#the lad is glowering at me from his bed

[cheerchime]

Just watched my cat stick his nose too far into the water bowl and then bap the side of the bowl for getting him unexpectedly wet, which of course got him more wet. He hissed at the bowl and stomped off to his bed to pout without even getting his drink.

Sorry, bud. But it's kinda nice to know that cats are not immune to the "getting your coat caught on a doornob when you're already cranky" experience.

[dashofghost]

MY BODY AND MY BLOOD

or, there's only one bed. mdni.

Winter came early, earlier than it should have, before the heat could kick in throughout the middle of nowhere base somewhere in Russia. The day of travel weighed heavily on your shoulders, exhaustion seeking into your bones. You wanted nothing more than a shower and to fall into bed and sleep for the next week.

The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.

"Right," Price sighed, "barracks are full, we've got to share." His eyebrows furrowed as groans arose from Soap and Gaz, "can it, lads. You two are together, get used to it." Soap rolled his eyes dramatically, yelping as Gaz elbowed him in the side.

"You two," Price sighs, pointing at you and Ghost, "you'll be together. Rooms 142 and 143, don't care who gets who. Just show up tomorrow." You could feel Ghost behind you, hovering like some gargantuan bat. Oh god. You were going to have to share a room with him.

You're both quiet as the team heads down the hallway, Gaz and Soap's banter loud enough for the both of you. Price dismisses you with a gruff goodnight, all too eager to lock himself in his room.

"This is us." Ghost's timbre catches you off guard, and you start, head whipping over your shoulder. The lines around his eyes crinkle, or at least, you think they do, behind the mask and the paint.

"Sorry," he mutters, bowing his head, "didn't mean to scare ya, love."

Love. The nickname, however insignificant, paints your face with a flush. You try to hide it by pushing the door to your shared room open.

It's tiny, with a cramped bathroom attached by the foot of the bed. The only bed. Shit.

You laugh, a hollow, humorless laugh, the culmination of exhaustion and frustration and longing. Ghost groans, burying his head in his hands.

"I'll take the floor," he sighs, but you cut him off immediately.

"No, I'll take the floor. Where would you even fit on the floor? There's not enough floor to fit you," you snap back. Ghost glowers at you through his mask.

"You'll catch your death on the floor," he fires at you, crossing his arms over his chest. A draft blows through the room, as if to echo his point.

"At least I'll fit on the floor," you counter, mimicking his crossed arms. He stares you down, biting his lip as you stare him down right back.

"Fine," he says shortly, "we'll share. Pillow wall work for you?" You nod, moving to arrange the pillows down the bed, trying to quell the excitement brewing in your stomach. You are colleges. This is strictly professional.

You can't help but let your eyes catch on him as he strips his vest and gear, until he's left in thermal underclothes and his balaclava, fingers hesitating at the hem.

"I won't look. If you want to take it off," you offer. He snorts, toying with the fabric.

"Wouldn't work. Besides, you've seen me before. After the grenade," he reminds you, wincing as he pulls his mask off.

He's just as beautiful as you remembered, all soft hazel eyes and sharp, angular cheekbones. His buzzcut has grown out since the last time you saw him, just on the verge of being unkempt. You're staring, and he knows you're staring, but he lets you, throwing his head back with a groan. His neck arches beautifully, and you want to cover it with marks.

You're quick to shed your own gear, trying to look anywhere but his face, but you feel his eyes linger on the arc of your shoulders, the hollow of your neck, the curve of your hips. You climb under the thin blankets, curling as far away from Ghost's side as he turns the lights out.

The bed squeaks as he lays down, adjusting the pillows. He's so big he takes up all of his side and almost part of yours. He moves his legs and they brush against your knee.

"Sorry," he mutters, pulling his calf away like it had been burned. Sparks tingle up your legs.

"'S fine, Ghost," you murmur back. The bed squeaks again as he rolls over to face you, head on the pillow just inches from yours. You want to kiss him. He's so close.

"Do you remember what I told you? After the grenade?" he asks. You nod, but stay quiet as he sighs softly. His hand twitches, like he wanted to reach out for you but stopped himself.

"When it's like this," he breathes, his voice sweet, "when it's just you and me, it's Simon. Call me Simon." He's so soft, in a way you've never seen him before, and you nod, moving ever so close to him.

"Alright," you breathe, "goodnight, Simon."

"G'night, sweetheart."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

When you wake, it's freezing. Ghost- Simon- is snoring next to you, heat radiating off of him like a goddamn furnace. You curl your body into itself, but shivers rack your shoulders anyway. You groan in frustration, glaring up at the ceiling.

Simon stirs next to you, rolling over groggily. His arm brushes against yours, and he winces, thumb brushing over the skin.

"You're freezing," he whispers, cupping your hand in both of his. Your arc towards him, relishing in the warmth that emanated from him, and he smiles, soft and sweet.

"I'm fine," you mutter, "go back to sleep." You prop yourself up on one elbow, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Don't be stupid," Simon breathes, "come here. I've got enough warmth for the both of us."

You shove the pillow wall aside so fast it makes Simon chuckle as pillows hit the floor. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your back to his chest, hitching a leg over your hip. He's so warm, heat surrounding you on every side as he tucks his head into the hollow of your shoulder.

His hands rest on your stomach, thumb rubbing the exposed skin of your stomach where your shirt has slid up. You wrap your arms around his, holding them to your chest. He feels safe.

"Better?" Simon asks, pulling you closer to his chest. You nod, sleep already creeping over you as you feel him smile against your neck. His thumb rubs soothing patterns on your skin as you slowly drift to sleep.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

When you wake again, it's still dark. You're facing Simon, clinging to one of his arms with your head buried in his chest. He's rubbing your back, and as you look up at him, his eyes are open.

"What time is it?" you whisper, stretching slightly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He glances down at his watch, toying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Five thirty-seven," he responds, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, tracing your cheek and cupping it in his callused hand. Your eyes flick down to his lips and back again.

"Simon-"

"Can I kiss you?" His voice is ragged with desperation, pupils blown wide. With a soft gasp, you nod.

"Please."

He kisses you softly, tenderly. You pull him closer, hands interlocking at the back of his neck, one trailing down to his cheek. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

"Oh," he breathes, almost against your lips. He pushes himself up against the headboard, a spark growing in his eyes as he pulls you into his lap.

His second kiss is desperate, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, hands tangling in your hair. You arch in his grip as his hands drift to bracket your hips, your body flushing as he pulls you even closer. Your nails dig into his back and he moans against your lips, you crave the feeling of his bare skin against your fingers even though the cold prohibited it.

You gasp softly as Simon slides his thigh between your legs, cheeks flushed as he takes you in between kisses. His hands are greedy, one slipping dangerously low on your hips before slipping past the waistband of your thermal pants.

"Can I?" he asks quietly, looking up at you from where you're perched on his thigh. His pupils are completely blown, hair messy and cheeks flushed. He looks halfway to heaven and all he's done is kiss you.

"Oh, god, please-" you breathe, burying your head in his shoulder as his hands slides down, spreading you open as well as he could before his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles against it. You cling to his shoulders, teeth biting down on his shoulder to stifle your moans. Simon gasps, hands moving your hips to help you grind against his thigh.

"There you go," he whispers, head thrown back as you rub against him, "there you go, lovie, that's it." You whine, rutting your hips harder at his praise. His free hand dips underneath your shirt, crawling up your ribs.

"Si- si, feels so good," you moan, biting on your lip to try to keep your moans down. Simon cups your breast tenderly, pushing your top up your chest.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous, angel," Simon swears. His lips trail down your neck, resting just above your nipple. His mouth rests open, tongue heavy on his lower teeth as the question forms on his lips.

"Sweetheart, can I-"

Three knocks echo on the door, and you jump, loosing your balance and almost colliding with the bedpost as you scramble to get off Simon's lap. Simon desperately adjusts his pants, trying to hide his raging hard on as Price swings the door open.

"Ghost, you're needed down in command," he orders, and Simon's head falls backwards imperceptibly as he pushes himself off the bed, pushing his feet into his boots. As he follows Price out the door, he makes eye contact with you, slipping his fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back as he licks your slick off of them. He winks as he walks around the corner, mouthing

this isn't over.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

school is over and my requests deleted themselves somehow so if you've got ideas pls send them

[c3berus]

THINKING ABOUT price finally bringing his husband on base to meet his boys.

imagine the 141 men noticing how chipper and less uptight their captain had been for the past few weeks. soap nearly killed the team by nearly stepping on a mine? “be more careful next time lad.” kyle wasting tea on the reports that were due 10 minutes ago? “we can try again gaz, ill print more, don’t fret it.” yeah. they obviously think he’s gone mad. they’d often catch him staring at his ring, smiling when his diamond glowers back at him. anytime they’d ask about his change he’d smile and dismiss it.

their confusion continued until they came back from a wind down night out at the bar after a long mission. walking into the base, everyone’s laughing simmered down at the sight of their captain slow dancing with another man. they couldn’t see much of the man due to his back being toward them but they could see his dark, curly hair tied back and a neck of tattoos paired with grey sweats and a t-shirt. one thing stood out though, you height. you were taller than simon, bulkier as well. in sync they all thought the same thing, where the hell did price find a tool like you?

hearing them enter, you and price turned your attention to the three men your husband often told you about. the men could now see the rest of you, and god did you have them weak in the knees. your kind smile with those eyes? you were a blessed by Aphrodite herself.

clearing his throat, price made his way in front of you before you pulled his back to meet your chest, semi hugging him from behind. “welcome back,” he started, “this is my husband y/n. y/n this is my squadron i was telling you about, remember?” you nodded before kissing price’s temple and saying your greetings, they took note of an accent yet no one commented on it. your greeting was met by a series of hellos and nods. johnny cleared his throat before stepping forward, your eyes immediately catching on to his movements.

“if ya don’ min’ me askin,” he chimed “jus’ how old are ya lad?”

you smiled down at price before answering his question. “jus’ turned 39.” now this, this shocked them completely, you where a year younger than ghost and looked gaz’s age? they waited for you to tell them you were joking, after a pregnant silence they realized how serious you were. the boys voiced their disbelief and asked to see you at their ages, minus ghost.

after a while of you proving your age, you all ended up on the couch, price situated on your lap feathering light touches on you that wouldn’t be taken as anything sexual if you looked from a glancing angle. but you knew how needy your boy was. you always knew. that’s why you bid goodnight for you and your missus and headed for bed.

part 2? - ceb.

[bloodbrown]

I'm gonna offer a little morsel to chew on that's been driving me insane😳 for your consideration, imagine on the off chance P manages to take an actual break at the hotel, not just a quick round of chats with everyone, or weapon/strength upgrades, but a full on extended break.

And during that break he discovers he's got a love of reading, and just so happens to gravitate towards the sweet and sappier type of books! (He of course reads anything that piques his interest, but for the sake of this thought I'd imagine that he keeps to these softer books as a sort of escape from the horrors beyond the hotel!🥺)

And in these books he keeps learning about all the ways in which humans and characters show affection: The plethora of darling terms of endearment or the meaningful warmth that comes from a special nickname, the endless tiny ways to show concern or care. It's the gentle kiss placed on the inside of a wrist, giving someone your umbrella/overcoat when the rain or chill is too much, looking into someone's eyes and being so whole heartedly lovestruck it makes your chest ache and heart thump a fierce pace.

(I think he'd get really caught up on the concept of when a couple is heading to bed one will often sleep on the side closest to the door, that even when asleep they want to shield their beloved🥺)

After his discovery I honestly think he'd become a bit of a mother hen, doting and even a dash fretful at that! He once saw you make your way down the stairs of the hotel without holding onto the railings, nearly tripping and straining your ankle. You try to pull that stunt after he's read his books? Right in front of lover boy? You are getting a glower and have a choice to make, either the railing or his hand, you have to hold one! >:(

I'm telling you, he may be made out of rigid cogs and unfeeling metal, has single handedly ravished droves of enemies and terrors, but this man has sugar glass ribs and a jelly heart, so unendingly sweet and warm, and if he could I bet he'd open his chest and give you his very own heart, hoping you'd see how the pace of its ticks speed up, just for you.

I have so so many more sappy sweet thoughts, and I hope it wasn't an annoyance to get such a behemoth of an ask, but from one P enjoyer to another I wanted to send something in! <:) I hope you're doing well, and have a wonderful rest of your day/night! ^^ (Oh and!! just wanted to say that I love all of the writing and hc's that you do for the mad lad, you capture him wonderfully!🥺)

I absolutely love the idea that P realizes he should get a day off like everyone else. He's worked to the bone every day, poor guy. And can't imagine Geppetto would be too happy about his Ergo-harvesting puppet realizing that he can take breaks lol

And P would totally take romance novels to heart, I bet he'd also take to writing little love letters and leaving them around for you to find... even if his handwriting is less than stellar 🥺

He is such a bleeding heart of a man, and I say this with the ultimate amount of affection.

