Loki- "companion started this play. You will have to finish it. Or die trying." "You mean we have to play this game?" "Of course, we have to play this game," Loki sighed, closing his eyes. "NO! I suck at this game! I'll die!!" You grunted through your teeth. Loki groaned, trying to tear the skin from his face. "Why could you not have played Sims or Untitled Goose Game or ANIMAL CROSSING?!" You scoffed, your open mouth hurt at that comment. "Well, I am sorry for trying to get better at it because SOMEONE would not SHUT UP about having good reflexes FOR SUCH A PITIFUL GAME! And for your INFORMATION, Sims die too if you don't care for them on time!" The embers of anger seemed to slowly melt away into uninvited surprise. "What?" You nodded long enough to let it settle in before turning to the Djinn. "So, I guess we have to score points by killing the peeps from the opponent team? Forty points or ten minutes whichever gets over first, right?" The Djinn lowered his head a little in agreement. "If you win, you will walk out of the game unscathed. If you lose, you will die." That slow blink of 'excuse me' coming from you was enough to tell the world what your insides were going through right now. "But there's only two of us. It would be an unfair game if the opponents are a full team of four, don't you think?" "You may choose from the creatures that come to your mind. Once you do, a team will be formed on the other side of the field to match your strengths and weaknesses." "Natasha. We pick Natasha." You had never seen Loki come to make a decision so quickly. And just as he said the name, a golden wave washed over in one corner of the shed to bring to life an avatar matching Natasha Romanoff right to the mole. "Excellent choice," she stated, already choosing her weapons, while you stood there flabbergasted.

Back in the lounge, Natasha smirked at the camera while everyone nodded in agreement with the decision. "Smart man," Sam added, "I would've picked her too." Tony, on the other hand, stood there, fully offended. "Rude."

"Okay, who else? Who else?" you jumped where you stood. "Who can compensate for my very poor reflexes, stay alive and shoot people dead. Oh, and there are grenades in this game too." The camera looked at the two of you find this new wave of relaxation on your furrowed brows as a name came up in both your minds. "Bucky!"

"Super rude!" Tony declared at the screen. "Tony, you were never the first option. It's deadly combat," Steve stated with a chuckle. "Neither did you, Steve," Nat stated matter-of-factly. "It is a battle of guns, not sassy-grandpas." A howl went around the lounge as Steve looked at the camera in muted surprise. "Why didn't they choose Clint?" Pietro wondered out loud. "I can think of many reasons! One of them is that the first person Clint would have killed would be Loki," Tony quipped, getting a cheer from the archer and his coffee mug.

"Okay," you jumped some more, inhaling and exhaling audibly, "okay. Let's do it." "Don't jump-" Natasha checked the ammo and put the clip back in the M416- "you'll cramp your leg." "No, I wo-OW!" "Here, take this sniper, this pistol, this machine gun, grenades, and this pan," she added, handing you the stuff while putting what you could not handle in a backpack for you. "Try to kill as many as you-" Her voice was drowned by a grenade exploded in close proximity, sending Lulu down the table to hide. "Hey," you looked at the Djinn, "take them out of here, somewhere safe." Bucky worked like a well-oiled machine. First, he picked up the UZI to strap the dangerous little baby gun to his back. Next, he got his hands on the M762 and felt a low whistle come out of you. Bucky went on to equip the 762 with a scope, a grip, and a suppressor. Next came the pistol, with the same attention to detail and extra parts as his previous big guns. Last came the grenades, that went into his cargo pants. You stood there with your sniper- not even held correct- looking at Bucky and then at the camera with nothing impressed eyes.

You: I have no idea about weapons but that one looks dangerous. Actually, anything in Bucky's beefy muscle-y arms looks dangerous. Even icecream. Like if we both went out for ice-cream and I got teased by some filth on the street, he would jab the cones in their mouth and make them vomit blood. *smiles* *camera pans out and focuses behind you to show Loki pause loading his gun to look at you with horror in his eyes*

"Well, we got ten seconds," Loki mentioned, scrutinising the Groza in his hand quite subjectively, "let's see who our opponents are." Lulu and Javie (along with his camera) were already out of the shed and standing over a platform twelve feet high with a view of the entire place from the edge of the boundary, just like an umpire in a tennis match. They could see you four coming out to take a look at the enemy. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," you groaned, "I can't KILL THEM!" "'Sup, Nat." "Clint." "Hey guys," Peter waved through his Spider-man costume with a Scar-L in his hand that started slipping down till his hand came back to lift it up. "Well, this is awkward," Rhodey announced. "Hey, uncle Rhodes," you waved quite defeatedly. "Where's your fourth teammate?" Something cracked the sky and the clouds rumbled till a figure came down with a boom, vibrating the ground with his superhero landing. The little sparks coming out from everywhere. "Sorry I'm late," Thor announced, being handed a gun by Rhodey. "You had to ask," Loki growled at you.

Four Minutes Later Blue Team (You): 10 Red Team (Them): 20 The camera is hovering over the shed to see the four breathless teammates respawning and sitting down for a minute in their self-declared timeout. "Okay, we clearly cannot let you go out there in the front," Nat announced in your direction. Loki nodded in agreement. "Out of their twenty kills you have died fifteen times. Fifteen, Y/N." "I told you I am bad at it," you cried, "I can either reload my fucking gun or run away from the enemy. I CANNOT DO BOTH!" "Move your feet. I told you this last time too. Move. Your. Feet!" Loki pressed in your direction. "We need to come up with something else," Bucky added, "or this will the last thing the two of you argue about." You and Loki looked at each other with some concern reflecting in your eyes before Loki's gaze transformed into one of confusion as he watched you surely lie down and shoot, the bullet grazing right past his ear to kill a mad Thor- shooting anywhere and everywhere- point blank with a headshot. There was confusion. There was a surprise. There was even a little admiration in three pair of eyes. "H-how did you do that?" Bucky asked what everyone else was thinking. You shifted your gaze between the three eagerly-waiting teammates. "Uhh...I just laid myself down, aimed through the scope and took the shot. It's easy when I'm not moving. I just told you that," you shrugged. Loki could feel his head tilted in some thought while his eyes were stuck on you. "Okay. I think I know what we need to do."

The first one to come out of the shed was Bucky, his guns at ready as he slid across the length of the ground to take out Rhodes and Clint. "Now, Nat!!" He yelled and three bullets were all it took to take out Peter and Thor, right in the skull. "Go! Go! Go!" She shouted, and you and Loki went out in the other direction. Loki gave you cover while you climbed the roof of the little  outlet by the shed and positioned yourself to take the shots from there." "Bucky! Rhodey at your ten! Nat! Slide into the warehouse for cover. Loki, Thor's climbing the eagle point." Rhodey slid away from Bucky's attack but did not see the scope aiming for him from his back, killing him right there. "Yes!" You grunted before yelling, "sorry uncle Rhodey!" "Don't give your position, you dumb woman!" "Right, right," you shook yourself and let your team tell you the position fo the enemy through the comms.

Three Minutes Later Blue Team: 38 Red Team: 30 "I'm outta ammo!" Nat yelled into her comms. Bucky shot down Thor. "Here ya go!" he announced, letting the Black Widow gather the loot before progressing to the other side. "I'm out too!" Loki declared, discarding his gun to leap forward and take down Rhodey by grabbing his waist. Using his own gun on him, Loki tsked. "Nothing personal, Rhodes." But the next thing was a bullet through his skull as Clint shot from the rooftop of the shed. First Loki, then Bucky and then Natasha. You could see your teammates respawn in the shelter, the anxiety of having the gap being filled so quick getting on your nerves. "The grenades," you mind shot the words out of your mouth before your brain could comprehend them. "The grenades!" Taking two of them out, you swung them towards Bucky, who ran up the ramp of an old engine and yeeted it to the other side, in return getting hit by Peter's swinging figure carrying Loki's stolen Groza. Three seconds later a bang was heard on the other side, with one more kill in your kitty and the score coming to thirty-nine. Peter was still running towards you, the web shot to the top of the shed to make a turn to where you were settled, aiming dead on for you. Loki and Nat covered the other side. Bucky ran forward with more of his grenades. "KILL HIM!!" Loki and Nat yelled in your direction, not realising that Clint has changed his position and now was settled on the top of the gazebo, shooting them point-blank, bringing the Red Team's count up to thirty-seven. You aimed for Peter and fired; only to find the rifle empty. "Fuck," you gasped, "fuck fuck fuck I'm out. I'M OUT!!" Time moved slowly. Real slow. Peter's swinging figure got closer by the minute while he reloaded his AKM in the air. Loki, Nat and Bucky respawned in the shed, frozen with fear in their eyes as they saw you struggle from where they stood till your eyes moved towards your waist and then back at Peter. A screamed began to form in the back of the throat as Peter's toes found the edge of the metal you were standing on while the pan in your hand found Peter's face, impact so hard that it came with nothing less than an intention to kill. The graphic show of blood sputtering in the air as Peter's body felt itself go back and down on the ground while your eyes remained shut tight, waiting for the bullet to hit you. The silence that proceeded after the smack was defeaning. And the sudden alarm overhead declaring you winners even worse. But the elation it brought was delayed, though late than never. "We won?" you asked. "We won!" Loki answered, more surprised than you. Every other character disappeared save for you and Loki. And without much thought, you jumped with shrill excitement in your voice from the roof right into Loki's arms. "WE WON!!" you shouted on the top of your lungs while wrapping your legs around Loki's arms, who was riding the same wave of victory as you. His arms wrapped around you tight while he howled to the moons. "I cannot believe we won!" you declared through the tears of joy while holding Loki's face in your arms. "I know! Me neither!" He acknowledged your buzz with his own, laughing along with you. What the two of you did not notice was the change in your surroundings, the playground shifting back to the little antique shop with Javi and Lulu standing right next to the two of you, watching the laughter shared between you two die down slowly but your positions still remained the same. Your hands cupping Loki's cheeks and his arms securing your waist, holding you safely. The chortle that now turned into heavy smiles seemed to carry this weird current in the air between the two of you. So enchanting and curious that even when the smiles seemed to fade, you two still stood there gazing into each other's eyes. "Looks like luck was on your side." It was the Djinn's voice that broke this new trance and you feel yourself getting red hot as Loki helps you down.