Also I'm never annoyed by asks, even long ones, most of the time they make my day 🐸

[jarofstyles]

Petals and Prompts

Hello! It’s been a while… but here we are! Part 3 to A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes! Princerry returns.

I hope you enjoy it! Please let us know.

Check out our Patreon!

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes Masterlist

—-

Harry was smitten.

There was no doubt about it. Every moment he was around her, his stomach was filled with butterflies and his cheeks heated far more often than he had wanted. She was everything he could have wanted. Sharing laughs, and difficult discussions, she managed to make him feel comfortable. Human. Ways he had never experienced before.

Looking at her across the table as she had a chat with his sister and laughed, holding fans to their faces and cooling off from the warm garden, he realized fully how lucky he was. She was glowing. Skin dewy and radiant, the soft pout of her lips. The curve of her nose and the long lashes that fanned her cheeks. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and she was to be his. Harry’s and his alone.

His eyes traced her as he sipped his drink, happy she asked his sister to join them for the sole reason of getting to observe her. The way her eyes brightened and dulled at certain topics.

The beautiful laugh that fell from her lips and how she would tip her head back. The sass and snarl when talking about people they disliked. Every so often checking in with Harry to make sure he was okay and enjoying himself. All it took was a fond smile and nod and she would continue her conversation. No one had ever checked on his comfort so intently before. So, no. Harry didn’t mind at all that their lunch had been overtaken by his sister.

They’d made fast friends, Isabella and Y/N. His sweet girl had managed to charm the entirety of the family. Funnily enough, Isabella would be the hardest to impress out of everyone. Protective of her brother in her own right, she had told him who to stay away from many a time. Hearing of the defense she gave of Harry’s honor just a few weeks back had softened her up immensely. Add in a shared interest in flowers and Isabella promising to teach her some new embroidery techniques, it had turned into a lovely thing. The only downside was Harry becoming the target of their teasing.

“And he ran out almost naked! From a mere bug on his bed!” Isabella used one of his embarrassing moments to have Y/N in a fit of chuckles, making him give a faux glower at the pair. “Future king.. terrified of a little beetle!”

“I was 13.” He deadpanned, crossing his arms and raising his brow at the both of them. “Isabella, I know plenty of embarrassing stories of you. You are lucky I am polite enough to spare Y/N the embarrassment of recalling them.” He sniffed, nose in the air. Playful, but also a slight warning.

“Rude.” The girl huffed, smoothing out her dress. “I am being targeted because I simply share fond memories of you as a young lad with the woman who somehow puts up with you! You can back out, Y/N. It isn’t too late.” She leaned in, placing the fan to block her mouth but saying loud enough for him to hear. “He snores sometimes. And he smells atrocious after training! You can spare yourself.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she saw Harry’s mouth drop open in scandal. “Somehow, I think I can make do with that. Sacrifices. He’s such a pretty thing.” She sighed, looking over his face. That had him smirking, a bit of a puff to the ego. “I quite like him, so I’m afraid you all are stuck with me.” She looked at the ring on her finger that showed the promise. The engagement.

Harry had made it custom for her. Small rubies surrounding a single, large princess cut diamond. It sparkled in even the dullest light. Two emeralds mixed with the rubies, signifying how she spoke of his eyes and the night they had met. She had nearly sobbed at the sight of it and the explanation when he had gotten down on one knee at the fountain.

They were only a few days away from the engagement ball. Y/N was helping the queen most days with preparations and taking on a few duties of her own. Learning from her to see what she would be doing one day. It warmed Harry to know that she was inside the castle most days.

He couldn’t wait for the days he could retire to their own quarters. Spend time with her alone, and truly alone. No limits on what they could do. Kisses on the cheek, the neck, the arms only quenched so much of his thirst. Though… Harry knew that he would wait years if it meant she was at the end of the finish line.

“Isabella, I think it is time for you to help mother. I would like some alone time with Lady Y/N, please.” He had shared enough of her during their scheduled time. He wanted to spend some of it closer to her.

“Fine. Kick me away from my new friend.” She grumbled, collecting her skirts and smoothing them as she stood up. “Give me a call if he gives you any issues at all, Y/N. I am incredibly fond of the cake you’ve chosen, but I won’t hesitate to smear some on his ugly mug.” She teased before flouncing off towards her room.

Y/N gave Harry a fond smile, allowing him to help her up and take her into his arms for an embrace. It wasn’t anything too drastic, and the prince knew that they’d be watched, but he snuck a kiss to the curve of her jaw. “Radiant as always, my dove.” He pulled away and gently took her hand to lead her through the gardens. A stroll was their favorite pastime, her arm looped through his as they examine the florals and Harry watched his beloved fiancé ‘ooooh’ and ‘awe’ over each petal.

Something so simple managed to make the woman he was falling heavily for so happy. When trying to meet other women in the past, it was always the castle's golden archways or the silver placeware, the pearls Harry sometimes adorned around his neck. It was the luxury of it all that wooed them and nothing else.

Y/N was pleased with the flowers. The company. She never blinked twice at the golden rings that covered Harry’s hands besides to play with them as they spoke at times. She never expressed jealousy over belongings. It was so refreshing to him to find her in the library, speaking with one of his advisors over books. A well read, educated woman was incredibly intimidating for a lot of people. Not to him.

Her intelligence was one of the things that called to him the most. Their philosophical and theoretical conversations, the politics they agreed upon, the societal differences and being able to actually have discussions when they disagreed on subjects was something Harry had never experienced in almost anyone else.

Now he would be lucky enough to call her his wife.

“I am growing more and more excited as the days pass.” She murmured, fingers stroking the white petals of the daisies. “To live here and explore these gardens everyday. With you.” Her face turned to him and made his heart skip a few bears. He was positive that her smile could kill him. Shock his heart with the overflowing of love that conjugated there.

“It is the same for me.” His words were softer than the sweet summer breeze in this garden. “I wake up every day longing for the day we don’t need supervision to be with one another. It wouldn’t be proper to kiss you out here now… but in a while, it will be. And I crave that.”

“As do I.” Her voice was soft, not wanting to be overheard. “I never understood before, you know?” A slight tilt of the head had Harry humming, her cue to go on. “How people just… were happy settling down. Having one person to be their life partner. I thought that love was something rare. Sometimes I still think it is… but I was lucky enough to have you stumble upon me.” Her eyes met his. “It doesn’t scare me like I thought it might. The idea of forever at someone’s side. I think… if it was anyone else? Perhaps. I may not like it. I like fluidity, I love movement. But with you?” She squeezed his hand firmly. “It doesn’t feel like a trap. I’m not naive… I know that the castle is somewhat of a gilded cage. But I don’t think I’ll mind if the other bird in it is you.” Her head rested upon his shoulder, a dreamy sigh leaving her mouth.

“They were trying to scare me.” Her soft admission made him turn slightly, trying to gage her face. Alarm went through him at the idea of someone trying to harm her, even just her peace.

“Who?” He questioned, stopping their pace. “What did they say to upset you?” The pure concern was written on his face. Harry was a fierce protector. It had been a lot to know that even before people had been cruel to her about his decision. Like being rude would change either of their hearts. Both of them were stronger than that.

“Do you know Anastasia?” she questioned, watching his face as he thought for a moment before nodding. She was a socialite, married into nobility and recently widowed. Young, just a few years older than Y/N. Harry did not like her company. Something about her seemed so… slimy. Unsettling. Like a snake. An eel, more like.

“Well, I was getting fitted for a few dresses the other day in town… she and her group of gossipers were definitely trying to pick my weak spots.” She shook her head, feeling irritation prickle on her skin.

“They were saying as a royal I would have no freedom. There would be no time to read books, to talk to people. That I would have to sit by your side and nod and be pleasant. I wouldn’t be allowed to see my family often. All of these things that I know to be mostly untrue.” She placed a hand over his. “I am not unaware of the fact that I will not live as I used to. I will be busier, I will not have the same freedoms, no. It will be different ones. It is an adjustment, isn’t it? Life gives us new chapters to live and learn… I am not afraid of it. But they know I have always spoken of wanting to travel the world. They would scoff when they saw me reading when I was younger. It just… irritated me.” She wanted to let him know. He would be her partner and deserved to know these things.

Harry hated that people tried to ruin her happiness. It was pure jealousy and spite, the both of them knew that, but the idea of it was still sickly. They let the tentacle of greed wrap around them and turn them into puppets for the emotion. Not realizing that there was no way to change it. Nothing could be done. Harry was completely and utterly smitten with her and no other woman would tempt him to change his mind.

“I’m sorry, dearest.” He sighed. “I understand. You’ve taken the changes with such grace. It won’t be an easy transition, I will never lie about that. There is a lot to learn. However- just seeing you here? How you’ve taken to planning with my mother, how you deal with people like that? You were made to be my queen.” His hand brought hers up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles tenderly. “You’ve got the spirit for it. The drive. You want to better the kingdom. You don’t want the riches and luxury these women are thinking you’re being handed.” Granted, Harry had had countless jewelry pieces being made at the moment for her, custom crowns and dresses she had no idea about. But that was the point.

“A spirit that sets the world on fire like yours? It’s once in a lifetime. There’s no one else like you. They want these gardens and a title but they would never be able to handle the things you and I will. The reform.” His voice dropped again. “The projects. You’ve proven to be a worthy leader before I’ve even kissed you properly. I know in my heart of hearts that you’re the only person for me.” The statement left no room to be discussed.

“If you’d like, I can have Anastasia barred from our parties… I’ll have them moved to another village. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on our special days.”

The engagement party, the wedding, the dozens of holiday balls. Harry wouldn’t blink an eye with banning anyone if it meant she was happier. But that wasn’t who she was.

“It’s alright. I would prefer her to stew in her own anger and pity in her seat while we have the best times together. I know that will be a better revenge than banning her from the parties.” Y/N’s little smirk and revenge streak did something to him. It wasn’t appropriate but he knew that when they were wed and she showed a bit of her devilish side? He would have no choice but to drag her to bed.

“As you wish, my love.” He kissed her hand again, lips sticking to the skin longer than it needed to before he looped their arms again. “Now… show me your favorite flower so far. I will make certain it is present at the wedding.”

[alexanderlightweight]

I really enjoyed the one where Alec met Ragnor first. Maybe some more of that one?

here we go! ty for the prompts anon, i hope you like it

-

Ragnor sighs and manages only to not scream by sheer force of will and utter exhaustion. Cat, looking as haggard as he feels, sends a spiteful gaze to the bed Ragnor is still watching.

“I could wring his neck.” Cat mutters as she chugs an Irish coffee before she sighs and leans against him. “He knows better than to interrupt me when I’m working. And all because he wanted an answer!”

Ragnor snorts, nearly scalding himself with tea and his magic catches his cup tiredly for him. “We both know that Magnus is many things, but patient is rarely one of them.”

He and Cat share a commiserating look.

“The lad will be alright?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine. It was a little touch and go with how potent the venom was, but Magnus’ magic helped fry it.”

They share another look and both sigh, in time with each other.

“He won’t be letting this one go, will he?” Cat asks, watching as Magnus fusses over a wide-eyed, endearingly deer-like Alec.

“Oh, I highly doubt it.” Ragnor agrees dryly, “my dear, if you think we’ll be doing anything without the attachment of a nephilim for a good long while. I’ll drink a coffee.”

Cat mock gasps, but the gentle nudge of her amused magic tells Ragnor all he needs to know.

“You think your guardian angel will go for it?”

“He protected me once. He’s hardly a guardian angel and I doubt Magnus would enjoy him being claimed by someone else, in any shape or form. So I’ll leave that to him.” Ragnor summons his pipe with a glower, “like I want to interfere with Magnus when he’s like this.”

This is a new face of Magnus.

A very interesting and slightly alarming side of Magnus that neither Ragnor or Cat has ever seen. It’s a mixture of Magnus from across all the years and he’s acting young in a way he hasn’t for centuries. It’s as endearing as it is alarming and Ragnor resolves to make sure Magnus has his head on right before he gets too involved too fast.

“We’ll need to make sure Magnus doesn’t go overboard.” Ragnor murmurs quietly, keeping an eye on how Magnus is using magic to gently feed Alec pieces of ice.

“Like that’s possible.” Cat mutters back but she’s also watching them, “we’ll need to run interference. You know how worked up he can get. Remind him he can have whatever he wants. To never conform.”

“Yes, yes.” Ragnor says and he summons a bit of jam and vodka for his tea. “Now the question is, should we just keep his boy here?”

Cat freezes and turns to Ragnor with a contemplative look.

“How so?”

“The lad’s got a rather bad case of demon poisoning and he’s already been demoted, from what I overheard. A few weeks of prescribed warlock healing and a lack of stress and angelic influence. Might do just the trick.”

Ragnor waggles his eyebrows and Cat smirks, something dark in her grin as she nods slightly. They’ll do whatever it takes to make Magnus happy and if that means lying to the clave and keeping a nephilim with them under false pretenses, then they’ll do so happily.

[eolewyn1010]

#OCkiss24 - day 1

It has begun.

What I wanna say, I'm participating in the @ockissweek event this year, doing a mixed batch of drawings and written one-shots, and we're starting with a little writing today, picking up the day's prompt of "almost". As per the rules, not every kiss situation I set up is a romantic one, but today's definitely is. Boys, take it away.

[just about 1000 words]

“Would you like help with that?”

Joachanan frowned at that, raising his head and shielding his eyes from the sun to have a look at who would ask a slave such a question. Oh. Him.

Thinking that he was completely out of place here, Jochanan smiled up at the emperor’s favorite in a way that could at best be described as saccharine. “We wouldn’t want you to get dirt on your fancy clothes, now would we?”

And he went back to weeding out the garden. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed working as a kitchen servant far more than being Hadrian’s footman; his previous occupation had never kept him safe from the emperor’s moods, and it hadn’t been easy to stay out of his way, either. Pretty boys had always been trouble for Jochanan, even back home, and this one… this one was particularly pretty.

Also, he hadn’t left him alone. Jochanan sighed pointedly as Antinous knelt on the ground next to him and examined the plants he was plucking off. “Which ones need to go?”

“Look,” instead of giving him an answer, Jochanan adopted a tone in which he would usually talk to a small child. He is what, two years younger than me? Doesn’t matter. He’s the emperor’s. “This is slaves’ work, and I’m expected to do it as quickly as possible; when I’m done here, the cooks still need a bunch of herbs for today’s feast. Just stay out of my way, will you? The emperor will be all the happier for it.”

He didn’t get an answer for a moment and hoped he had put Antinous off of his misplaced helpfulness, but then the lad – the kid, Jochanan sharply reminded himself – grabbed for the smaller, still empty basket. “Then I’ll stay out of your way and collect the ones you need instead,” he suggested.

Jochanan looked up to glare at him and failed. Antinous looked like a goddamn puppy, all big, hopeful, brown eyes, eager to please. Of course he was; he’d been raised to please. Raising an eyebrow, Jochanan pointed at the plant beds he was already done with. “Well, do you know celery? Fennel? Rue? Thyme?”

Antinous blinked, then he hesitantly set to work.

Jochanan shook his head. “What is with you? Are you bored?”

That actually got a laugh out of Antinous. “Why are you always so acrid?”

Jochanan rolled his eyes. “What are you here for, if not for my sparkling wit?”

“It’s true; compared to the others, you’re quite entertaining.”

Jochanan’s head whipped around. Entertaining!? He already opened his mouth for another snide reply when he saw the corner of Antinous’ mouth twitch. That little shit had been out for a reaction. That little shit also had a dimple. In a huff, Jochanan looked back down on his plants. The gall of him. He was too old for dimples.

Jochanan picked up a small lump of dirt and flung it at Antinous. This time, they both laughed. Antinous shook his head and ran his fingers through his black curls to get the dirt out. “It’s not so much to do when His Grace keeps wandering from one palace to another all over Greece,” he explained. “I guess I am bored – after a while, it’s kind of all the same, and I’ve been along for a few years.” After a look around, he mused: “It’s nicer than Rome, I’ll admit.”

“Everything is nicer than Rome,” Jochanan remarked and leaned over to take a plant out of Antinous’ basket.

He only noticed what he was doing, how close he’d gotten to him, when Antinous’ voice was right next to his ear now. “Not this one?”

Jochanan cleared his throat. “Unless you want to poison him.” He dropped the herb to the other waste. “Not a bad idea, all in all.” With that, he stood up.

Antinous sent a reprimanding glower after him before he got to his feet, too. “His Grace is of excellent health and still has many years ahead of him,” he asserted.

Jochanan replied with a noncommittal hum; they were on their way back to the palace and the risk of someone hearing him talk in such a way was too great. Though if it were up to him, Hadrian would drop dead rather today than tomorrow.

“What would you even do if he died? Wouldn’t that put you at risk?” Antinous asked. “I know I would be at a loss…”

Jochanan huffed. “I would run,” he said. “All the way to port, aboard a ship back to the Levant. And then hatch another uprising.”

His smug tone got him an astonished look from Antinous. “You don’t value your life all that highly, do you?”

“I do in fact value my hide, which is why you’re not going in there with me,” Jochanan said and took the basket from Antinous before the kitchen’s door. “If they see you here with me, looking like that,” he nodded toward the soil stains on Antinous’ knees, “I will get beaten.”

With that, he turned over. And was held back by the arm. “Jochanan, wait.”

He didn’t even have the time to try and appear exasperated when he looked at Antinous now. He knew that look. Antinous wanted – oh.

He was taller than Jochanan, so he had to lean down to him, and it was the only moment Jochanan got to tumble through a whole array of thoughts. Yes – no – trouble – I want him to – the emperor’s favorite.

He is the emperor’s.

Jochanan turned his face to the side, his heart thumping all the way up in his throat. The kiss landed on his cheek. Jochanan took a deep breath, fought down the urge to kiss him, and stepped back.

Antinous blushed and lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

You should be. Keep to yourself what I’m not allowed to have.

“If Hadrian learns of that, it won’t be me you have to apologize to.” Jochanan just about managed the retort, but his voice didn’t sound like it was his. His head felt fluttery and dizzy, his stomach twisting in on itself. Need to get away from him. He hastily rushed past Antinous and slammed the door between the kitchen and the garden.

He’s not mine to kiss, the thought hammered in his head. He’s the emperor’s, and I will keep away from him.

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Some Lambert x Eskel

"When will you stop being so bull headed?" Eskel asks gently. He ties off the bandage around Lambert's upper arm. The ginger Witcher harrumphs, but makes to reply. Eskel cups Lambert's beardy face and makes the younger man look at him. "I mean it." He says firmly. Lambert harrumphs again.

"You should not keep getting into fights." Eskel musses. Lambert glowers down on him. Eskel rolls his eyes. "Lambert, behave yourself." He scolds. Lambert yanks Eskel into his lap. "Make me." He barks. Eskel chuckles softly. "I will Lambert, don't you worry." He whispers. He nips at Lambert's earlobe. Lambert groans softly. Eskel smirks to himself.

"Come to bed." He whispers. "Not yet." Lambert tried to argue. Because he always tries to argue. Eskel sighs and shakes his head. "Just come." He murmurs. Lambert gets up, but glowers at his lover. Eskel rolls his eyes. "I will make it worth your while." He says. "You better." Lambert growls.

Eskel leads to his chambers.

"On the bed." He gently tells Lambert. A direct order would, of course, make Lambert balk. And all the same, Lambert glowers at him. "Come on now." Eskel says gently.

Lambert undresses.

"There is a good lad." Eskel purrs. "You too." Lambert replies. Eskel chuckles warmly. "Of course." He cooes. He slowly striped out of his layers of clothes. Lambert hangs back and watched him closely. Eskel is wearing much more than Lambert.

"You're pretty." Lambert says. Eskel smiles a wain smile. "Don't lie." He murmurs. "I am not fucking lying." Lambert growls. He approaches the older witcher and reels him in. Eskel groans muffledly as their lips meet. Lambert utterly claims Eskel's mouth.

They kiss until they are both breathless.

"On the bed." Lambert growls.

Eskel obliged, laying down. Lambert lingers by the side of the bed. He is simply looking down on the older witcher. "You're pretty." Lambert repeats. Eskel rolls his eyes. "Come here." He says. Lambert slowly climbs onto the bed with him. "Good lad." Eskel whispers. Lambert huffs and flusters.

The older Witcher climbs atop him, straddling one of his massive thighs. Lamberts swears softly. Eskel is just so fucking pretty. "Are you going to let me?" Eskel asks. Labert swallows thickly and nods. "Good lad." Eskel smirks.

Lambert grabs Eskel by his hips. Eskel rolls his pelvis. "So beautiful." Lambert growls. "Hush you." Eskel tells him. But Lambert shakes his head. "No way. I am going to keep saying it. Until you believe it, too." He growls. "You are a dear." Eskel chuckles. He rubs their cocks together. Lambert groans darkly. "Are you going to sit on that?" He asks. "You are so impatient." Eskel scolds playfully. "Can you blame me?" Lambert smirks crookedly. "Hardly." Eskel chuckles.

Lambert buck's his pelvis. Eskel smirks and gives them both a languid jerk. Lambert groans. "There is oil in my bag." He says. "You are prepared." Eskel compliments. "You taught me to be." Lambert says. Eskel chuckles and gets off of him. "I did indeed." He agrees.

Eskel retrieves the oil from Lambert's bag and comes back to bed.

Lambert is watching him breathlessly. "What?" Eskel asks. "You are so fucking pretty." Lambert growls. "I asked you to stop it." Eskel climbs back onto him. He unstoppers the vial of oil. "Be generous, will you?" Lambert says huskily. "Don't you worry Lambchops." Eskel murmurs.

He pours at least half the vial over Lambert's cock. Lambert hisses at how cold the oil is. Eskel chuckles darkly. "So whiney." He rumbles. Lambert flusters, his ears turning bright red. "Shut up." He hisses. Eskel smirks down on him.

Eskel begins to rub Lambert's cock. Lambert moans loudly in response. "Good." Eskel teases. "I want to fuck you." Lambert rasps. Eskel shakes his head. "Use your proper words, lambchops." He purrs. “Let me fuck you, Eske.” Lambert growls. He uses the old nickname he made up when he was younger and looked up to Eskel. But Eskel hears no please. 

“Try again.” He says. 

Lambert sends Eskel a pout. Please is such a hard word for him to say. “Eskeee.” He whines. “You know the magic word.” Eskel shakes his head. Lambert all but puffs out his cheeks.  “Come on.” Eskel slows down his jerks. Lambert whines loudly. His hips thrust up in Eskel’s fist. “Fuck.” He hisses. 

Eskel spanks him on the thigh. “Be patient!” He warns. But Lambert throws his head in his neck and moans. “So fucking dirty.” Eskel growls. He spanks Lambert again. “Fuck, gods.” Lambert swears.  “You like that, don’t you?” Eskel smirked. He lays a spank on Lambert’s other thigh. Lambert thrusts into his hand. 

“Let me fuck you.” Lambert demands. Eskel tsks. “Beg.” He hisses. “Never.” Lambert scoffs. “Then you won’t fuck me. Then you will cum in my hand and I will leave.” Eskel murmurs.  “You are so fucking cruel.” Lambert hisses. “I know little brother, but you are such an impatient pup. I need to teach you manners.” Eskel murmurs in reply. Lambert swears under his breath. Eskel spanks him again. 

“Your cock is jumping, Lambert, you are so needy.” Eskel smirks. Lambert flusters a little. “I am... please let me fuck you.” He rasps. "Hmmm, maybe." Eskel smirks.  He spanks Lambert's thighs, over and over. And Lambert swears and squirms. "You want it so bad, it is driving you wild." Eskel licks his lips. 

Without warning, he sinks down on Lambert's cock. Just like that! 

Lambert throws his head back on the pillow. "Fuck!" He all but hollers. Eskel makes a shushing sound. He rides Lambert like he is getting paid for it. Lambert grunts and groans and grabs uselessly at Eskel's hips. Eskel keeps his jaws locked, only grunting ever so softly through gritted teeth.  "You are so quiet, brother." Lambert murmurs. He wraps his fingers around Eskel's cock. "Ah.." Eskel moans. "That's right." Lambert smirks. He begins to jerk Eskel off. 

Soon, Eskel spends himself. His seed lands on Lambert's chest. "Fuck yeah!" Lambert groans. "Clean me up." He orders. Eskle scoops his own seed up with his fingers, smearing it over Lambert's lips. "Don't get too cocky." He warns. Lambert licks Eskelś  cum off of his lips. "Good, very good." Eskel purrs. 

Lambert is quite swift to follow Eskel in climax, thrusting up fiercely. Eskel moans loudly, leaning forward over Lambert's chest, grabbing at his chesthair. "That's right, take my cock, take my cum." Lambert snarls. He spends himself deep inside Eskel's ass, swearing loudly. Eskel smirks feebly down on him.  "What?" Lambert pants. "You are so loud." Eskel murmurs, before leaning in to slowly kiss him. Lambert kisses back breathlessly.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Wound By a Key

I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser​ for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!

Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

---

The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime. 

He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.

“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”

“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”

He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now. 

He needed food and lodging, first.

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life. 

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face. 

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself. 

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.  

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman. 

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found. 

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place. 

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody. 

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang: 

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance. 

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides. 

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep. 

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark. 

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover. 

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did. 

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly. 

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion. 

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That’s wound by a key.”

[alicemitch09writes]

skinny love

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

summary: 6 months later. Was he too late?

author’s notes: This is a direct sequel to first love and part of a trilogy also aptly named ‘first love’ ugh, i am so unoriginal. Please go read that first before this, otherwise you’ll be confused.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

His feet feel like lead as he trudged to the vending machine, adamant on getting coffee. It was only Monday. The smallest sounds of coin drops and beeps were making his head hurt.