Throats are cleared. Greetings are shared with Lulu and Javi. A respectable distance is set between the two of you and ears are lent to what this white dude has to say now. "So, we are free to go now." Loki's voice commanded more than requested. The bowed his head. "You can leave with your free will. While you are here, you can buy something from my shop too. If I may interest you in-" "Nope," you state and turn to walk out of there without another word, everyone else following you- Loki being the last person out of the shop but not before he has given one good look at the Djinn.

The final smack with the pan left everyone speechless, their first thought being to make sure Peter- who sitting smack in the middle on the sofa- not taking it personally. But they were more astounded when the final score was declared and the boy lept from his seat to yell in celebration of the victory. A second later, everyone else was yelling with him, going crazy at the screen, dazzled by the final blow. In between the loud celebratory howls, some Avengers missed Scott and Peter looking at the screen when you jumped into Loki's arms and wrapped your legs around him. They also missed these two give out a shrill cry of some latent emotions resurfacing and Scott fainting at the mere scene of watching you two so close while Peter seems to find it hard to breathe, wheezing for air. The camera focused on Natasha looking at the two of them with a slight wrinkle in her brows before turning to the camera

The Lounge Scott sat with a laptop, working on something with quite the concentration that worried a very hungry Peter and Bucky making footlongs in the kitchenette. "I've never seen him this serious. Even when he's working with Banner or Stark. Or fangirling hard around Steve," Bucky whispered to Peter. Peter too nodded in agreement while sprinkling olives on their subs like Saltbae. "You think he's reading fanfics and finding character faults again?" Bucky wondered for a second before clicking his tongue. "Nah. He is always cooing at new writers and pushing them to keep writing. I'm sure this is different." "Scott, what's up?" Scott looked up from the screen at Peter and Bucky coming to him. "Oh, nothing. Just correcting some things here and there in Loki's Sim town. Odin kinda died in Asgard Island because that dude was too stubborn to go to the toilet that was cheap. Frigga is taking care of her garden and pets. And here we have the facility where Clint is only allowed to roam the outside. Look he has his own next in the backyard." "That's pretty cool," Bucky mutters seriously. "Yeah, isn't it? And here are others inside. These are the dorms. Nat and Banner are a couple and for some reason, you and Steve are living in the same room." The camera panned in on a look of two-second horror on Bucky's face before reverting to its normal self. "What?" he forced out a laugh, scratching an itch on his neck, "why would we be sleeping together?" Scott shrugged and Bucky shot a glance at the camera before going back to looking at the screen. "Why would Loki keep the two of y-" "Not relevant," Bucky declared, "moving on!" Both Peter and Scott exchanged a look with the camera before doing so with each other and then finally turning around to look at Bucky. "Oh my God, Bucky," Scott whispered. "We have another OTP!" Peter whispered, bumping fist with Scott without looking.

[gerec]

The Aftermath - (Spoilers) Everyone’s writing happy Paris reunion and here I am spewing this sad Charles+Raven and Charles+Jean ficlet at you I’m sorry lol. Fwiw I’m working my way up to Charles/Erik too it’s just taking a while to get there :D

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The aftermath at least is a familiar thing, as Charles wades through the wreckage that’s left behind, the task falling on his shoulders once again to deal with the humans and get his people home. It was Charles after all, who secured their rescue all those years ago in Cuba, controlling the minds of the soldiers that swarmed them on that sandy beach. Charles, who gently nudged the President and his men to be grateful to Raven – and to think better of all mutants – when they had only narrowly escaped death at Erik’s hands in Washington D.C.  And it was Charles who secured Erik’s pardon after Cairo, smoothly reshaping the narrative of En Sabah Nur’s rise and fall, working tirelessly to turn fear into relief and anger into gratitude.

It must be Charles again who sets forth the story of an other-worldly invasion, thwarted by the bravery of the X-Men, losing two of their own in the process. There are promises to revisit the Mutant Containment Unit, and an attempt to re-engage by a contrite, if not truly apologetic President; all of it as hollow now as the promises have ever been, though Charles will go along with it as he has before, to keep the School open and his people safe and free.

It’s the least he can do; the only thing he can do, to keep the nightmares away.

But he dreams about her, about them both, the third night after he returns to the Mansion. Raven, her smile genuine and warm as they stroll arm in arm down narrow Oxford streets, just the two of them against the world. Raven, her eyes full of wonder and gratitude, when Charles had first promised her a home, and offered to be her family.

Raven, who resented him only slightly less than she loved him, who died thinking the worst of him, rejecting both his good intentions and his life’s work.

And then there’s Jean.

It gets worse day by day and hour by hour, after the service, and then after the School returns to some semblance of normalcy. He sees her everywhere he turns; a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye, when she’s nine and pleads for yet another game of hide-and-seek. He hears the echo of her whispers, spoken mind to mind, as she grows older, and learns to use her telepathy to communicate under Charles’ gentle coaching. A Jean who holds his hand when he’s had an exhausting day, the strain of too many fake smiles and endless assurances, that  mutants – like humans – aren’t inherently dangerous, and don’t need to be contained.

If he’s being honest – and he can with himself, as he can’t be with any other – Charles has been losing Raven by inches for years beyond years, her death merely the final step in a slow and steady decline that’s left them virtual strangers living under the same roof. He loves her the way he loves the mother he barely remembers; a love full of heartbreak and regret, and a desperate longing for understanding he would never be given. It’s a pain dulled by time and the acceptance that there are things even he can never change, allowing him at least the slimmest semblance of readiness to handle the grief of her passing.

It’s nothing like the sudden and unexpected shock of losing Jean. In contrast Charles is plunging off a cliff into deep water, plummeting into such depths of agony as to leave him breathless from the pain. She is the daughter of his heart, the only one who sees the world in the same way, through the lens of a power that sets them apart even from others of their own kind. Charles’ love for her is immense and unmeasurable; for the girl she was and the woman she’s become, the one to take up the legacy he would eventually leave behind.

And he’s failed her, as thoroughly as her own biological father did, when he swore he would do better this time.  

He leaves the School three weeks later, and doesn’t look back.

[astralshipper]

Okay so I worked rlly hard on this descriptive essay for my english class and my professor ended up saying she didn’t even want to take them up and I was lowkey proud of it so I’m gonna post it here!! It’s abt Crow and Azi so it fits here anyways, so here’s my basically fawning over my angel and my demon for almost 2000 words!!!!

-

Two figures stand proud in the rare glow of the afternoon sun in London. The man to the right looms tall over onlookers while the man by his side falls more to the stout side of the spectrum. For all intents and purposes, these two are complete opposites. 

The shorter of the pair has his hands clasped in front of him with his fingers intertwined. The clothing he wears bears resemblance to the attire worn during the Victorian years, and this causes him to stand out like a sore thumb in the middle of modern day London. He dons a soft, velvety brown waistcoat that fades into the same color of dress pants. The fabric lays flat, void of any and all wrinkles or imperfections, as though by miracle. The shoes on his feet are Oxford cap-toes. Their main top portion is composed of a dark brown while the toe tips are a softer, more bronze leather. Traveling back up his torso, a long, soft beige overcoat sits atop his waistcoat. Underneath both of these is a light blue, almost white dress shirt. He has it buttoned entirely. Around his neck he wears a light brown plaid tartan bow-tie. Hanging from his waistcoat is a small golden pocket watch. A pair of wings is engraved onto the front of the watch. The design is elegant and ornamented, and perfectly encapsulates the overall tone of his outfit. On his right hand he wears a golden signet ring that also bears a pair of wings, and his gold cuff links have the same design. 

Past his clothing, the rest of his person carries the same general vibe: a kind, old fashioned gentleman oozing a sort of shopworn elegance. His stomach rounds out slightly, flowing well with the outward pudge of his cheeks. A soft, pleasant smile curves his lips upward. Bright blue eyes glimmer with a joyous life that feels both new and old all at once. His eyes seem to hold the secrets of the universe as well as a hope and thirst to learn and take in more. His cheeks and face are as round as the rest of him. He seems to be composed entirely of soft lines and careful curves. His face is not without the reminders of his age. He bears crow’s feet around his eyes as well as clearly defined laughter lines on either side of his face. Had he widened his smile any further, the lines would surely deepen and give way to a pair of dimpled cheeks. Atop his head sits a well groomed collection of bleach blonde, practically white waves of hair. The soft curls point every which way in tufts that could surely be likened to the soft downy feathers of a freshly fledged young bird.

If one were to stand close enough, they would instantly pick up the mixture of scents clinging to the man’s clothing. The most prominent fragrance would surely be the one that can be likened to that of a local bakery freshly opening its doors in the morning. A mixture of sugary, chocolatey, decadent sweets weave their way into the fabric of his overcoat and follow him like a shadow. If one were to open their mouth, perhaps they would even insist they could taste the confections in the air as he passes by. Underneath this is a layer of what can only be pinned down to the scent that resides between the pages and inside the worn out bindings of old books, the kind of scent that only comes with decades or even centuries of wear and tear. Upon closer inspection into these details, one might pick up on the hint of cocoa sweetness in his breath, or the minty undertones that lie just beneath. 