Taking his first sip of his coffee, he walked around the quiet halls.

He hated hospitals.

Actually, they weren't that bad, having everything it needed to cater to the patient's needs. But it was a façade to their impending doom. And he hated it. Hated the way doctors and nurses would say with practiced ease that everything will be alright – when it won't.

They mean well, they really do, but they were a painful reminder of how fragile life was – how easy it can be taken away.

Reaching Room #423, he turned the knob, finding (Name) in the same state she's been the past six months. The door shuts quietly behind him, back resting against it.

"Tetsu, have you been eating?"

He could almost hear her voice, filled with worry of how thin he is. She always did that, nagging him like a mom to eat if he wanted to win. Funny she thought that, thinking more of his (and the team's) welfare's than her own. (Name) was always that kind.

Instead, the image of that beautiful girl was replaced with one lying on the hospital bed – limp and lifeless.

(Name) didn't belong here, not in this hospital nor in that bed she was lying in. No.

She deserved to be home, in her room surrounded by her instruments, fussing herself with her studies, that new song she wanted to learn, or managing a pack of rowdy boys.

He didn’t know how long he just stood there before he heard a knock at the door. Lazily turning his body, he opened the door; his actions seemed robotic, staring at two familiar faces.

"Hey man," Bokuto greeted, balloons in different colors and shapes (there was one in the shape of an owl) in hand, worry in his eyes. "Wow, you look like shit."

"Thanks." He said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"That wasn't very nice, Bokuto-san." Akaashi scolded, appearing behind the salt-and-pepper-haired teen with flowers in his hands.

Too tired to argue, he stepped aside, letting them in. Closing the door behind him, he watched the two eyeing the unconscious girl, hearing Bokuto sighing while Akaashi dutifully went straight for the vase, intending to replace the flowers.

He plopped down on his seat, canned coffee still in hand.

"But seriously man," Bokuto called, tying the balloons next to the side table. "you look terrible."

Kuroo closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

"When was the last time you went out?"

"Bokuto-san." Akaashi called in warning, appearing from the toilet with a vase filled with clean water.

"I'm serious!" Kuroo draped an arm over his eyes as if to hide the bags underneath. "Dude, you barely left since. Day in, day out, you're here but never at home. Nowhere else but here. You even ditched your first year of college!"

"I won't want to leave her," Kuroo said, still not moving from his spot.

Bokuto frowned at his friend, arms crossed. "I'm not saying that you should, I'm saying (Name)-chan wouldn't like to see you this way."

(Name).

Sighing, Kuroo slumped forward, arms propped on his knees, staring at the sterile ground.

"We're just worried about you, Kuroo."

That must be the umpteenth time someone's told him that – his mom, his dad, his older sister, Kenma, Coach Nekomata, the team. But still, his resolve won't change.

Taking a long sip, he met both stares from Bokuto and Akaashi, who had just finished with the flowers.

"I'm not leaving her." he said in finality, turning to the sleeping girl. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell her, a lot. And he wanted to be the first person she sees when she wakes up, the first person to see her wake.

Sighing exasperatedly, hands on his hips, Bokuto resigned. His friend was stubborn, but he had an iron resolve. "I know you won't. Figured as much."

"Then why do you still bother?"

Smirking at the raven-haired teen, he says with a shrug. "Because bro, you matter to me."

Kuroo put a hand to his heart, touched. "Bro."

"Bokuto-san just wanted to act cool every once in a while," Akaashi coolly said, opening the drapes. That earned a loud, familiar call from his former captain. Kuroo smiled, some things never change.

"But seriously dude, you could use a bath because you smell like shit."

Akaashi didn't need to scold him then as Bokuto received a (friendly) punch to the gut from Kuroo.

Six months.

That's how long he was suffering, how long he had been tortured by the mere thought of never seeing her smile again, of never hearing her laugh again, of never having her around again – of never seeing her again.

The word cancer stuck to his head was like a punch to the gut, pummeling him inside out with every step he took. Never mind the burning pain of his muscles from a day's worth of match, never mind finally giving their coach the chance to witness the 'Battle at the Dumps' match even though they lost, never mind that his high school life had officially come to an end – they didn't matter at this point. He just wanted to see her.

And the first time he saw her – dressed in a hospital gown, with tubes sticking to her body connected to machines that kept her alive, he was crushed. As if he were a porcelain doll smashed into a million pieces, each fragment breaking into smaller pieces.

He nearly broke down at the sight of her. She was beautiful as ever, yet to see her in that situation broke his heart.

(Name) had been operated; the chances of her survival were slim. But the only thing Kuroo could think was how small (Name) looked in that big, white bed.

Picking her hands, he noted how small they were – how he could practically see and feel her bones. Threading his finger through hers, he brought them to his cheek, relishing in her warmth. These were the same fingers that cared for him each time he'd earn a bruise or a scratch, the same hands that brushed his hair when he was sleepy – gentle touches that made him think that she was an angel. Slim fingers that did magic with every instrument she held.

He always knew she was small – fragile, even – but it only clicked to him now as to why that was the case. Ironic that he was the perceptive guy, inside and outside the court, yet he failed to notice his best friend's wellbeing. How did he miss to notice how little she would eat, how easily tired she was, or how low her stamina was? He was supposed to be the smart guy, for crying out loud!

He wanted to hit himself, to numb himself of the pain.

The moment he found out, he wouldn't stop crying, hating himself every minute of every day.

(Name) wouldn't wake up.

(Name) wouldn't wake up.

(Name). Wouldn't. Wake. Up.

"Kuroo," a voice called, quiet and low, one he knew all too well. Weakly raising his head, he looked over his shoulder, meeting a familiar blonde teen.

Kenma looked at his best friend worriedly, a frown in his face. "You should go home." The raven-haired lad shook his head, Kenma sighed. "(Name) wouldn't like that."

"I'm not leaving her." he says, voice raspy.

Kenma stared, eyes narrowing. "Have you been eating at least?"

"I've been snacking on what Auntie gives me," he rubs his eyes tiredly, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll be fine."

His dark hair was greasy, sticking out to different directions – messier than usual; there were bags under his eyes. The clothes he's been wearing were days old now, but it's not like he leaves the hospital. How long has he had proper sleep or shower?

"You're not." Kenma pointed out, walking towards the bed, opposite to where his friend was. He arranges the plushies from various game characters beside her bed, dusting a few. When he was done, he stood next to the unconscious girl, eyes dancing with sorrow.

Kuroo watched his friend carefully, a question burning his head. "How long have you known?"

Kenma blinked. Deciding to sit down, he met Kuroo's gaze. "A while now." He answers as if anticipating the question. "(Name) was the most secretive amongst us three; I thought you'd have known first." Shrugging, he adjusted her blanket. "But you didn't." Kuroo wanted to laugh at that because it was half-true. They both knew he was far more observant than he let on.

Sighing, the blonde props his arm on a nearby desk, resting his head on his palm. "Knowing her secret was like carrying a heavy burden because it's her secret and your knowledge of her sickness."

Frowning, he asked. "She didn't know that you knew?"

The blonde shook his head without looking at him. "Like I said, it was a burden on my part as well. Plus, that'd be disrespecting (Name). And I can't do that to her."

Something likened to rage burned within him, he was standing before his best friend before he knew it. "And you didn't bother to tell me?"

"It's not my secret to tell." Kenma says easily, carefully setting her clamped hand aside.

"But we're best friends!" Kuroo's voice rose, earning a scoff from the blonde as he turned to meet his gaze, eyes almost challenging.

"Don't you think that'd be disrespecting (Name)'s decision?" Kuroo was practically shaking now, hands balled into a fist. "Besides, it's not like you cared to begin with-"

Kuroo had grabbed him by the collar, raising him to his level. "I dare you to say that again." He seethed hotly, eyes burning.

Kenma didn't falter, eyes glowering. "What's the matter, Kuroo? Upset that for once, you failed to gain information before me to break someone, to use it to your advantage? Or are you just mad that (Name) couldn't trust you enough?"

"Shut up!" his voice rose, grip tightening.

Steely gold hues met his, challenging and mocking. "Then are you guilty because it's practically your fault she's in this situation?"

That was the final straw.

Taking his hand back, Kuroo was just about to smack Kenma in the face when blaring sound rang through the room. The two automatically turned to her, panicked, Kuroo dropped Kenma, ran for the intercom while Kenma stared at (Name)'s body, not knowing what to do.

A little while later, a nurse came rushing in.

Kuro and Kenma stepped aside, watching the nurse attend to their best friend each holding their breath. Kuroo was wondering if he should've called for her doctor, but after a while, the nurse sedated her, (Name)'s body relaxed.

The gentle beep of the heart monitor demonstrated her calmness.

"She'll be alright, just a little stressed is all." The nurse says kindly, much to their relief.

They sighed in unison, rooted on the spot even as the nurse left the room.

(Name)'s breathing slowly through the calming silence that came, followed by the purring of the machines and quite chattering outside.

The two best friends stood there, watching the unconscious girl. Kuroo and Kenma slumped against the wall, the raven-haired teen slipping to the ground. The tension between the two was still there, something that was rare even for them. In the many years they knew each other, not once have they got into a fight this extreme. And even if a fight did ensue, there was only one person who could bring it to a stop, one person they'd bow to other than Yaku.

"She'd kill us by now," Kenma sighs, breaking the silence.

Kuroo snorted at that, hiding the smile on his face.

Eventually, he broke into fits of laughter. Kenma joined in.

"She'd give us a litany," Kuroo added, voice thick. "then she'd take us by the ear."

Kenma shuddered, rubbing at his ear. Kuroo did the same.

"You started it though," Kenma told him, bluntly.

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at him. "But you fanned the flames."

They burst into chuckles, tension dying down.

A little while later, the room was filled with members of the Nekoma team – bringing flowers, fruits, and toys. Each member, especially Yamamoto, Inuoka, and Lev, fawned over their unconscious manager while Fukunaga fussed over the snacks. Yaku had to keep everyone in line.

The best friends exchanged a look, knowing that if (Name) were awake, she couldn't be any happier.

Someone was waking him, gently shaking his shoulders. Raising his head from his folded arms, he was met with warm (eye color) eyes. "Tetsuroo-kun." The woman greeted kindly.

"Auntie," He stood up in greeting, pulling his wrinkled clothes down. "Good evening."

Her smile, it reminded him of hers, how he missed her smile. "Good evening." Walking across the room, she dropped her bag and sat on the chair next to her daughter, patting a hand over her cheek. "Any news?" she asked, looking up at him.

He shook his head, hands tightening. "Just the same."

The smile remained, eyes never losing its light. "Then she's still alright."

Just staring at the woman made him wonder how she could still be so optimistic about the situation. It must be hard on her, her only daughter was under coma after her operation, yet she never loses hope. She was just like (Name). And duh, she was her mom!

"Have you eaten?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He lied, tucking his hands on his pockets.

She stared, her smile waning a bit, worry in her eyes, then nods.

"Where is Uncle?" he asked, staring at freshly cut flowers next to her bed – carnations, care of the Fukorodani team.

"Oh, just parking the car. He'll be here in a while."

Kuroo nods, not knowing what else to say. So he sits by the couch, watching Auntie talked to her daughter, telling her how her classmates missed her (evidenced by the balloons and cards surrounding her bed), how their neighbors have as well, how quiet the house has been lately without her playing, the little things. But to her, they were all that mattered.

He hung his head, not wanting to watch any longer. He could hear the sadness in her voice, the longing, and yet, she still hopes. How could she?

"I'll be right back, Auntie." He announces, making his way out before she could reply, missing the worried look on her face.

Six months.

Six excruciating months.

He's endured and suffered that long.

But still, she wouldn't wake up.

Splashing water to his face, he then looked up, finding a miserable guy staring back at him.

Then are you guilty because it's practically your fault she's in this situation?

No matter what they say, it was his fault she was in this situation. It was his fault she's lying in that hospital bed, unconscious. It was his fault.

He wanted to punch his reflection so bad, but he was tired (physically and emotionally).

He didn't like hospitals, hated how clinically clean it was and how dreadful it was. Life came and go here.

Reaching for the door to her room, he paused.

What good would it be for him to be here?

He didn't deserve to be here keeping guard and watching her.

What was he even doing here?

"Aren't you going to go in?" a voice called behind him.

Turning, he was met with a kind gaze from a bespectacled (hair color) man. Their kind disposition ran in the family, he didn't deserve it.

At a loss for words, Kuroo mumbled unintelligent words, the man laughed heartily.

"Looks like you need a bite," although shorter than the teen, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, steering them away. "come, you need to eat."

Kuroo gulped, staring down at the meal before him, then at the smiling man. There were a few people at the cafeteria – a few nurses and doctors on break, a kid with his mother, some teens, and them.

A comfortable silence forms between them despite having fidgeting in his presence.

The smell of strong spice was making his mouth water, aptly reminding him of the lie he told Auntie. Truth was, he snacked on some fruits given by his family earlier that day, that and coffee. A little while later, his stomach growled. The old man chuckled heartily. "Go on," he encourages.

Timidly, he nodded, saying his grace before digging in.

His eyes widened at the burst of flavors in his mouth, almost forgetting what an amazing cook the man was. He chewed carefully, distracting himself with the texture and taste.

He hadn't noticed the old man leaving until he came back with a can of orange juice for both of them. Kuroo muttered a 'thanks', chugging down the beverage.

"It's so good to see you eat," he tells him, eyes crinkling. "and no, you can't lie to me. I know you, Tetsuroo-kun." He laughed.

It was like he was eight again. It was always like that with this man, this amazing man, who held instruments like magic, the same man who was the father of the girl lying in this very hospital bed, comatose, because of him.

He chewed slowly, eyes dropping. Eventually, he swallowed but didn't reach for more even though the bento box was still full.

"Oh, are you done eating?" asked the confused man.

He almost wanted to laugh.

These past months weren't easy on all of them, especially for them. They could have blamed him for why their daughter was here, but they didn't. Instead, they pulled themselves together for her and for him.

"Thank you, uncle." He says instead, meaning it. Kuroo grinned at the confused man before digging in again.

He shook his head at the teen before him, chuckling heartily. He studies the young boy before him, remembering the look on his face when he saw her comatose state – it was the look of absolute heartbreak.

When he was done eating, they packed slowly, making slow talk (although it was more of him doing the talking). They were standing outside her room, but before they entered, he called him.

"She wouldn't like it you know," he tells him, sincerely. "seeing you like this, filled with guilt and hate. She would've wanted you to be happy, even if she's not the one causing it."

There was a sharp tug in his heart at the last line. "But she makes me happy." It was barely a whisper, tears starting anew. "But I didn't let her know that."

His eyes were stinging with tears, body trembling.

The older man patted his shoulder, squeezing in assurance.

While waiting for her to wake up, he often talked to her about their childhood, some dumb memories, and some good ones. He even told her of the events that transpired during nationals, not knowing that she was watching via live television.

"You should've been there," he said quietly, letting his fingers play with her growing (hair color) hair. "the team wouldn't be anything without our manager."

Some days, he'd read to her, having scavenged through her room from her yet to-read pile. He had to endure going through books that were not of his genre (especially romance), but in the end, found himself enjoying them.

With each passing day, the hope of her waking up was waning. He feared she might never wake up. The waiting was killing him, unnerving and destroying him. But he didn't give up hope, could never. He could wait years if he has to, just to see her (eyes color) eyes again, hear her laugh again, and be with her.

"Oh my, it's that boy again! He's become a familiar face around here."

"How long has he been visiting her?"

"About six months now, since that girl was brought in. He practically lives here."

"Poor thing, looks like he hasn't eaten or slept for days!"

"And he barely leaves her room. And when he does, it's only for a few hours or a day, and then he's back."

"Seriously?"

"The poor boy, the pain he's been through."

"And she might never wake up."

"I don't care what they say," he says against their intertwined fingers. "you are perfect to me. And I'm not leaving you."

It was barely midnight, but he couldn't help it. The conversation he heard earlier was getting to him. They didn't know anything about him or her. It was none of their business.

But to say that she was never going to wake up?

No.

He didn't like to think about it.

She was going to wake up.

He knew it.

But honestly? He wasn't so sure anymore.

Shifting in his seat, he threw his head back, massaging at his throbbing temples. When he opened his eyes, he noted something from the corner of his eye. Her ukulele was lying beside her; he stared at it long and hard before deciding to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, he noticed scratches and a Band-Aid on the crack of the soundboard. Something tugged inside him; he knew exactly where that crack came from.

His grip tightened.

Kenma was right, he was selfish.

He was so selfish.

Absentmindedly, he played with the strings, filling the silence. And then, he began adjusting the chords. It used to drive (Name) nuts, especially when she found how out of tune her ukulele was because of him. He smiled, he always loved seeing her cute face pinched into a frown – she was so cute like that.

Satisfied with the pitch, his calloused fingers began to play a few strings. The song was slow, gentle.

I wanna make you smile, whenever you're sad

Carry you around when your arthritis is bad

All I wanna do, is grow old with you

I'll get your medicine when your tummy aches

Build you a fire if the furnace breaks

Oh it could be so nice, growing old with you

  He loved her.

Cliché as it is, he did.

Truth of the matter is, he's always been in love with her.

From the first moment they met, the first time he saw her smile, the first time she scolded him and Kenma, the first time she fussed over them, the first time he saw her play an instrument, to the first time she made him realize how many years have passed that he was so, so, in love with her.

So hopelessly in love with (Name).

Except, he was scared to risk their friendship – scared that she might not feel the same way he did.

I'll miss you

Kiss you

Give you my coat when you are cold

Need you

Feed you

Even let ya hold the remote control

Six months without her was absolute torture.

She was part of every significant event in his life; he couldn't remember spending a day without her in it

Because life without her? He couldn't even imagine.

It was meaningless.

If he could, he'd turn back time and make it right.

So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink

Put you to bed if you've had too much to drink

I could be the man who grows old with you

I wanna grow old with you

The last lines of the song came out barely a whisper.

Releasing a shaky breath, he hung his head, tears streamed freely. "I've waited so long to play that."

It was the cheesiest song from a lousy movie. But the song, he had to admit, was one of his low-key favorites. The lyrics to the song were so sincere and heartfelt. He finally understood why love songs were made – to say the words everyone failed to say or supplement their feelings.

If only she was awake, then she'd hear his feelings.

Putting her ukulele away, he takes her hand in his, holding it close as he cried. "Please, wake up."

He buried his face into her hand, kissing it as he repeatedly begs for her to wake up, tears still streaming. "There's so much I want to tell you, so much I want you to know."

Taking her hand, he places a quick kiss to her palm, pressing it against his chest. "Feel that? That's my heart and it's beating for you."

His heart was beating fast, as it always did when (Name) was around.

Every single thing she does wonders is magic to him, especially with the way he captivated her the moment their eyes met. He missed it all – her smile, her touch, her eyes, her laugh, in general, he missed her.

So much it hurt.

Because the possibility of her never waking up was a factor that scared him every single day for the past six months. He didn't want their last meeting to be of him being an ass to her.

His heart skipped a beat.

He looked up at her, then at the hand on his chest, he swore he felt her hand twitch.

[jangofctts]

thinking about leaving lipstick marks or hickies on sweets and then the other sunburst boys seeing the marks on him and being like :O "IS OUR BOY GETTING LAID!?!?!" just absolute LAD ENERGY as the crowd him. (also is you make sweets some baked goods or anything he gotta hide em because mfs WILL SNIFF THEM OUT AND TRY TO TAKE THEM)

THIS IS SO ADORABLE AND AHHHH YES sweets has little secret hiding places he stashes his food bc those boYS are piranhAS--even blanche goes feral for the baked goods kejrhkejh ALSO I WROTE YOU A LITTLE DRABBLE

ct-5337 sweets / reader

a/n: no warnings just shits and giggles jekewjhr

He leaves your apartment in the early morning, the sky still an indigo blue, polluted with the flashing neon lights and the jets of passing ships overhead. The window by your bed is cracked open, the cool air is sweet and humid, swelling with the promise of rain later. Sweets sweeps his eyes over to you. 

You’re still asleep, a mess of blankets twisted around your body--his lips quirk. You look like a burrito.

Sweets sits himself on the edge of the bed and skims his fingers over your forehead. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear and kisses your temple. Lovers look so much softer when they sleep, he thinks--and you’re no exception. His own personal angel with lips made from threads of gold and eyes the color of his own personal galaxy. He’s tempted to wake you, kiss you properly--but he knows that’ll only bring a harder goodbye. He hates it when you cry. 

Your eyebrows pinch together as he plants another kiss over your hairline, grumbling in your sleep and attempting to wiggle away in your swath of blankets from the disturbance. Sweets sighs and leaves your tiny apartment, silent as a shadow with the gift you gave him tucked under his arm.  

This time he wont let his brothers pick him clean. It’s his present after all. Baked especially for him. A sweet treat for your Sweets, you told him. 

He smiles under his helmet and by the time he reaches the temple, the sun is barely crawling over the horizon. He makes it into his assigned barracks without a blip but kriff--he should've left your apartment earlier. 

The shuffle of plastoid is deafening in the small space as the squad sluggishly pulls on their armor. The swoosh of the blast doors shutting behind him draw some tired eyes towards him and drift to box he holds. Damnit. 

“Mornin’, Sweets,” Kami greets. He fists his eyes and stretches his back with a loud yawn. “You’re up early.”   

“Went on a walk,” Sweet’s shrugs, nonchalant and planning out a sixteen step maneuver to reach his bunk and stash away the cookies before his brothers realize what he has.       

“Or he never came home at all last night,” The medic’s ever sharp eyes pinpoint the box he holds. With a wink, said medic saunters over with a greasy smile. Void throws an arm around Sweets’ shoulders and jostles his arm. “Say--how ‘bout you gimme one of those cookies and I guarantee, I’ll give ya the good bacta next time you’re hurt.” 

“’M pretty sure that’s medical malpractice,” Jaws mumbles, still curled up in his bunk. He grunts as Bruiser whacks a pillow over his head with a firm thwunk.  

“Get up, asshat--you’re sitting on my blacks.”

Distracted with warding off Void’s nimble fingers, he’s too late to realize Fuse has weaseled his way behind him--his heart stutters has Fuse’s fingers pull at his collar, revealing the smatter of hickies down the line of his throat. 

“Ohoho,” Fuse snickers. “That’s not the only sugar Sweets brought home. Is it?”

A mountain of shocked faces swing towards Sweets--slack jawed and resembling a school of fish. His cheeks flush a deep red as he dips his chin and glowers at the tips of his boots in embarrassment. Bruiser is the first one to laugh. He slaps a large hand over Sweets’ head, nearly crushing his cranium, as he ruffles his hair. 

“Sweets is getting laid!” The heavy gunner belts, the ends of his scars scrunching around his eye as he grins. “And they baked cookies for you! Wish I could get someone like that--last time I went on a date, she stabbed me.”

Sweets bats away his brothers hands, and slinks to his bunk tucked away in the corner. Hiding the cookies under the bed will have to do for now. There’s a caterwaul of disbelieving objections and celebratory cheers that do nothing but embarrass. Oh, Maker--he wants to shrivel into a little ball and fade out of existence.  

They all freeze and salute as the blast doors swoosh open to reveal Commander Blanche and Sergeant Blue. Blanche quirks a dark brow as Blue rolls his eyes and asks with an exasperated exhale. “Who’s getting laid?”

“Sweets.” His brothers accuse in unison. 

His blush burns hotter than a wildfire as Blanche’s mismatched eyes focus on the sharpshooter. 

Blanche’s shoulders jolt with a surprised huff. “Congratulations.”  

“Thanks...” Sweets grumbles, pitching forward to bury his face into his pillow. It’s not as comfy as yours and it certainly doesn't smell like you either. Smells like mothballs and the GAR issued shampoo. His chest tightens with yearning.

Uhg.  

Well...he saved the cookies at the expense of his pride. Sorta...depends on how you look at it. 

Sweets sighs. Totally worth it. 

[haledamage]

Silent fury for whoever you want :3

(Jester Sending voice) GUESS WHO IT IS~

it's Nadia/Kurt again 😅 shocking, I know. I let them actively flirt this time! though they still aren't in a relationship yet...

spoilers for Kurt's 3rd companion quest and the story stuff that precedes it

---

“I’m going to get us some drinks,” Kurt announced as soon as they stepped into the Coin Tavern in San Matheus, eyeing the evening crowd suspiciously. “You think you can stay out of trouble until I get back?”

“No promises,” Nadia said with an impish grin.

He glowered at her. She winked in response.

He walked away with a shake of his head, and she found them an open table in a corner, sliding into a chair that left her back to the wall and let her see most of the room. She saved Kurt his preferred seat, the one directly in the corner that would best let him see the door.

Trouble inevitably found her only minutes later, in the form of a young Guardsman wearing the regalia of the Red Sun regiment. He saluted her nervously, looking over his shoulder at the tavern’s crowd before asking, “Are you the Legate de Sardet?”

“I am.” She gave him her most charming smile, trying not to look like the last thing she wanted right now was to work. “Do you need something?”

Without any more preamble, the soldier pulled a knife and lunged at her. She dove backwards to avoid it, knocking her chair over with a clatter. When he swung at her again, she caught his wrist, using his momentum to twist his arm behind his back and slam him face first into the table.

The knife slipped out of his numb fingers and Nadia grabbed it before it could fall, pressing it to his throat. “Is this the fabled honor of the Coin Guard?” she hissed, any hint of kindness in her voice frozen over. “Attacking an unarmed woman in a bar?”