His voice, once spoken, gives a light, airy feel. Every sentence is carried with the cadence and lilt of a song sung on the porches of grand suburban homes in the chill of winter. He enunciates his words with great care. Each syllable strikes as being fully rehearsed and prepared far ahead of time, even when this gentleman is caught off guard. No matter the words he speaks, he still seems to enact a sensation of calm in one’s very bones. The words that roll off his softly spoken tongue are bubbly and honey coated. His voice is the kind that oozes trustworthiness and a sense of peace. 

Everything about him seems to be chosen for comfort. The velvet-like feel of his waistcoat along with the soft, smooth material that made up his overcoat settles him in a bubble of warmth. In fact, everything about this man could be described as soft to the touch. Not only does his hair visibly resemble feathery down, but it also has approximately the same texture. Running a hand through the well-arranged curls would feel quite similar to the sensation of curling up with the softest blanket you own and sipping peacefully on a hot drink. His skin, though creased and bearing the lines of its time, remains as supple and silky smooth as ever before. 

All of this poses a direct antithesis to the man stood beside him. 

This second man stands tall as he glowers over passersby. He shrouds himself in darkness and flaunts this fact to all who dare look his way. His clothing reflected this quite well. What, with a soft, distressed old gray t-shirt underneath a black, low v-cut vest and a just as black woolen pea coat over top of it all, he truly layers himself in the most elegant and refined yet over-the-top sinister fabrics. Each piece of clothing clings to his body like a second skin. This includes his washed out dark gray pants that conform directly to the shape of his legs. Unlike his partner’s own pair, these pants bunch so tightly that creases and wrinkles are inevitable. The glint of a belt buckle catches in the afternoon sun. His belt seems to be made not of leather, but of snakeskin, and the buckle itself depicts the head of the snake that now seems to wind its way around the man’s waist. Traveling down long limbs to meet his feet, one is met with the sight of dark brown, almost black snakeskin dress shoes. Upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that there is a subtle fade to red the closer you get to the soles. 

Perhaps there is one piece of this outfit that does not seem to be squeezing the life out of this fellow, and that would be the strange necklace dangling from his neck. It looks to be made of countless interwoven chains tied together a few inches below his collarbone. The remaining ends hang free and tuck snugly into his vest once the pair meet.

The final touch resides on his face. A pair of designer gunmetal sunglasses perches precariously on the bridge of his slender nose. The circular frames bear closed sides akin to an old pair of welding goggles. They themselves might be cause for a double take, but that double take will likely become a triple take if one happens to catch a glimpse of what lies underneath.

The way his glasses sit allows for one to, at a very specific angle, catch sight of a pair of yellow eyes. His irises seem to be large and of a golden color. Right smack in the middle of each one sits a slitted pupil like that of a snake. Everything about his eyes screams nothing but danger, and the nefarious depths that lie just below the surface bubble up slowly but surely. 

Once his eyes are hidden, however, the main point of focus is truly the man’s hair. So much of his outer visage lacks the pop and spice of a splash of color, and the fiery red shade of his hair checks that particular box. The way the sun glints through the strands illuminates his coiffure in a lively blaze. This is clearly a man that cares for his own appearance, and the well-coiffed nature of his hair is a testament to this fact. Trailing down his right side burn leads into a small, curving tattoo of a serpent just by his ear. The mark is subtle, but still threatening in and of itself.

This man, in contrast with the rounded man by his side, seems to be made entirely of sharp corners and fine edges. Everything about him is thin and a bit gangly. His cheekbones poke out with a sharp kick and promptly sink back in to hollow out his cheeks. His chin comes to a fine point just like the tip of his nose. The coat that adheres to his torso bears a pair of angular shoulders, likely due to the natural shape of his body to begin with. Even the scowl curling his lips seems sharp enough to slice you open if you dare come too close. His limbs are long and narrow, and his fingers much the same.

Reaching out to touch this man seems quite dangerous at first glance. One might fear being cut on the harsh angles of his jaw, and there is a slight chance that these fears are founded in truth. Heavily calloused fingers connect to heavily calloused hands, which hang loosely from his pants pockets by his thumbs hooked inside the compartment. His face, though clean shaven, still bears the prickly sensation of growing beard hair. Even his clothing does little in the form of comfort. The heavy chain necklace weighs down on his neck and the scratchy pants squeeze just a bit too tight to be considered for comfort. 

If one is able to look past the heavy cloud of top dollar cologne encasing his form, they would likely not be surprised by the spicy kick they are met with. He smells like cinnamon, but not cinnamon sugar. No, this man smells like the biting spice of pure cinnamon, a scent as fiery as the hair atop his head. Think back to the last time you ate an Altoid mint. Remember the refreshing burn it coated your mouth with, and now apply that sensation to this man. Fragrances of old leather and gasoline are also quite prominent, as well as the earthy tones of dirt and grass and a tinge of campfire smoke. 

His voice is a sort of hiss. His accent bleeds sin and deceit, and the low rumble of his tone slithers deep into one’s soul and grips it tight for the taking. Words fall from his tongue and wind their way around the listener’s throat. He sounds like duplicity and manipulation, but also all of your deepest desires wrapped up into one package. Your hair will stand on end as you cling to his every word. 

By all means, these two men should be polar opposites, and they are, in a sense. Taking them apart separately will surely yield such a response, but the difference comes when they stand together. Stood side by side, they fit together like puzzle pieces. The light balances out the dark. The soft balances out the sharp. Two extremes meet in the middle to create balance. 

Perhaps one could take a closer look at their shadows, as well. Perhaps they would be able to make out the clear addition of large, luxurious wings onto their forms. Perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or perhaps it is not.

[blibberinghumdiggory]

Fragile

Two runaways trying to fix their mistakes

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13649934

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I hadn't seen him in days, weeks, months, hell it may even have been years.  I wouldn't know. But I had heard things, things from clients and mutual acquaintances alike. Things that I may have been a little too interested in but pretended not to be because I can't admit that I am in anyway linked to him, anymore. I refuse to think of him, to remember him. I can't. It hurts too damn much.

I fiddle with the high collar of my old - yet still pristine and clear of any signs of worn age – black Muggle funnel coat before I caught myself and lowered my hands back into my lap. I fold them neatly as I always do, containing the aching thoughts that I wish not to be in my head between my palms. I clear my throat for something to do and haughty woman behind the desk gives me a harsh glare and continues to clack her purple nails on the hard wood.

The clock's clicks and ticks creating the only noise within the room other than the receptionist's incessant tapping. I cross my legs - right over left - before switching them over then settling for them both firmly on the floor again. I chose to observe the contrast of my polished Oxfords against the dirty white linoleum instead of meeting the glare once again directed at me from the other side of the room.

It was only a small waiting area. Some old magazines were littered across a rickety coffee-stained side table. The bus-seat-blue cushion chairs were itchy at best and I had long given up on finding comfort.

The looming knowing - or more so not knowing - of the encounter ahead did nothing whatsoever to ease this discomfort somewhat. Though the intensity of it distracted me greatly.

I snap up my head when the clacking sound of nails on wood halts momentarily, the steady rhythm interrupted. I watch as the woman purses her lips at her wand, which was laying on the desk seemingly discarded. The knobbly wand was emitting a blue glow from one end and caused the woman to open her pursed lips with an irritated sigh and turn her gaze to me.

I raise one eyebrow in question (and perhaps a little challenge) and she frowns. Her accent is almost indistinguishable behind her bored drawl, though I could sense some element of class if only very minimal, as she says:

"The boss will see you now."

I try to halt the shaking in my hands and stand. The woman doesn't tell me where to go, but I know already, of course I do. Through the dark wooden door with the peeling paint and chipped edges, down the corridor with the worn green carpeting until I reach the end, then through the glass-paneled white door leading through another corridor with the same old décor. Once I reach the end of that corridor, I pause for a moment – though it is only a moment – and breathe. It isn't very effective in calming me down internally but it helps me to slide my mask into place and compose myself.

I straighten my posture and keep my face blank, my eyes narrowed slightly and my mouth upturned in the smallest of smirks. I raise my chin, remind myself that this is business and that is all and face the familiar large oak door. Once, twice, three times I knock. Just as I am about to swing open the door myself, I hear an achingly familiar voice from inside the room.

"Come in."

I don't need any more encouragement and I open the door, closing it shut behind me and taking note as the lock clicks in place.

The room is no different to how it had been the last time I was here. The same dark wooden floorboards, the same ceiling-high bookshelves, the same deep ruby rug, the same mahogany and coffee-stained desk with the same man sat behind it, facing away from me and instead out to the skyline of the run-down city. His feet were crossed at the ankles on the window ledge like he always did - had done - and he was slouched in his chair, though I could tell he was alert by the way his shoulders were tensed.

He had the same frame that was somehow both lanky and muscular at the same time and his hair was in as much of a disarray as it had been the last time they had met. The black jeans he was wearing did beautiful things to his legs and the emerald shirt seemed to suit him well. He never had dressed particularly smartly for work, though I suspect with the type of work he did, it wasn't much of an issue. In fact, I'm sure if anybody was ever so idiotic as to mention it, they may very well face rather unpleasant consequences.

It was all the same, as though nothing has changed and I was beginning to find it rather disconcerting when I was reminded of his conscious presence when he speaks again.

"Lou wouldn't tell me who you were." He speaks in the smooth voice I remember so well. Lou must be the receptionist I realise as I register his words and wait for him to continue. "Said it was a surprise." I'm not too sure whether that is a good or a bad thing, but judging by his tone of voice I am not the only one who doesn't know what the fuck Lou thinks she's playing at.