His eyes were very green and very wide as panic and the realization that he lost started to set in. “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! I was only following orders.”

She inspected the boy’s face. He was quite young to be sent after someone of Nadia’s reputation; if he was over sixteen, she’d eat her hat. He was also clearly terrified, but it didn’t seem to be her he was afraid of--at least, not entirely. Though the knife she held likely made a compelling argument in her favor. “Who sent you?”

“They said that you’re responsible for the fall of the Guard,” he blurted out. “They’ve given orders to attack on sight.”

Even with her compelling argument at his throat he still wasn't telling her any names. That meant one of two things: either he didn't know their names, or he was blindly obedient to the point of suicide. A remnant of the ghost company, she’d wager; if she was wrong, she’d eat her gloves too.

She seethed in silent fury at the people responsible. The ones that had taken children like this one, like Wilhelm and Reiner and even Kurt, once upon a time, and tried to turn them into puppets and monsters.

Nadia pushed it away, swallowing it down until it wouldn’t show. He would take her reaction for pity rather than sympathy; they always did. She bottled it up so she could turn it into action later, when she finally met the infamous Major Hermann.

She let the boy go, but stood in a way that he wouldn’t be able to run without going through her. “Hmm. I did it all on my own, did I? Not much of a coup if it could be foiled by one woman acting alone. But I suppose they know better than to send you directly after Kurt, or Sieglinde, or Manfred, or any of the other honorable members of the Guard, and so they sent you to me.” She felt a presence at her back, solid and warm and familiar enough that she knew who it was without looking. “Hello, Kurt.”

Somehow, the boy’s eyes got wider. “Captain!” He fumbled an attempted salute.

“At ease, cadet.” Kurt almost sounded casual enough to hide his anger. “What’s this?”

“You know me,” Nadia said, false cheer taking the edge off the lingering chill in her voice. “Making new friends wherever I go.”

“He tried to kill you, didn’t he?” She couldn’t see his face, but whatever was there was frightening enough that the cadet tried to step back, practically climbing onto the table in his haste to escape.

She hummed in affirmation, presenting him the knife. He took from her and inspected it wordlessly. “Likely on Hermann’s command. Or his lackeys. Lad doesn’t know any better. Just following orders.” She was starting to hate those three words. The things men would try to justify under the guise of ‘following orders’ enraged her.

“You’re damn lucky she was alone when you staged your little attempt. Her Excellency is much more polite than I.” Kurt grabbed the young soldier by the front of his doublet and dragged him close, voice dropping into a growl, low and dangerous. “You ever try to touch her again and you had better start swimming, because there’s nowhere on this island you can hide from me.” He released the boy abruptly enough that he stumbled. “Go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He ran out of the tavern without looking back.

Kurt immediately turned to Nadia, all his anger forgotten and replaced by a concerned frown. “Are you hurt?”

She tried not to appear too flustered, but her heart always skipped a beat when he got all growly and protective like that. There was something very attractive about watching him lose his cool on her behalf. His sudden proximity wasn’t helping matters, his hands gently skimming her sides, her stomach, down her arms, touching her face, searching for any sign of injury or distress.

She caught them and forced them still. They came to rest on her waist, and he finally looked up at her again. “I’m fine, Kurt. He didn’t even get close. You taught me better than that.”

His shoulders dropped with relief. “I should’ve known better than to leave you alone.”

“At least we know we’re in the right place.” She rested her hands on his arms, just above the elbow, in an attempt to offer comfort. She could only imagine how hard all of this was for him, especially on top of… well, everything else. It had been a rough week for them both. “If Hermann is sending terrified child assassins after me this quickly, he must be somewhere in the city.”

“I think you’re right.” His expression went distant, calculating, already planning two steps ahead. Then he shook it off, and his attention returned to her once more. “Be that as it may, Green Blood, I’m not leaving your side until he’s dealt with. Not for anything.”

Her eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing under the brim of her hat. “Then I guess it's a good thing my bed’s big enough for two.”

Kurt’s ears and the back of his neck flushed red at the obvious suggestion in her words, but at the same time his gray eyes went storm dark, dangerous in a new and exciting way. His hands clenched on her waist, drawing her just the slightest bit closer. "Yes, well..." he cleared his throat, but his voice still came out a touch raspier than normal, “we should… concentrate on the job at hand. For now.”

Despite his words, however, he made no move to release her, or even to put any distance between them.

It was tempting to see what happened if she pushed the subject, but Nadia decided against it. He was right. This was important, and it needed to be done before someone got hurt. For now would have to keep her warm until then.

Reluctantly, she stepped back, putting a little space between them, her hands slowly sliding down his arms until they fell away. She set aside the spark that had been kindling there in the same place she put her anger - not extinguished, just banked, and waiting for a chance to reignite.

With one last deep, fortifying breath, she turned her back on Kurt and picked up her fallen chair, dropping into it and sliding one of the mugs on the table closer. She hadn’t even noticed him setting them down, wasn’t entirely sure when he’d found time between threatening her would-be assassin and fretting over her well-being, but she let it go.

After a few seconds, he sat down next to her. His arm draped over the back of her chair in a motion that probably looked relaxed to anyone who wasn’t close enough to feel the tension rolling off of him. She leaned into it anyway, letting him pretend it was an affectionate gesture instead of a protective one, that he wasn’t scanning the room like everyone else had also been sent to assassinate her.

“So why are we here?” she attempted to clear the strained atmosphere. “Waiting for someone?”

“Letting ourselves be seen.” Kurt took a long drink from his ale. “I want him to know we’re here. Men like Hermann get stupid when they get scared.”

She was starting to catch up with his thinking. This tavern was owned by the Coin Guard. A once-respected and decorated Major like their quarry would still bend a few sympathetic ears in a place like this. Their presence here was an open taunt. "And do things like send children to kill diplomats in a bar full of witnesses? Especially a diplomat known to travel with a Captain of the Guard as her personal bodyguard?"

He grunted in agreement. “Exactly. He sent that poor boy here to be killed. To make us draw first blood. Now he’ll run straight back to his masters and tell them what happened.” His voice was as dark and bitter as smoke, but when he turned to face Nadia, he wore a soft, if small, smile. He lifted his mug as if in a toast. “So tonight, I get to have a few drinks in a decent tavern with a beautiful woman. And tomorrow, the work begins.”

She tapped her cup against his. “You’re enjoying this. Scaring the ghosts.”

“So are you.”

“I did learn from the best.” She meant it. Nadia would have been a very different person without him in her life all these years; she liked to think he felt the same way.

But whether he did or not, he clearly still didn’t know how to take a compliment. “Flattery,” he said dryly, looking more amused than anything else. “And where do you expect that to get you, Your Excellency?”

“Most likely, alone in my large, very comfortable bed.”

Kurt chuckled, and the sound was like warm brandy on a cold day, sending heat curling through her. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

[ragingbookdragon]

The Moment They Met

An AC3/AC:R Headcanon/Fic?

Word Count: 2,265 Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: So this is the first moment where the reader meets Shay and Haytham, but they’re set in different times? Like after the beginning events of AC3 and after Shay joins the Templars? So technically AC:R time period. Enjoy! -Thorne

Shay:

           She growled as she looked through the closed window, the sound of revelry still coming from the dock across the street. Her sister frowned as she watched her from her bed, murmuring, “Come now, (Y/N). They’re not worth it.”

           (Y/N) turned her glare towards her sister, throwing the blankets from her body. “I don’t care.” She rolled out of the bed, griping, “This is the fifth night in a row they’ve thrown a drunken ramble. I’m absolutely sick of it.”

           Her sister stared as she walked to the closet, pulling on her overcoat. “Where are you going?”

           “I—” she started, hoping on a foot as she pulled on a pair of simple flats. “am going over there to give them a piece of my mind.”

           “I…I don’t think that’s a good idea, sister.” The other worried, pulling the covers to her chest. “Who knows what they might do?”

           (Y/N) stood straight and tied the overcoat around her waist. “Well I think sleep is a good idea and they’re disturbing it.” She crossed to the door and opened it. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

***

           As she neared the ship, the party grew in noise, and so did her anger. Thousands of words crossed over her tongue and as she walked up the gangway, someone drunkenly stumbled over to her. “Hey—” they began but she held up a palm, effectively silencing him as she stepped onto the deck.

           “Excuse me!” she called, but no one seemed to hear her. “Excuse! Me!” Again no one paid mind and in a flash of indignation, (Y/N) yanked a bottle of alcohol from a sailor, who certainly hear her then. She threw it to the deck, and it shattered, much like the stupor everyone was in as they turned to look at her. “All of you shut up!” The sailors stared in surprise at the young woman in her nightgown and overcoat. “Which one of you is the captain?”

           A man in a simple tunic and leather pants raised a hand, walking to meet her. “That’d be me.” He stuck out his hand. “Captain Shay Cormac. And you are?”

           (Y/N) slapped his hand away. “Who I am is none of your business.” Ignoring his shock, she thrust a finger to his chest and admonished, “You and your crew have been in port for almost a week and every night since you got here, you’ve been throwing a party until midnight. It stops now.”

           He raised an eyebrow, an amused smile crossing his lips as he quipped, “Oh?”

           She narrowed her eyes, hissing, “Yes. It does.” (Y/N) gestured to herself. “Some of us in New York actually have real jobs they have to attend to in the morning and your drunken debauchery is keeping us from our rest!” With each word, her voice had risen and thinking she possibly looked like a raving madwoman, she took a deep breath and slapped a pleasant expression on her face, politely requesting, “So…if you would, please wrap this carouse up and go to bed, so that the rest of Greenwich can go to bed as well.”

           The captain stared into her eyes, but (Y/N) was no coward and met his stare head on, sending a withering one back. After a moment, he huffed and raised a hand, motioning to the crew. “You heard the lady, lads. Party’s over.” Her jaw dropped in surprise, but she quickly snapped it shut as groans began to surround her. Shay looked to them with a glare. “Oi! Shut your mouths and do as I say.”

           A chorus of ‘aye captain’ and ‘aye sir’ echoed from them and (Y/N) cleared her throat, hiding her embarrassment by curling her arms across her chest as she remarked, “Well, I’m glad we’ve straightened this out.”

           He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “On behalf of the Morrigan and her crew, I apologize for our ‘drunken debauchery’.” Shay let out a chuckle at her expression and she turned away, starting towards the plank.

           “Apology accepted. Goodnight, Captain Cormac.”

           Before she could get far, he appeared in her peripheral. “Hold a moment, lass.” She halted and waited. “I can hardly let a young lady such as yourself walk home alone.”

           (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow and countered, “I am more than capable of protecting myself Captain. If you think I need a man’s protection, you are sorely mista—”

           “It’s not a matter of needing a man’s protection.” He interrupted. “It’s about doing what’s proper, and what’s not proper is allowing a young woman to walk home in the dead of night by herself.” Shay pressed a hand to his chest, asking, “Please, allow me to accompany you at least to your street so I can see you home safely.”

           She regarded him a moment with suspicion, then muttered, “If you try anything, I will kill you.”

           Shay snorted. “Duly noted.” They started down the walkway and after a few minutes, they arrived at (Y/N)’s street.

           “This is me.” She said.

           He nodded and held his hands behind him. “Aye then. I’ll watch you from here and then return to the Morrigan.”

           (Y/N) met his gaze. “Goodnight Captain Cormac.” He smiled warmly at her.

           “Goodnight lass.”

           As she walked off, she stopped and turned. “Captain?” His expression turned curious as he waited and she murmured, “My name is (Y/N).”

           Shay’s smile grew and he tipped his head. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss (Y/N).”

Haytham:

           Haytham was tempted to tell her. Oh so tempted to tell her that the man she was giggling at would do nothing but sleep with her and leave her in the morning. Tempted as he was, he figured experience was the best teacher, and the next morning, she would learn better than to let her guard down so carelessly. He let out an inaudible sigh, thumb lightly tracing the handle of the mug he held. Somewhere downstairs, the door opened and closed and soon, footsteps followed, rapidly flying up the stairs. He felt some form of guard enter his system, but a woman, a few years younger than he, came around the corner.

           “(S/N) (L/N)!” The young girl on the man’s lap jumped and cast a wide-eyed glance to her.

           She scrambled out of the man’s grip and stood, hands wringing in front of her. “(Y/N)! Y-you’re here!”

           The woman stomped over and snatched her by her ear, ignoring the yelp of pain. “You’re damn right I’m here! What do you think you’re doing in a place like this?!”

           The girl had now raised to her tiptoes, voice twinged with pain as she replied, “I was just having a conversation!”

           “That is not what it looked like to me!”

           “I’m sorry!”

           The woman let her go and shoved her towards the stairs. “You get outside right this instance. Do you understand me?”

           The girl nodded rapidly and hurried down the stairs. “Yes! I understand!”

           When she was gone, (Y/N) turned to the man her sister had been sitting with. “You are a sick bastard.” She thrust a finger in the direction her sister had gone. “That girl is barely older than nineteen.” She pointed at him. “If I ever see you around her again, I will cut your cock off and shove it down your throat. Do I make myself clear?”

           The man’s mouth opened but an answer seemed to fail him and Haytham cut in, “Thomas understands.” He turned his steely gaze to the man. “Don’t you, Thomas?” The man nodded mutely.

           (Y/N) turned her attention to him. “Are you this man’s boss?” Haytham nodded. “It is not your place to do so, but I ask that if you see my sister coming around here, you send her straight home.”

           Seeming to have found his voice again, Thomas argued, “Why are you so protective? She’s grown.”

           She glowered at him and hissed, “I am all that girl has left and I made a promise to our parents on their deathbeds to watch after her.” She pointed at him. “I am not about to let her have her innocent heart trampled over by a man-whore like you.” Thomas’s jaw dropped, not expecting the face-slapping truth. “I know who you are. I know all about you and your gallivanting ways. You would use her and leave her and she…she is worth so much more than that.” (Y/N) felt herself become emotional, the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she finalized, “There is someone out there who will love her and take care of her and I am not going to let herself be fooled into believing that that someone is you.” She inhaled deeply and set her shoulders, warning, “You stay the hell away from her or else.” (Y/N) turned away without another word, silently descending the stairs.

***

           She stepped outside, immediately seeing the young girl in tears. Her heart hurt and in that moment she felt so regretful of her anger and reaction. Wordlessly, she handed her sister a handkerchief, watching her wipe her eyes. “Thank you, sissy.”

           (Y/N) gazed at her a moment, then took her into her arms, feeling (S/N) wrap her arms around her middle; she buried her face in (Y/N)’s shoulder and sniffled. “There, there, (S/N).” She pulled away and wiped the girl’s cheeks. “Come now, no more tears. It’s over, it’s done. Let’s go home.” She took her sister’s hand, gently tugging her along.

           They walked in silence a few minutes, then her sister said, “I was dropping off a letter to Miss Catherine and she asked me to go give the beer to them.”

           (Y/N) sighed at that. “She shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t your job to serve them.” She glanced at the younger girl. “Next time, just politely decline and leave.” Her sister nodded and she squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you like that. I…didn’t mean to react like so.”

           “No…I understand why.” Her sister stopped and looked at her with a clarity. “You’ve sacrificed so much for me and here I am acting like a fool.”

           (Y/N) frowned and cupped her cheeks. “…(S/N)…”

           “Mummy and daddy would be so disappointed in me.” She lamented.

           She felt her heart drop. “No. No, don’t say that.” (Y/N) made her look at her. “Mother and father would never be disappointed in you. You were their everything. They loved you so much.” Tears welled in her sister’s eyes. “I’ve been working so much, and you’re left alone all the time.” (Y/N) let go of her face and took her hands, squeezing them. “I’ll ask Mister Lenoir for a night shift rather than the day, so I’ll be around you during the morning and afternoons.”

           (S/N) looked at her. “You will?”

           (Y/N) nodded. “Yes. And I’ll start looking for a better job where we can both go and work together so neither of us will have to worry.”

           Her sister frowned “But there aren’t many job openings for us. How will you find one let alone two?”

           Before she could respond, a rather eloquent voice sounded from behind. “Your sister has an excellent point.”

           (Y/N) jerked, moving (S/N) behind her back as she turned to face the owner of the English accent. It was the man from before, Thomas’s boss. “Can I help you?”

           “While you were putting Thomas in his place, I wasn’t able to introduce myself. Allow me to do so properly.” He held his hand out to her. “Haytham Kenway.”

           (Y/N) regarded him suspiciously but reached for his hand. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

           Haytham took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, causing her cheeks to warm despite her reservation. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss (Y/N).”

           She pulled her hand away and stared at him. “Is there something you need, Mister Kenway?”

           “There is.” He looked at the two of them. “You’re looking for a job that will allow you to stay around one another, yes?”

           “And what is it to you?”

           Haytham cleared his throat and placed his hands behind his back. “The mansion I had contracted to build is now complete and while I’ve recently moved into it, I’m still looking for a staff to keep it in order. I’d be more than happy to offer you both jobs.”

           (Y/N)’s demeanor shifted instantly, turning from suspicion to straight awareness. “To what end?”

           He cocked an eyebrow, a bemused look crossing his face. “I don’t understand.”

           She tipped her chin up. “Birds of a feather flock together.”

           Haytham seemed to understand then, because he huffed a laugh and added, “Until the cat comes, Miss (Y/N).” His face turned solemn and he stated, “Don’t confuse me with Thomas. He and I are nothing alike. Never will be.”

           (Y/N) looked away, going silent for a moment, seeming to consider the situation, then she inquired, “Say that I—that we accept…” he nodded. “You won’t pull any tricks? You won’t bring that—that brute around?”

           Haytham placed a hand to his heart. “You have my word. Thomas won’t step foot on the property and no tricks will be pulled on either of you.” He looked them both over. “I’m in the business of bringing change to the world. It starts with the everyday people.”

           She scoffed. “I’m sure empires don’t form from two maids, but I’ll take your word for it.” (Y/N) stuck out her hand. “Shake on it.”

           “Like a man?” he amused but took her hand in his larger one.

           (Y/N) gripped it tight and pulled them closer, until they were nose to nose and countered, “Like a woman.”

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

ATTIRE ON FIRE

One-shot #: 26

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T (Slight suggestions)

Note: I’m kinda on a scribble roll here. Well actually, I’m trying to lessen my files. This idea came from an SBS that I read a few years back. I already drafted this one-shot right after that and forgot about it.

Summary: All of a sudden he was standing directly in front of her, looking down at her with a glint in his grey eye that tells her he’s gonna get retribution.

"Alright. Wear this!"

Something suddenly hit Zoro's face without warning. Cursing, he made a grab for it and an irritated expression appeared on his normally stoic face. He stared at the shirt in his hand before shifting half of his gaze to the orange-haired girl across him.

"Why?"

"Because," Nami placed both of her hands on her hips before pointing at the clothes he hastily threw on before running out of the men’s quarters after he heard her screeching his name. "Everything on you hurts my eyes!"

Zoro looked down at what he is wearing and frowned. "Then don't look!" He growled angrily before throwing the shirt right back at her face.

Nami let out a yelp when it hit her. She pulled the cloth away from her face before marching towards him.

"You are changing your clothes Zoro!" She forcefully shoved the shirt back into his arms, earning her a disgruntled ‘oi’. "I won't have you walking with me like this one big, fashion disaster that you are!" She gestured from his head down to his toes with one hand. “Unless you are trying to be a tree, I don’t know how you can think that that green and brown color combination will work!”

"The hell I care about how I look!" The tall lad snapped at her.

There was a pause and navigator's eyes narrowed into tiny, dangerous slits. And everyone who was outside the Sunny’s deck swore that at that very moment the sky turned dark and ominous as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled—a foreboding sign.

Zoro met Nami’s gaze directly, unflinchingly. Petty things like clothes don’t bother him at all. As long as there is something to wear no matter how ugly it is, he doesn’t give any shit about it.

Besides, like he’d let her have her way. Again. He already agreed to accompany her to town and be her pack mule for the day. And that was after she interrupted his post-lunch nap with all her shrieking.

Wasn’t that enough already?

"You. Are. Changing." Nami hissed through gritted teeth, punctuating each word threateningly.

“No. I’m. Not.” Zoro answered back, folding his arms across his chest with a huff.

"You are changing,” Nami repeated tautly. “Or I swear I'm gonna call Robin and have her use her devil fruit powers to pin you down while I change your clothes for you!"

Zoro look astounded for a second. Did she just threaten him with Robin?

Now this is something new. Whatever happened to the usual debt threats Nami loves subjecting him to?

Regardless, like hell he's gonna let the Hana Hana no mi user lay her multiple hands on him.

“Come on Nami, you can do better than that,” he snorted. “Now you’re using that gloomy woman to—”

“Ara, how rude…” Robin cut him off suddenly as she entered the room.

Zoro stiffened despite himself. After all, the story of Franky’s first-hand experience from Robin’s power was enough to give any Mugiwara man nightmares.

Even if that happened two years ago.

The archeologist glanced momentarily at the swordsman, her gaze piercing. Zoro did his best not to move or make another sound lest she breaks his neck.

Nami caught his reaction and a menacing smile appeared on her face. “Robin!” She exclaimed chirpily. “You’re just right on time!”

“Need help Nami?” With an ominous smile gracing her beautiful face, Robin inquired as she headed towards her side of the bed. “Is Zoro giving you trouble?”

Zoro glared scathingly at her. He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself right in time.

Nami eyes met Zoro’s as she answered smugly. “Yes he is!” Her gaze dared the green-haired man to contradict her.

It was Zoro’s turn to grit his teeth at her. But he still he held his tongue. He learned long ago never to butt heads with two women at the same time.

One is enough. And he already had his hands full with Nami. He didn’t need Robin joining the navigator in making his life more miserable in the ship. Though Robin is sensible most of the times… but she does have this weird affinity for scaring the shit out of her nakamas for her own amusement.

“Need a hand?” Robin coolly asked as she busily perused the pile of books on her night stand.

“No she doesn’t!” Zoro fiercely stated.

“Yes I do!” Nami answered at the same time.

Both glared daggers at each other as Robin chuckled. Oh, she’s used to it by now. After all, Zoro and Nami’s never-ending disagreements are always a source of entertainment on their ship.

“I don’t see what the hell is wrong with what I’m wearing.” Zoro finally grumbled.

Nami scowled in answer. “Everything.”

He snorted. “It’s just clothes woman.”

“An awful choice of clothes!”

“Why the hell do I need to dress up Nami?” Zoro complained, his tone cranky. “You’re just gonna use me as your pack mule for the day. Why do I need to look good for that?”

“I want my mule to look dashing.”

He scoffed. “Then take ero-cook! He does it better.”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she mouthed, a bit exaggeratedly. “So you admit there is something Sanji-kun’s better than you at?”

Silence.

And Robin fought the urge to giggle out loud. With the mention of their cook’s name, Zoro’s bound to hit the roof soon enough.

“That ero kappa will never be better than me at anything!” Zoro exploded.

“That’s not true, Sanji-kun’s better than you at cooking!”

Robin can actually feel Zoro seething from the other side of room. Trust Nami to rile him up so easily. Though she knows that after so much resistance (and shouting) from Zoro’s part… it will still end up the way it usually does. Their swordsman catering to Nami’s whims regardless of how inane it is.

Well, it’s actually good since there’s no need for her to use her powers. With how strong Zoro is, she doubts if she’ll be able to hold him down long enough.

That would be tiresome. She thought with an inward sigh.

Guess it’s just Zoro’s nature to go and face the enemy head on even if there’s no chance of winning.

With her chosen book in hand, the older woman turned to watch her friends. They are still glaring and gritting their teeth at each other. Robin took it as her cue to exit the room.

Whatever happens between her two nakamas after this, she’d rather not be caught across the crossfire no matter how amusing.

“Alright,” Nami suddenly sighed in a dejected manner, surprising Zoro when she gave up easily. “You can go and do whatever you want.”

Zoro stared at her in astonishment.

“I’ll just ask Sanji-kun to accompany me.” She began to tap a finger to her cheek as if she was thinking. "What was it that Luffy said?” Her brows furrowed as Zoro bristled, apparently aware of what was coming. “Oh! Worth a thousand men." She threw a sugar-sweet smile at Zoro. “Guess that is so true after all.”

That was all it took for Zoro to relent.

“Damn it! I’m changing alright!” Zoro barked as he shot Nami a venomous glare while the girl gave him a triumphant smirk that could rival a shark’s.

“Very good Zoro!” Nami gleefully nodded in approval, reveling at the fact that she won against the him for the umpteenth time. “Do it now. I promise I won’t peek.”

Zoro’s glare was enough to rival the coldness of Aokiji’s devil fruit powers.

And Robin just shook her head slightly at the already expected outcome.

“I’ll leave you two here,” she said with a small smile. Zoro was growling as he removed his shirt. Totally unbothered by their presence. “And Nami,” Robin called out to get the mapmaker’s attention who’s attention was fixed quite intently at the now stripping swordsman. We’ll be docking at the island’s port in half an hour according to Franky’s calculation.”

“If you have time, you can check if he is right.” She suggested, moving towards the room’s exit. A disembodied hand appeared to open the door’s knob even before she reached it.

“That is… if you’re not busy trying not to ‘peek’ while Zoro changes his clothes,” she said with a sly wink at Nami before exiting.

“ROBIN!” Nami all but screamed at her friend as the disembodied hand gave them a wave before closing the door and vanishing in a swirl of pinkish-white petals.

But not before surreptitiously locking it.

Nami turned beet red at that. Trust Robin to insinuate that and give Zoro something to tease her about.