He sighs and I watch his shoulders as the muscles move under his shirt, then quickly shake the distraction from my head and remind myself why I am here. This is business. Then he turns his chair to face me and drops his legs to the floorboards and I'm captured in his gaze, finding it more and more difficult to remember my reason for being here other than the thoughts floating around my head right about now.

I watch his eyes as they widen in surprise – I suppose Lou got her desired outcome then – and his mouth fall open a little. I keep my position and expression as they were when I entered but can't help but lick my bottom lip in my agitation. I also can't help but notice his eyes following the movement before he sits up straight and sorts his expression into something more neutral.

"Draco." I don't suspect he meant it to sound as it did, but the longing was laced in his words and make my heart clench. It made me want to reach out and touch him, my fingers twitched but I tried to remain calm. There was no way that was going to happen, not now, not anymore, not ever. That isn't going to happen.

A flash of the last moments with him flicker in my head like an old film and I have to force myself to push it down. Now is not the time to dwell on past mistakes, not that I am ever even allowed to think of them as mistakes. Past events, perhaps, situations. But never mistakes, because that would suggest regret and I am not allowed to regret them, however much I may want to.

There was a thud as he stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a force that made it hit the window ledge and I started in surprise, drawing my attention back to him. His earlier shock was gone, now all that's left is anger. He fixes me with a harsh glare, but I don't flinch, I was expecting this somewhat. I can see the veins in his neck as he tenses and quickly look away.

"Draco," he repeats, though this time it is cold, filled with venom and passionate hatred, "What are you doing here?" He demands me, as though it wasn't phrased as a question but a command to answer.

I keep my expression neutral but take a few steps closer to his desk as I answer, ignoring the way he sharpens his gaze. "Business," I answer shortly, but continue before he can yell at me as he seems to want to, "Yes, I know we have a...difficult past, but one of my clients is demanding men from us both and you know me," I say with a smirk and look him in the eye as I finish, "Never am I one to displease."

He shakes his head and sighs heavily before falling gracelessly back into his chair and putting his head in his heads. I roll my eyes. Typical.

Or at least that's what I should be thinking, but I'm finding it hard to criticise him when all I can think about is his face when I told him we had to stop. When I told him it wasn't convenient When I felt so exposed that I let the cold, stoic mask slip into place and treat him like something I didn't care for, like he was the dirt at the bottom of my shoe. When I couldn't let my emotions get in the way of my work because it could get me killed. Because it could get him killed.

I swallow and let a fraction of my mask slip. I can feel the worry, the fear, the pity, the affection, all the pure emotion etched on my face. I can feel a lump in my throat but I take another step towards him, my shoes making a hollow sound on the floorboards as I do.

"Harry?"

I can feel my voice shake and know that all my confidence has gone, has run off somewhere where it is irretrievable at best. He lifts his head and I can see that the corners of his eyes are a little red and he looks so tired, for someone so young, he looks so vulnerable.

I am reminded of the fragile little boy I met when I was eleven and the just as fragile war-hero I met again later on and I try not to remember the bits in-between. I am reminded of the boy I met again a year later who was strong, defiant and brilliant who made me want to run away with him, so I did. I am reminded of the boy I planned to change the world with, the boy I started work with. I am reminded of the boy I realised I was in love with and never told. I am reminded of the boy who I messed everything up with, the boy who I should have been more careful with, the boy who meant the world to me. The boy I lied to and told was worthless. The boy who – at 24 - is still a boy in front of me, who is still fragile and strong and defiant and brilliant, who I still change the world with or without.  Who I still love. Who I still messed up.

"Don't." He says sharply, severing my sentiments like a knife - as though he could hear my thoughts - and making us both put our masks back on. "Don't think you can just waltz in here like nothing is different. Like nothing has changed. Like nothing happened between us. Don't you dare, Draco Malfoy, don't you even fucking dare."

His voice was rising now, as he did so from his chair. He looked at me coldly as I imagined I had looked at him before and jabbed a finger towards my chest. "You are a horrible, cruel, twisted, emotionless, ignorant piece of shit, Draco Malfoy!" He was shouting now and I was watching. It felt like a hurricane gathering in my chest as he marched towards me but stopped far enough away so that we wouldn't touch and ignored the tears forming in his eyes.

"Two years. Two years, Draco and not a word!" He yells and I wonder if it had really been that long. I hadn't really known, all I had felt these past two years was empty. A hollowness had filled me and time had passed like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare would be more fitting.

"You ruined me! You made me and then you destroyed me! You broke me and then you left and didn't look back!" I feel like everything inside me has vanished and I am left as a shell. It hurts. It hurts so much. There is nothing but pain, an aching in my chest and a tightness in my throat and I'm stuck to the spot. Stuck watching the man I love yell about how much he hates me, yell about the mistakes that I have spent the past two years reliving every day. I don't know how much more I can take and then his voice cracks and he stares me straight in the eyes and his voice is but a whisper.

"Why?" he asks and I don't know the answer. All it does is create more pain and I watch him as he breaks down. I watch him as he sinks to the floor and tears splatter on the deep ruby rug and his scruffy trainers. I watch him as he chokes on his feelings and can't look me in the eyes. I only register that I am in a similar state, if not worse, when I hit the bookshelves with my back and slide to the floor. I wrap my arms around my knees and pull them into my chest and I let the tears slide down my cheeks and splash on my collar.

"When I was 11 I met a boy who saved the world when he was 1." For a moment I didn't realise it is me who is speaking and it takes me a moment to continue. "He looked fragile and small and kind of dorky and I didn't know what to say to him.  So I insulted him and was surprised when he said he didn't want to be my friend."  My voice is croaky like I have dust in my mouth and I can taste salt on my tongue.

"After the war, I met a boy who had saved the world twice.  He looked so broken, so defeated for someone who had just won. He held out his hand to pull me out of the rubble and I was surprised when he shook it and said he wanted us to be friends."  He is watching me, listening and I have to take a breath and swallow down the lump in my throat before I can carry on.

"When I was 19 I had a best friend. He was kind and snarky and funny and cheeky and had saved the world a few times.  But the world wouldn't let him go, and their attempts to tie him to the Earth only made him struggle more.  We ran away together.  I ran away from the world with my best friend."  My tears stopped for a moment and my words begin to form more coherently. Though it looks like he has just started again and I watch him with a watery smile.

"When I was 20 I planned to rid the world of evil with my best friend, and it worked.  We started the business and nobody knew that the ones who kept catching the bad guys were just two runaways with nothing better to do."  My breath quickens and my heart stops for a flutter but I continue regardless and avoid his eyes as best as I can.

"When I was 21 I fell in love with my best friend. I didn't tell him because I didn't want to lose him.  I kept telling myself it was because our business was tricky and he might get hurt if we were further involved with each other but I knew I was just scared."  I hear his breath hitch and a drop of saltwater hits the wood and I try not to cry anymore.

"When I was 22 I told the man who meant the world to me that he meant nothing.  I was so scared to love him that I made him hate me and I lost everything I had ever cared for or treasured."  He is shaking his head but I am choosing to ignore it.  I am shivering now but I ignore that also.

"When I was 23 I lived as an empty shell.  A hollow-hearted being who wandered the world and did his job without quite realising the world was going past him."  I focused on a particularly interesting loose thread from the carpet in favour of meeting his eyes.

"When I was 24 I saw him again and pretended that nothing had happened.  I felt nothing inside and yet when I first saw him my heart fluttered and I remembered when everything had been okay, good, great, brilliant.  I remembered when everything hadn't been so empty and life had been about living and not just about surviving the day.  When I met his eyes for the first time in two years all I wanted to do was reach across the desk and kiss him.  But I saw hurt, betrayal, hatred and anger in those eyes and returned to the emptiness.  Then the emptiness was replaced by pain and he made me feel again." I smiled a small smile to myself and sighed.

"I once met a boy who saved the world a ridiculous amount of times.  He was my best friend.  The person I loved.  My whole world. He was everything I ever needed and everything I could ever want.  He was everything and I threw him away like he was nothing.  I broke myself and he told me that I broke him also."  I looked him in the eye and found that I couldn't read him so I finished in a wobbly voice and a sniffle.

"But the funny thing is, this boy. He is still my best friend. He is still the person I love. He is still my whole world and he is still everything I ever need and everything I could ever want.  He is still everything.  I still hurt him, but I would gladly pay for what I did for the rest of my life if it meant I could just see him smile once more.  Because when I first saw him today, I watched him and I remembered all of the reasons, both valid and nonsensical, why I fell for him in the first place and I wondered how I could ever have let him go."  There are tears is his eyes and I watch as his breaking mask finally cracks into a grin and he whispers my name buried into his hands.

I see a small curl of dark hair in the middle of his head and, without thinking, I brush it behind his ear.  He freezes and my blood runs cold. He grabs my wrist and I start to think about how I probably deserve whatever punishment he'll give me.  Maybe he'll snap it, I think.

Then he kisses me and I melt.  I cling to him so I can't lose him again and he clings to me so I can't push him away.  I make a mental note to send Lou some flowers, then I close my eyes and forget the world.

[witchplse]

adam/ronan wwi au: an excerpt

tw: historically typical non explicit descriptions of death

Adam made Lance-Corporal some time at the end of April, Ypres, 1915. He met Gansey a month later.

All around them were the dead and dying, and the chlorine was lingering in the air, and Czerny, who had been perched cheerily on a low stone wall that had somehow survived the obliteration, saluted him somewhat ironically. “Sir,” he said.

Adam pulled his uniform straight. He said, fully aware that he’d only been promoted because Lance-Corporal Parker had taken shrapnel to the head the day previously, “now you’re next in line.”

“Watch your back, Parrish. I’ll get you before the Huns do for a chance at that badge.”

“Bugger off.”

He’d never expected to make it past Private, nor had he ever had any desire to. He’d signed up for the sheer joy of watching the family farm vanish behind him and for the rather spiteful hope that one day he’d die in battle and his father would have to live with that regret for the rest of his miserable days - not, thought Adam, that there was any guarantee of regret, or even of grief, if that telegram ever did come. His father hadn’t even been proud of his son marching off to the front; he’d managed to project a sense of selfish irritation even then.

Two weeks later they held Frezenberg Ridge, and Adam lost eight of his twelve-strong company to gas; Adam was pretty sure Czerny survived only though sheer bloody mindedness, and he himself through luck. Another week in and they were all bone tired, and every day they went over the top, and every day new men were cycled in under Adam’s command and every day new men were lost, and every day the heat of his rifle almost seared his palms and every day he looked into the face of another German soldier, distorted under their gas-protecting masks, and felt absolutely nothing. They lost Bellewaarde Ridge on May 24th, when they were forced into another retreat, one step ahead of the cloud at all times, the chlorine stinging the back of Adam’s throat and forcing tears from his eyes like an accusation. And every day, the mud, and every day, Czerny.

They fell back to just south of the city, knowing full well that it was in shelling distance now and that the Germans wouldn’t even have to move from their trenches to wreak havoc. They dug themselves into the new front lines and they were given two days to recover before they received their marching orders, and Adam was so exhausted he could barely see to crawl into the makeshift, damp dugout. Czerny was furiously making tea in a clanging saucepan. He said, sharp, “what’s the point?”

Adam hadn’t asked himself that question in months. He didn’t even peel off his boots before clambering into the hollow that would serve as his bed for the night. “King and country?” he offered, blankly, to the dirt ceiling. For Czerny, the sentence might hold some truth; he was a Londoner, born and bred. For Adam, with the heavy accent of the Highlands, patriotism was something associated with huge dipping valleys and complex clan allegiances that still held sway in the village pub, not the King down south in Westminster. Czerny shook his head.

“I don’t mean the war, I mean this campaign. Ypres. The city’s lost. It’s mostly rubble by now. There are no civilians left. We’re killing ourselves over land.”

“Land we have to have,” Adam pointed out, through a yawn. “Otherwise they have it. Is that for me?”

“No,” Czerny said, handing him a grimy tin cup. It bruised Adam’s lips with its heat and left a bitter taste on his tongue, so strong it was barely tea anymore. He downed it in one long gulp and was out so fast he barely had time to swallow.

The next morning the shells woke him, the crump as they hit the city, the screaming whistle overhead, and he made his way through the grey dawn - he hadn’t seen a clear sky in so long he was growing sure that sunlight was a myth - past bleary sentries, to the Officers’ dugout, and knocked on the door frame, adjusting his cap. Sergeant Wilson called from down below. “Come on, Parrish!”

Adam clattered down the wooden stairs, neatly ducking under the protruding roof as he came down into the dark, damp space that served as the Officers’ home. Sergeant Wilson was by the desk, bent almost double to examine some roughly drawn plans, his arm in a sling that had once been white. Next to him was a man Adam had never met before; he had the decorations of a Lieutenant, which made sense, considering Second Lieutenant Frank Jones hadn’t made it back two days previously. Czerny had been pretty cut up over that - he’d liked the man - but Adam made a habit of not getting attached to the Officers. Whatever happened in some Platoons, this one’s leadership rotated pretty damn quickly. He’d expect nothing less - it was an Officer’s job to go over first, to lead every charge - but it made for some confusing evenings as they tried to remember who was in charge. This one couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Adam, and so, determined already to hate him, Adam snapped a salute. “Sir.”

“At ease. This is Lieutenant Richard Gansey,” said Wilson, who was a tired-looking man in his forties, with greying dark hair and a drooping mustache. “He got here from Artois yesterday evening.”

“Oof,” said Adam involuntarily, in sympathy. “Festubert?” The news of that had filtered through pretty damn quickly: most of Adam’s platoon had come with him from the Highlands, and two of the Battalions obliterated in Artois had been from the north, too. Lieutenant Richard Gansey, who had the clear, broad face of an Eton man and carelessly curly bronze hair, nodded.

“You’re not from Kinguisse?” he asked, and Adam congratulated himself on his judgement: his accent was Oxford through and through, so sharp it could cut glass; all he needed was a flute of champagne and he’d be every man Adam’s father had ever wanted dead. Adam shook his head.

“No, thank God, poor buggers. I’m from Lairg.” Gansey nodded. He held himself like a military man. Some of the Officers they’d been sent had clearly never left the home counties; they hadn’t lasted long. Adam wondered how Wilson felt taking orders from someone so much younger than him, someone who had so obviously been promoted through connections - an uncle or someone in the war office, thought Adam, somewhat bitterly. He couldn’t keep the confrontation out of his voice when he said: “See much action?”

For a moment, at the perceived challenge, Gansey’s mouth tightened. Adam knew that look; he wore it himself, often enough. But then he relaxed, and spread his hands wide, and when he smiled it was warm enough to defrost the centre of Adam’s chest, just a little bit. “Some,” he said, inclining his head like a fencer acknowledging a hit. “But not so much as you, I don’t think. We’ve got reinforcements making their way up from Lens.”

“We need them.” Wilson looked up sharply at his tone, but Adam ignored him.

“I can see that.”

His face was grave. Adam narrowed his eyes, trying to get a handle on him, but failed; Gansey was nearly impossible to read. “I’d better get on,” he said, and then added, before he could be accused of insubordination, “sir.”

“Yes,” Gansey said, “yes, go on. I’ll see you this evening with the other Lance-Corporals to receive the new ones.”

Adam nodded to Wilson, who was chewing his little fingernail, and turned on his heel. Outside, the sky was still grey, and the air tasted of smoke when he inhaled, a part of him already braced for the pineapples-and-peppers scent that proceeded gas; there was nothing and the horizon, through the barbed wire, was clean and clear. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling oddly unsettled, as if he had just lost a fight. It wasn’t that he resented the Officers, not usually, but God if he didn’t want them to stay well away from him. Down the trench and round the corner he thought of Czerny and his endless card games and took off his hat, smoothed his blond hair back, replaced it. He hadn’t realised he had been lingering until a hand on his shoulder made him jump a mile high.

He crashed down to earth, hating Gansey more than ever: the Lieutenant was grinning, abashed. “Sorry,” he said, “my mistake. Lost in thoughts, were you?”

“Jesus,” said Adam, through gritted teeth. “I could’ve shot you.”

“I’m a quick draw.” In the sunlight Adam could see imperfections on Gansey’s marble statue face; bags under his eyes, a long thin cut that stroked the length of his jawline. His eyes were amber and trusting, like a labrador. He shook Adam’s clear disapproval off as if it were nothing. “I wanted to catch you without Wilson in the room. I don’t think he likes me.”

“He doesn’t like anyone,” Adam re-joined immediately. “He makes a career out of it.”

Gansey barked out a laugh. It was shockingly endearing. Adam squared his shoulders; he was braced for friendship - he could see it coming and hated it, but couldn’t think how to avoid it. If the man wanted to be liked, then damn it, fine, he’d like him. Gansey leant in a little, conspiratorial. “I want you to tell me,” he said, “how the men are. And I mean, really. This is my first platoon, and I’m not going to fuck it up.”

The word was crisp in his smart voice. Later, Adam would learn that Gansey swore only rarely - he wasn’t brought up to, and he was shockingly prudish for someone who went to boarding school; in fact, in the short period of their acquaintance, Adam would hear him say the word only once more. As it was, Adam accepted it without question. “I’ll tell you what you need to know,” he said, impressed despite himself. “But be wary, alright. They won’t take kindly to an interloper being in their business - especially not an English one, no offense meant.”

Gansey smiled. “Offense meant,” he corrected.

“Well, maybe,” Adam conceded. “Listen to me and you’ll be fine. Well,” and he shrugged. “I can’t predict the future. But we won’t stab you in the back.”

To Adam’s surprise, Gansey held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it. Gansey’s grip was firm and determined; Adam felt like he had when he had first been recruited. He felt something cold travel down his spine. It was being in the presence of something great. If any of them, he thought, were going to survive this, it would be Lieutenant Richard Gansey. “That’s all I need,” Gansey said. “To have someone at my back.”

[takingthisworldbystorm]

Burgundy Wings

The city streets of Los Angeles are best when dark and cold. The rainbow puddles mix with dust along the concrete and Koreatown is alive with a drunken murmur, and you embrace a certain familiarity with a constant screaming in the distance, usually about god or money. The flashing lights of the city burn green to yellow to red and no direction points home except for a vandalised sign reading “The Ash” with an arrow going down the street into a blackened alley between the Korean family-owned convenience store and a Carl’s Jr. where a teenager holds a fistful of ripped pieces of yellow construction paper. “Tickets are five dollars,” he says to the stout girl before him with uneven bangs and a cigarette hanging from her lip.

She shifts the methanol aside with her tongue and holds a cold stare forwards, biting down on the filter as she pulls out three dollars and eight quarters from her tan jacket pocket. The boy pretends to count the money over again as he ushers her past him towards a chipped red door with a burn-out neon sign nailed to the front. She could hear the music screeching from even before she opened it, loud and experimental and overflowing with a distortion reverberating against the manilla walls. The band at the front holds the microphone too close and each of their instruments seems stained with a waterproof mascara she recognises from the other night. At the back is a single barstool balancing on crooked floorboards, hoisting up a man with black gelled hair and torn up oxfords. He holds a flask kept in a hollowed out bible and lets his fingers rap against its spine in rhythmic sync with the drummer’s excitement. He seems to hum along as if he’s heard this sound a few more times than anybody else in the room would ever care to.

He’s the first thing she sees when she walks in, and she can’t help but take note of the bright red tinge on the end of the cigarette behind his left ear, ash falling to the ground against the floorboards. Without thinking, she puts out her own on the sleeve of her jacket and drops it in an empty water bottle labeled “Anna”.

The bassist has his solo now and engulfs the room with an unwanted exhilaration that tells her to walk forward into the crowd jumping violently to the melody, movements a nauseating blur that parts to either side to let her pass until the blast comes to an abrupt end with the windmill of a guitar chord.

Silence follows as she stands there, isolated as tall bodies obscure her view of anything but the cigarette-eared boy as he stands and walks forward with his fingers tracing along the wall.

A figure on her other side slumps against her shoulder just as the burning red fades to nothing when he takes a turn behind a black curtain. Startled, she turns around to face the reason she’d come at all.

“Hey, Emerson.” Behind her is a large girl in Doc Martins and an orange pixie cut, eyes winged even and dark in an unkempt hello. Trix holds out her hand to meet Emerson’s, calling her by last name, with the other still slung around her neck. “Took you long enough.”

“The subways don’t run every ten minutes this late at night.”

“But you still came.”

“Show me I made the right decision.”

“Of course you did. I know you hate going to bed early in that shitty apartment of yours.” Trix twirls away from her and unravels her arm to reveal an unopened bottle of cinnamon whiskey. “I’m gonna make you forget everything you don’t want to remember.” Emerson looks at her and smiles.

“Your life is a cliché.” 

“You live for it.”

Emerson rolls Trix’s sentence around her tongue for a moment. Live for it, she thinks. She exists for the promise of living, and maybe that’s not nearly enough for the world, but it’s everything she knows how to fight for anymore —really, she almost says, there’s nothing left to live for except the days blurring into nights blurring into the taste of absinthe on the tongue at six in the morning. Nothing to live for except the smell of cinnamon.

Every moment, every drink, every breath she took choked in a chaos that made living something palpable, something tangible. It seared through her blood and made the tips of her fingers numb, apologising to a world hell-bent on its beauty rest. Last night when she found herself on Trix’s motel floor with a faded memory and a gummy bear bottle filled with multicolored pills to last week when a stranger bandaged her knuckles with masking tape and strung-out cotton balls to last year when she had awoken next to a rose, a rainbow tie, and a card reading, “I don’t care about the church” addressed to her with fragile black ink all over the petals; it was a life —though mostly forgotten— made unforgettable. She lived to wake up with the taste of blood in her mouth and to pray it was her own.

“I’ll be back,” she says.

Trix stands back with her mouth slightly agape in response to Emerson’s nonchalance towards the liquor, though she quickly finds comfort in her unpredictability when she sees Emerson’s gaze fixed on a pair of oxfords on splintered hardwood.

He’s on stage, bible in his pocket and taking note that the microphone heavily smells like beer. He flicks his eyes over the room and holds it close, no doubt leaving lipstick smudges.

Emerson listens. He’s a terrible singer. The song is kept at monotone and she recognises a hoarseness in his voice that’s been lying to the world in trying to convince it that it was Billy Joel. 

“He’s good.” Trix says, twirling again and pouring herself another drink.

“He’s alright.”

“He can play.”

“I can play.”

The song lasts for a long two minutes, followed by another two after two until the sight of blaring lights finds refuge in the the absence of sound, another anxious clapping evolving into applauding screams. He curtsies, tucks his hair behind his ear and briskly taps his way offstage while the drummer throws himself into the arms of the audience. 

She finds him outside near a dark puddle and a dampened wall. Rusty rainwater drips from the bricks and onto the alleyway like an installation at a contemporary art museum. He moves the cigarette from his ear to his lips, staining it with his lipstick. He leans against the wall with his hand folded into the arm of his sweater, scraping soot into drawings with his toe against the concrete as a couple wearing plaid walks by. 

When he sees her, he looks down at his hand, balancing the filter between calloused fingers, and he smiles at his lipstick smudge.

“Burgundy,” he tells her, “is my favorite color.”

Emerson takes that as any as the invitation she didn’t know she was looking for, sitting down across from him and taking out her carton.

“These things will kill you,” she says as he leans in to light the one between her fingers with the one between his teeth, orange flecks flaring and falling into pavement.

“When I die,” he says, “it’ll be a bullet.” He exhales away from her, a courtesy. “A car crash. An overdose. A suicide.” He knows the way she’s looking at him now, so he keeps going.

“Something stupid,” he says. “Something preventable. Something my fault.”

She smiles, but not because she doesn’t believe him. “Sounds romantic.”

“It’s not.”

“They’ll write about you in history books.”

“That’s a thought. I’d like a chapter labelled Icarus the Insane.”

“Icarus,” she says, realising what he had said and extending her hand at his momentary shock in revealing himself. “I’m Emerson.”

“Emerson.” He mimics her in letting it roll off his tongue like a sugarcoated poison, taking her hand and pausing for the next drag to place the name on her.

“Icarus your stage name?”

“First name,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “What’s Emerson?”

“My last name.”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“It is me.”

“It’s a name.”

“It’s my name.”

“What’s your first name?”

“Althea,” she says. “But Emerson means I came from somewhere.” 

He laughs.

“We all come from somewhere. This isn’t Sesame Street. We don’t all walk out on set fully formed and in costume and smiling at babies to grow up faster.”

“You don’t like Sesame Street?” She asks.

He shakes his head. “Everything’s too perfect. It’s a mind-numbing promise of some goddamn utopia. I want to believe it, I do, but that’s just not the world.” He pauses to exhale, masking the air with soft, winding billows. “I mean, shit, I wish it was.”

“I guess.” She looks at him, her inquisitiveness displaying itself as less genuine than she really was, although purposefully.

“Althea doesn’t suit you either,” he says. “I had a beta fish named Arun I won at a fair as a kid once.”

“So you’d prefer my name be Arun.”

“It’s Hindi —or Cambodian, or something. Translates to some meaning about the sun. Something about the reddish tint in the morning sky.”

“Call me Emerson.”

“What’s wrong with Althea?”

“That’s not me.”

“Well, then be an Arun.”

“I mean, but it’s night out.”

“So?”

“So there’s no morning sky. No reddish tint.”

He looks at her with a look of hilarious absurdity on his face as if he’s just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world, stifling a laugh with a smirk and stamping his drag out before planting burgundy on the corner of her mouth and turning back into the doorway towards the music. “Check again,” he tells her as he points at the smudge, and is gone into the electric crowd.

She doesn’t see him again until next week’s show when he brings her a bouquet of dandelions and they dance under a broken stagelight flickering in the back. He counts the chips in her nails and she blows flecks of ash from his nose into his eyes. She tells him about how she can never run in her nightmares, like the world goes slow motion and her feet can’t bring themselves up in time, and he tells her that’s stupid and she knows.

When she finds herself in front of the family-owned Korean convenience store in the middle of the night buying a bag of Saeoo Snek, she contemplates this and decides that never sleeping at night at least postpones having to write it all down again to show her therapist on Thursday. She strains her ankle on the last stair to the parking lot and limps her way down the street when the store owner tells her that she forgot her scarf. She didn’t come in with a scarf, but she takes it anyway and thanks him for the trouble.

Though it takes a bit of a walk, she finally finds herself on a small patch of grass between crosswalks and lays out her coat like a picnic blanket when an old man walks up to her asking for change. It’s not a lie when she tells him she doesn’t have any, but he sits down next to her anyway and they end up sharing the bag of chips while people cross over their island illuminated in green light.

“They’re too salty,” he says, and she agrees. He makes himself out to be some sort of chef, and she thinks he very well could have been one before the economy turned to shit. Emerson offers him some of the pills in the gummy bear bottle from out of her jacket pocket, but he politely declines and doesn’t look at her any differently. When the bag is done he turns to her and asks her the stupidest question she’s ever heard.

“Say, girl, are you happy?” He rolls down his sleeves and crosses his arms, itching his ear with his shoulder as if trying to find some sort of fidget animation to fall into. 

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Oh, well,” he strokes his beard like she expects him to. “I’d think the important kind, I guess?”

He’s so matter of fact about it that Emerson can’t help but stare when her phone begins buzzing in the grass to a text from Icarus telling her to meet him at the train station. The old man takes his leave at this, saluting her as he walks away and leaving Emerson regretting having not asked him if he wanted her scarf. 

“I admire the color,” Icarus tells her when she jumps the turnstile of the station to find him huddled in the corner next to a shattered outlet and a nondescript puddle. The station is mostly empty except for a woman and a stroller on a bench at the other side, and the overhead lights flicker yellow to white to grey in no particular pattern. Icarus reaches up and rolls the fabric through his navy nail-polished fingers.

“Althea Arun Emerson: a real humanitarian, some sort of savior,” he says.

He rolls his eyes and smiles at her when she doesn’t, leaning against one of those green suicide hotline signs like every train station is supposed to have, the last few numbers scratched out silver from years of people carving in their initials. She can’t help but notice a handful of small white pills trailing away from his feet and condensed at the bottom of the train tracks below, split into dust along the electric third rail.

“I couldn’t... for some reason...” he says when he notices her staring. “This sign, and your damn name in my phone…” She holds him up as he tells her thank you and asks her will you protect me and she nods her head yes, yes. 

She sits herself down next to him there in the corner, takes a sip from the flask in his bible to find his vodka tasting instead of an apple juice she was acquainted with in childhood, and doesn’t move when he falls asleep on her shoulder. She wraps her jacket around him and checks her own heartbeat as the passengers shuffle around them on the floor of the station with each stop and pick up, holding the scarf to her chest and thinking that burgundy was the coldest color.

It’s not a bullet that gets him. It’s not a car crash, not an overdose, not a suicide. It’s an old woman in a family-owned convenience store at three in the morning strung-out on some sort of powder and a knife. He doesn’t know this, of course, when he goes in to buy Saeoo Snek for a friend of his before his next show, and nobody else would know until she gets a call saying he’d been stabbed and left out on the street in a Carl’s Jr. parking lot for the police to wrap in yellow, and she wouldn’t know for sure until the police ask her to identify a man with black gelled back hair, torn oxfords and a flower behind his ear.

“That’s him,” Emerson says as they wipe the lipstick from his mouth, and she goes home to open the bottle in her jacket pocket and watch an episode of Sesame Street.

[doctorwhofieldguide]

Eleventh Doctor

Appearance:

Youthful face often coupled with mischievous smirk. Hollowed out cheeks with cheek bones that could cut through steel. Elongated head topped with mop of brown hair swept to side curtaining face. Voluminous hair often unkept from rubbing hands through it. Narrow eyes and barely visible eyebrows. Hazel-greenish eyes. Wrinkled forehead. Large nose, protruded chin. Angular face with thin lips. Clearly visible Adam’s apple. Boxed shaped head. Thin, limber, long-limbed figure. Dressed in tweed cross knit light brown dress jacket. Dark brown leather elbow patches on jacket. Rich cherry buttons on jacket sleeve and on front of jacket. Worn golden watch. Cheap rumbled button up dress shirt. Black dress slacks and laced up dress shoes. Matching socks. Suspenders. ALWAYS WEARING BOW TIE. Suspenders and bow tie always match. Resembles little boy thrown into 70 year old Oxford professor outfit. As if hastily got dressed and spilled overly sugary tea on himself in process. Occasionally sporting bright red fez when no one there to draw line in his fashion choices. Wears stetson with bronze and chrome accents on certain occasions. Looks like child playing dress up. As if he’s raided outfit from cheap costume store. Expression always with glint in eye. One can view true emotion from subtle glint.

Personality:

Towards companions:

From first observation appears childish, giddy, excitable, bursting with barley contained energy. Awkward, gestures animatedly with hands as if brain running at million miles per hour and can’t spare second to focus on one thought. Rambles constantly, brain rapidly fires out information as if can’t contain it all or doesn’t have time to spare on explaining phenomenons. Is like child viewing universe as own personal playground, eager to explore its hidden secrets. Doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. Impulsive. Fiercely loyal. Compassionate, understanding (to extent). Imaginative. Brilliant, resourceful. Observant. Fearless. Ingenious. Hastily speeds about. Paces back and forth in order to stimulate thoughts. Fumbles with hands, constantly moving in order to grasp conclusion. Will always put companion’s life before his own (at least ones to whom deeply attached to). Quick-witted. Humorous. Naturally  flirtatious without realizing it. Oblivious to anything related to love life.

In battle:

Immediately takes on role of absolute authority.  Commanding. Is willing to do whatever it takes to enemies in order to serve interests (sometimes for good of humanity and sometimes out of spite). Will sacrifice entire race for  one he favors more (during episode “The Vampires of Venice” he foiled plans of refugee Saturnyians, who were running from enemy he created, to maintain survival of species by populating one city. Doctor determined humans of Venice should live instead because Saturyian Rosanna didn’t remember name of girl she executed for betraying her species. Before Rosanna committed suicide by feeding herself to brethren, said to doctor: “Tell me Doctor, can your conscious carry the weight of another dead race? Remember us…dream of us.”). Takes on role of god; judge, jury, and executioner. Vengeful. Unyielding. Maintains eye contact with enemy as to intimidate them and convey resolve. Tends to be strict and snippy with companions in order to keep them from harm. Will plan innumerable steps ahead of enemy… at least what he wants you to think. Sassy, snide remarks. Ultimately self-sacrificing. Always runs towards danger, excited by prospect of danger and challenge unless person he cares about in danger. Ultimately values one life over other, revealed which one during battle. Will never hold weapon yet will enact mass destruction from behind monitor to ease guilt. Brutally honest.

Tools:  Sonic screwdriver: about ¾ of foot in length, octagonal cream colored handle tapers into black stunted hourglass curvature to rest fingers on. Assumed button on black part of handle. Layered chrome end. Circular chrome piece connected to extendable four piece claw mechanism. Claws extend when button pressed. Green light and high frequency sound emitted when in use. Resembles bulky sci-fi mechanism from sixties. Device used for wide range of purposes from unlocking doors and short-circuiting other technology to being used as medical scanner and interpreting languages. ‘Sonic’, as often called for short, unable to work on wood.

Glasses: black tinted cheap looking sunglasses able to view world in inferred light.

Psychic Paper: Flimsy leather wallet with rectangular piece of blank, white paper in clear sleeve. Projects fake title or reference of user as user so desires. Often used to access restricted locations. If observer is genius or aware of psychic paper’s existence, effect not always ensured.

Catchphrases: 

“Geronimo!”

“bowties are cool”

“glasses are cool”

 “rule one, the doctor always lies”

Defining Companion: 

Amy Pond:

 Pureblooded Scottish. Fiery red head doesn’t begin to capture forceful personality.  Stubborn, commanding, not afraid to challenge Doctor. Will never follow Doctor’s orders unless no other option…will most likely find another option. Resilient. Been through multiple traumatic events (captured and impersonated by Silence). Pushes experiences away. Learned to be tough and not complain. Resourceful, quick witted. Able to escape from sticky situations with only pure wit. Takes complete control of situation if Doctor not present. Aggressively sarcastic. Amount of eye rolls per episode averaged to six. Dreamer, professional procrastinator (will travel across space and time with man barely knows to procrastinate own wedding). Maintains constant faith in Doctor despite him letting her down multiple times. Fantasy mindset gets in way of advancing in regular life. Refuses to acknowledge reality. Childlike attitude maintained through adulthood and onward. Short tempered. Will make sure gets her way. Excitable. Too much like Doctor for own good. Caring. Will go out of her way to protect others. Curiosity leads to recklessness.

Amy able to control Doctor when in fury (stop at 1:45):

Likes: fish fingers and custard, bunk beds, jammy dodgers, dancing like madman at weddings.

Dislikes: apples, yogurt, bacon, beans (“beans are evil. Bad, BAD beans!”), bread and butter, revisiting old memories (even good ones if eventually have conclusion), sharing. 

Fears: Change. Afraid of losing ones he cares about again. Uses childlike mask to keep himself from getting too attached to another. Knows that will most likely outlive all he holds dear. Knows will not be able to experience contentment of security so attempts to distance himself from companions when companions show signs of settling down (i.e. when Amy and Rory grow older/ desire to travel less, Doctor visits less frequently, believing his presence unnecessary or unwanted, realizes no way he can fit into their lifestyle now). Understands its in his nature to run. Afraid of changing familiar dynamic.  Fear of abandonment. Has lost entire species and almost all other companions. Though companions not all dead, many unreachable, have memories wiped, older--unwilling to reconnect due to inherent nature of consistent change. Afraid to show vulnerabilities. Fear of commitment. Endings. Rips last page of book out to never know ending. All endings viewed in sadness. Predicts worst possible ending. Does not accept ending as inevitable or natural. Even own death. Will prolong event for as long as possible in order to avoid ending. Will trick and outwit others to avoid endings, even if for good.

Arch Enemy:  Weeping Angels:

 Quantum locked life form. Appear as serene graveyard stone angel when looking at it. Serene face morphs into demonic monster when not observed. Feeds on time energy. Able to move faster than nearly any being alive. “Don’t blink! Blink and your dead!” If not visible for only fraction of second will catch you and either send you back in time or kill instantly. Sends you far enough back in time that your dead now. Creates time paradox. Doctor unable to reach people who angels feed on. Able to manipulate electricity to submerge victim in complete darkness. Hunts in groups. Never gives up. Will catch you eventually. Maintain eye contact with them. Don’t look directly in eyes of angel. Anything that retains image of angel becomes angel. Unknown what angels actually look like. Most fearsome hunters in universe. For gods sake don’t blink.

Allies: Rory Williams,Commander Strax, Craig Owens, Queen Elizabeth the Tenth, Canton Everett III, Jenny Flint, Madame Vastra, Winston Churchill, Richard Nixon, Abigail Pettigrew, Kazran Sardick, Vincent Van Gogh

Love Interests:  River Song: 

Mass of untamable curly blonde hair, curvaceous figure, flirtatious queen. Flirty meter always maximum one hundred even in fights... especially during fights. Cunning, resourceful. Will go to beginning of time and graffiti oldest cliff-face in history of universe to get message to you. Confident in ability to escape from situations. Brilliant. Clever. Will show up Doctor at flying his own TARDIS. Fiercely independent. Always carrying weapon with her. Takes calculated risks. Untamable. Unstoppable. Wild streak as unruly as hair. Always composed, confident in face of danger. Deceiving yet genuine. Confused in place in world, uses travel as escape from internal and external threats. 

Best Quotes:

“Nothing is ever forgotten, not really.” 

“We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one eh?”

“The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”

“Amy Pond, there’s something you better understand about me ’cause it’s important and one day your life may depend on it: I am definitely a mad man with a box.”

“ D’you know in 900 years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”

“I am and always will be the optimist. The hoper of far-flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams.”

Music:  Grandiose. Complete encapsulation of wonder and whimsy seamlessly woven into pleasant uncertainty. Joy of getting lost in enchanted forest. Hushed word. Ghost of whisper utters word of enlightenment. Emergence of light in thick curtain of darkness. If curiosity could be threaded into sound. Expectation. Bravery. Thrill of madness. Acceptance of chaos. Quirky and eccentric. Time and beyond. Eye traces over each detail before becoming overwhelmed with sheer enormity of it all. Smirk and chuckle at joke only you can understand. Resonating with ancients of universe.

Music Excerpt:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6j8ZOJPoho

Note: author found it difficult to seperate from 11th doctor and continue onto others because of her immense love for 11. Therefore, more detail put into 11′s field guide as result of immense passion. Author thinks she will never be truly happy with result until she conducts years of research. Author plans to continue adding information to field guide even after it’s submitted. It is advised to remember that author is doctor who lunatic who decided to purchase sonic screwdriver replica as result of project.

[tbsbookclub-blog]

Diaries of a Hopeless Romantic - Firas Aouinet

Her: What would you do if you were bestowed with a million dollars? Him: *inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, running a hand through his hair* well... That would be the peak of generosity. I've so much in my mind that I don't know where to start. Her: Don't think. Be spontaneous. Say the things that come straight to your mind. Him: Gym equipment. No no. I'd buy a big house with a gym that's equipped with the tools I need. It shouldn't be much, I'd need a bench, a set of dumbbells, a set of resistance bands, a pull-up bar, a couple of MMA gloves, a punching bag and yoga mats. I don't need the fancy machines. 

I'd get my driving licence. I'd pay my parents’ debts. I'd buy my parents nice new clothes, take care of my mom's health problems, get her the treatments she needs. I'd invest some of the money in a profitable project, so I could have a stable income. I'd buy lots of books, the ones I've always wanted like the 4 remaining volumes of "series of unfortunate events" , the 4 remaining volumes of "The dragon chronicles" and the whole "The vampire diaries" books set. I'd buy all the healthy food I've always dreamed of eating and all the supplements I need to build my muscles and burn all that stubborn belly fat. And how can I forget about shopping? I may be a male, but I love shopping for new clothes. Vests, boots, oxfords, monk straps, wingtips, designer shirts and *raising his voice in excitement* NIKE MERCHANDISE. I might invest in a gym. If I'm to make money out of something, I might as well invest in something that I'm passionate about. Throw in dancing lessons over here, cross-fitness classes over there, some cardio kickboxing sessions, weight lifting,the whole package. I'd be my own boss and to top it, I'd be a trainer as well. I'd be able to buy watches, suits, shades, ties. I'd have a a whole room just for my clothes. I'd buy a new performance computer with all the gadgets that come along. I'd get the grooming kit  I've always wanted. I'd get the fancy facial care stuff. It sounds girly, but it's of paramount importance that I take care of my body. But what I'm mostly looking forward to is... *looking her dead in the eyes with flooding affection and overwhelming awe* buying a plane ticket to Romania to fly over there and spend my holidays with you. *so casually* Oh and a wedding ring.

Her: *staring at him, silent* Him: babe what is it? her: *eyes filling up with tears* what if I said that you only get to have 500 dollars out of the million? Him: *as fast as a thunderbolt* buy a plane ticket to Romania. The rest of the money will be pocket money for our daily dates for my whole staying. her: *tears of joy* I love you. Him: *hugging her* I love you more. *he sighs* all this day-dreaming stirred up some upsetting emotions. Money would solve most of my problems. The general statement about money is that it can't buy you happiness. Money can't buy you permanent happiness because it can definitely buy you a few minutes, hours, sometimes even days of happiness. And let's be honest, there's nothing in the whole vast universe that can give you constant, unending happiness. Hear me out: Even love has its ups and downs. There are break ups, needing space, arguments, quarrels and constant bickering. Even if there were such a thing as a perfect relationship where all those negative factors are taken down to their minimum level, DEATH would kill that happiness. Pun intended *he takes his tongue out at her*. Howbeit, I'll admit to this: love's happiness has to be better than money's, and you're the only example I need for that *he grins at her and she launches herself at him, bear-hugging the life out of him* Would you like to hear about my date ideas? Her: *sniffling* I do babe. Tell me. Him: *putting his index over his pursed lips* hmmmm.... Let's see.. For our first night, you'll be taking me to your favorite restaurant. NO SUSHI though! Just thinking about eating raw fish makes my skin crawl and I want none of that. We'll go for a walk afterwards, maybe we'd check the park you're always telling me about. And if it happens and we find ourselves alone there, we might end up having some fun and we'd finish our fun back at your bedroom. No need to go for the details now or it might spoil the surprise. I've got some new moves that I'm dying to show you.. We'd sleep until late morning the next day, I'd make you breakfast in bed, I'd cook you some of the recipes I learned through an awesome youtube channel called "5-minutes craft", which reminds me that you should definitely check it out, it has extra awesome hacks in about whatever domain that's involved in our daily lives. Since you'll probably have school, I'll sit at home, read a book, write something Or... *a light bulb flashes on top of his head* I'd sneak in class with you, have a taste of what you deal with 5 days a week. Maybe I'll get the chance to prank that pervert Analytical Chemistry professor. Boy do I want to teach him a lesson not to hit on you again. Oh I'll definitely kick Braun in the balls though for ordering you that alcoholic drink the other night. As for Armand... *he narrows his eyes thoughtfully* I'll cook something up especially for him. I might put Cyanide in one of his drinks, or maybe itching powder in his clothes OR I could simply beat the shit out of him, who knows, I'm unpredictable. her: *nudging him in the stomach* Would you stop it? Why do you have to be so mean? Him: *wicked smirk covers his devious face* You wouldn't call me Lucifer if I wasn't, now would you? Besides, it should be fun and thrilling for me since I don't want neither of them to be my friends, nor will I encounter them again. Don't even try to think of one of those almost-impossible-to-happen scenarios where I end up working for one of them or even the both of them because I'd quit my job immediately. Did I say quit? I wouldn't even apply. If anything, I'll have them both work for me and I'll make their lives a living hell just for trying to mess with what's MINE. Her: OH MY GOD I'm dating a sociopath! Him: *faking surprise* Why would you say that? What could I have possibly said that would indicate ME being a sociopath? Her: Your tone. You were so casual about it, no high pitched voices or anything that would imply that you're angry. Him: My self-control training is fruitful! Fantastic! Her: You? Self-control? You've the emotional intelligence of a child! Him: You and me both honey *he kisses her neck*. Now would you please let me get back to my fantasy trip? Thank you! Now where was I? AHA! I was making their lives a living hell. I've taken the liberty to look up tourist sightseeing locations and I landed on a couple that I'd love for us to inspect. Inspect? Why would I use inspect? I guess I couldn't find another synonym for visit. Anyway, Romania is crawling with castles and I'd love to pay a visit to each and everyone of them, have that Dracula experience in the Bran Castle. Maybe if we're lucky, one of us will get bitten and turn the other and we'll live happily ever after feasting on people's blood. Her: My god you're insane. Let me check *she knocks on the back of his skull with her knuckles* No, it's empty. You officially don't have a brain. It's just a hollow empty space in your crane. Him: *completely disregarding what she just said* We'd have to get daylight rings though. Do you know any witches? No? It's okay. There must be a couple lurking around that castle. We'd pay one of them to construct us a 2 for each of us, you know in case we lose one, we'd have the second. If we have enough cash, we'd have 3 made for each of us. Mine will have to look like Stephan's from The vampire diaries. I call dibs on that. Well those castle visits would probably cost us 4 days minimum. We'd spread them across the whole week and in-between we'd go bowling and I won't let you win because I'm competitive as hell. Her: *intercepting his words* As if I need you to win by myself. I've been practicing with Armand... *She suddenly stops mid-sentence and slowly looks up at him all puppy-eyed and apologetic* Him: *his facial features change, jaws clenching, stare hardening piercing through her wide eyes* *in a voice that's calm and almost a whisper* You.are.going.down. As for him, I'll be inflicting the worst of penalties upon him. *a shadow of a grinch-ish grin appears on his face* Now how about we make a bet? Her: *confused* What bet? Him: If I win, you'll be paying for dinner every single night. Hold up, my terms aren't over yet. You'll have to kick him in the balls as hard as you can while telling him not to bother you again with no option of apologizing to him afterwards EVER. If you win, I'll literally do anything you ask of me. You can ask me to be your slave, you can ask me to give up video games, ANYTHING. But mark my words babe: I've a huge appetite in the evening. Her: Why are you this evil? How could I have allowed myself to fall in love with someone as devilish as you? It's like satan went "hmmm I'd like to walk among humans and see what all the fuss god has made is about! Alright I'll shapeshift into one of them and walk amongst them" And TADA here you are. Him: *holding her with both hands by the cheeks* I don't think satan is able to be vulnerable with the only human being he's in love with! *he kisses her* And I'm totally defenseless against you. Her: *sarcastically* Satan is THE master of lies, deception and deceit. You could be doing that just now! Him: *tickling her* you think you're so smug, don't you? Nevertheless, I'm kicking your glorious behind in bowling and that's that because I said so! I'm looking forward to the day where I'm offered 500 bucks babe. *he gawks at her* I love you Her: I love you too!

[mlletony]

In political style, too, Germany seems to want constantly to prove that it has moved on from Hitler. [...] Led by Mrs Merkel, “the entire German political class uses a kind of sanitised Lego language, snapping together prefabricated phrases made of hollow plastic”, says Timothy Garton Ash, a British Germanophile at Oxford University. “Because of Hitler, the palette of contemporary German political rhetoric is deliberately narrow, cautious and boring.”

The Economist, What the Führer means for Germans today