A discarded shirt hit her. She scowled and her attention returned to the former pirate hunter who was unbuttoning his pants.

She glowered at him. “Don’t just strip down to your underwear like I’m not even here you moron! You could learn some modesty you know.”

“I don’t wanna hear that coming from you.” Zoro retorted before throwing his pants at her.

“HEY!”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re now being shy and all.” The grin on his face was vicious. “Besides, nothing here you haven’t seen before Nami.”

Blood rushed to her face at his statement. But definitely not because she was embarrassed or anything.

She didn’t answer and instead, grabbed the clothes she had picked for him earlier, throwing them at right at his face.

“Shut up and just get dressed Zoro. We’re wasting time!” She said with a huff. Kami knows how he needs direction with what is appropriate to wear just as how he needs direction with which way to go.

“I swear, you, Luffy and Chopper needs all the help you can get when it comes to fashion,” she muttered exasperatedly, as Zoro finished changing his clothes. She gave him a glance over and nodded approvingly. “That’s a heck lot better. You don’t look much of an eyesore now.”

“Oh good,” Zoro drawled sarcastically. “If this gets you off my back then I’m all for it.”

Nami beamed at him. “Glad we finally came to some kind of an agreement. If I get to dress you, then it would be less complaining from me, ne?”

Zoro remained passive at her declaration. “Great,” he grumbled rather sarcastically. “So you get to dress me now Nami?”

“If it makes you look better, then yes of course.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her before a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “Guess I have to return the favor then.”

Nami blinked. And when she realized what he was pertaining to she shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, no, no! You don’t get to dress me Zoro! Not in this life or the next!”

All of a sudden he was standing directly in front of her, looking down at her with a glint in his grey eye that tells her he’s gonna get retribution. “You’re mistaken.” He said with a sneer.

He stole a glanced on the room’s door that Robin conveniently locked earlier.

“What do you mean?”  

“You get to dress me? Then I get to undress you.”

Addendum: According to SBS Volume 37: Luffy, Zoro and Chopper cannot dress up on their own. If they do, it’s because either Sanji, Usopp, Nami or Robin is with them. It has merit. Remember that blue tank top in Skypiea that made Zoro look so hot? We have Nami to thank for that.

And Zoro does not really care about clothes and all but it’s just fun to play with this fact.

[asunshinepuff]

 Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter one! This has been a long time coming and I apologize for the wait. Please give a follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @ladynightmare913 ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

This chapter features one of my own ocs, and I really hope you like him! As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however it will be explained over time so no worries. There’s no mention of lore for right now.

The Included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. I will not take credit for it’s writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out! 

Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy! 🧜🏻‍♀️

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Chapter 1: The Tail of Fates

The gulls glided across the scorching sky, the sun beating down on the portmen docking the ships that traveled across the sea. The merry drunken men who stumbled their way out of the taverns filled with jolly music made their way to the docks. Wincing at the harsh rays of sunlight, the sweltering heat and humidity offers no reprieve for the men who indulged in the advantages of liquid courage to disregard their tasks. Merchants bring in goods from the islands that seemed worlds away to a mere boy at the age of fourteen.

The boy had medium-length tawny brown hair, tanned skin from days working out in the sun, and very bright amber-colored eyes which seemed to capture the same essence of the crystalized equivalents of the color. Dressed in a rather modest attire appropriate for his status - consisting of a white long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves were rolled up due to the heat, light brown slacks, and dark brown boots. Around his waist was a light blue scarf, supposedly what he had been found swaddled in when he was just a babe. He could never find the strength to part with it. The guilt overpowered him. 

“The beauties of the islands lads, best three days of me life mate.”

“Three days of only looking at the dames.” The sailor snorts a retort as he leans against a pillar on the dock. “They probably ran off in the other direction just at the mere sight of your pathetic self.”

The group of three jolly sailors laughed in merriment as the sailor who was sharing his tale shoved the other two in embarrassment.   

The boy had been sweeping the dock nearby the sailors, rolling his eyes at the stories. It was always the same. Seamen making port and bedding the beauties from the mysterious island that he himself has never traversed. Internally, he began counting the seconds till one of the sailors again made mentions of the maidens of the sea, and as always- it took only a count of ten. 

“I wager the beauties on that port can’t hold a candle to their maidens of the sea.” A sailor with three scars slashed across his face grinned. 

“Oh not this, again,” The first sailor, with a fancy for the beauties, with tattered clothes and blonde hair groaned. “Bloody hell mate, you say that cursed tale every time. The women of the sea, with a fishes tail.” 

“Aye, and you’d best heed it.” The sailor with three scars eyes his mates in suspicion. “Lest you never return to land, drowned like a dog and fed to the fishes.”    

“No one has seen those monsters for centuries mate. Let it go. It’s nothing but stories to scare sailors, nothing more.” 

“No!” The sailor yells. “I’ve seen them! The war didn’t wipe them out. They were the ones who scarred me face! There ain’t anything like it, to hear the songs of those maidens. You try to pull away, to drown it out with your thoughts, but ya can’t. There is no escape, it invades your minds, pulling you to the sea and into their webbed claws!” He grumbles out as he touches his scarred face tenderly. As if the scars were fresh, open with fresh blood spilling. 

“You lads wouldn’t stand a chance, I should be at the bottom of the sea, but these maidens be fickle things, they are.” He looks out to the sea, calm waves kissing the shore. “To see one, changes your fate. To hear one’s song, is your doom.” 

The boy paused momentarily as he heard the scarred sailor's warning. His thoughts race across his mind before he returns to the present when he’s called. 

“Oi boy!” A man from upon the ship called down, leaning overboard. “Come up here lad! There’s a job I need ye to take care of!”

The boy looked up to the adult man, he couldn’t discern fully from this far away the man’s appearance. The high rays of the sun give the wooden docks a shadow of coverage. He was rather reluctant to leave the cool reprieve, however, it would be worse if he neglected his duties of the port, “Be right there.” 

Walking upon the loading dock to the deck of the rather large ship, it was difficult to fight the urge to look around in a strange awe, even though it’s appearance is rather haggard and beaten. Although he has spent many a day upon ships for moments at a time since beginning his work a few years back, there was a certain mystery behind each ship that entered the ports of this bustling town. Each ship held a story behind its experiences. Each cannon battle, the waters of the seven seas it has traversed, the storms it has survived possible destruction, treasures it has held and lead its captain’s to discover. 

“Yes sir?” The boy looks up to the bulk of an angry looking man whose face always seemed to have a sneer. Even in his sleep. The bulk of a man was dressed in a shirt that looked two sizes too small, and a tattered grey coat that squeezed the man, fitting his frame with strain as his arms were always pulled back. His pants were faded from black to grey, his boots were old and worn. Smelling like a dead rat. His teeth were ghastly to gaze upon, yellow with brown stains, his breath could probably kill a man. His eyes were a beady black like the sharks that swam in the shallow waters, a bald head with black spots. A pity, he must’ve looked worse as a child. As most children do. He glowers at the scrawny boy before he looks away.

“Go search the taverns for this ships’ Captain. We leave at dusk. Blokes probably drunk beyond hell, feeling up the women.” He shakes his head as he waves the boy off with a mere wave of his hand. 

With a nod in confirmation, the boy exited the deck and headed off in search of the tavern so that he may find the Captain of the ship, rather grateful to being away from the rather disgusting first mate. If that bulk of a man looked that haggard, he could only imagine the Captain with a shudder at the thought. In the distance, he could see another ship that seemed to be a practical stark contrast. The masts that were open, were as white as the very clouds that floated in the sky, the wooden haul was a rich brown mahogany, the railings were painted gold like the sun. The sailors looked well-groomed, their clothes neat and fitted to their frames. 

The boy searched from tavern to tavern, until finally, he came across the Buccaneers' Oyster. With a sigh of exasperation, he opens the doors and enters the busy tavern hoping that this time he had finally found the correct one. The tavern was dark with dim lighting from the candles that were scattered about the establishment. The windows were the only source of natural sunlight that seeped into the tavern that reeked of alcohol and vomit. The sounds of clinking glassware and cheers from sailors echo all around, the soft giggling of women sitting on the laps of the drunkest of seamen. Ignoring the commotion, and his disgust at the reeking smells, he makes his way to the main counter where a man was the barkeep. The wall behind was lined with large kegs and the shelves were lined with clean pints.

“Excuse me. Do you happen to know if Captain Barclay is here?” The boy says, raising his voice over the loud cheering of the sailors in their merriment. The barkeeper doesn’t even spare the boy a glance as he simply points to the back of the tavern where a man was sitting, well more falling off his chair than anything, as he smiled stupidly at a lady. 

The captain in question was a tall lanky man with a hooked nose, horrible teeth, a large mole on the side of his neck, tanned skin, and green eyes. His clothes were an absolute mess which could possibly be vomit, or mashed potatoes. The boy was very much hoping for the latter. A white shirt with a red stain, rum possibly, short brown pants, and his shoes seemed to have vanished. Hopefully, the shoes walked away themselves, saving what little dignity they had, and drowned themselves in the sea. The stench dying with them. Or the captain had lost his shoes in a gamble. That seemed more likely. 

Taking a deep breath in preparation, he makes his way over to the back of the tavern so that he could finally fetch the man and get out of this place. The man seemed practically worse close up, if that was even possible. “Excuse me? Captain Barclay?” He asks, hoping to gain the drunken Captain’s attention and draw it away from the woman. “I was asked to fetch you by your first mate. And bring you back to your ship.” 

The man makes a small noise of acknowledgment as he turns to look at the deck boy. His alcohol glazed eyes look over the small boy before he shrugs him off and turns the lady he had in his lanky finger. “Bugger off boy, the adults are talkin.’” His hand waves him off with the pint of rum that sloshed to the ground in his sluggish gestures. “Now where we?” 

“Please sir, let me go. I do not work here. I am merely looking for my fiancé.” A pale soft face young lady pulls her hand to try to free herself from the seaman. Her soft brown curls bouncing as she turns her head to the boy. Her hazel eyes lock eyes with his, her skin pale from her bold green dress. Help me she mouths. 

The boy’s eyes widen a small fraction, trying to figure out a way to help the woman out of her predicament. “Captain. I insist.” He repeats, his tone much more firm and without argument. 

With a sneer, the lanky captain looked to the boy before he points at the boy with his pint. Standing up, he was two heads taller than the boy. “Listen boy,” he stumbles closer, the pint in his hands dropping what little rum it had to the floor. “I spent six months at sea, I ain’t about to let a lass like this slip past me, now runoff. Before I beat you.”     

“You chose quite a profession that allows you to be at sea for months at a time, Captain.” He says, looking up at the man, “Guess there’s sacrifices to make now isn’t there? And if you actually listened with your ears rather than another part of your body, then you would understand that this lady has no interest in you. And is taken.”

“Why you little rat!” The man grips the boy's collar, forgetting the pint, dropping it to the floor, letting the lady go as he raises his fist. “I’m going to enjoy this.” 

“You’re really going to punch a child mate? How low can you get?” A voice interjects as a rather handsome young man walks over. The tall young man, around the age of twenty-one, had short tousled red-brown hair, fetching blue eyes, and light tanned skin. Dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt with a light brown vest on top, a burgundy red long buckled coat with bright red accents, dark brown slacks, and black boots. On his left hip, a wide looking sword was sheathed in solid black and red with gold accents. 

“Who the bloody hell are you? Bugger off!” 

“No one of consequence. Just let him go.”

“Why the hell would I do that, a good beaten ought to teach about being respectful to his elders!” He looks away and aims for a punch.

The man scoffs, “As if you’re worth giving respect. The boy was just doing his job.” He steps forward and grabs the man’s fist in a hard grip as it nears the boy. “If you want respect, then earn it.” 

“Why you!” The man drops the boy and turns to punch the man who stopped him from giving the boy a lesson.

The man can’t help but roll his eyes with a sigh, “Oh for Heaven’s sake.” The drunk captain isn’t even able to reach him before he retaliates with a punch of his own, knocking the captain out cold. A satisfied grin falls upon his lips. The lady gasps before she quickly runs off after giving the man a quick thank you. The man turns to the boy. 

“Are you alright there boy?” 

The boy nods, looking up to the taller man who intervened. Why did he? He cannot help but wonder. Most people would've just ignored the ruckus and not bat an eye. “I’m alright. Thank you, Mr…” 

“Sandoval, Quinn Sandoval. But please just call me Quinn.” He smiles down at the boy. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you boy now can I?” 

“No, I suppose not.” He replies with a light chuckle, “My name’s Remus. Remus Lupin. It’s nice to meet you, Quinn.”

“Well, Remus, it’s nice to meet you as well.” He looks down to the unconscious captain with an exasperated sigh, lightly kicking his leg. “Best take him back to his ship eh?” He looks at Remus with mirth in his eyes before he walks over to the captain’s head, grabbing ahold one of his arms before pulling him up. “Grab his other arm will you? Let’s take him back to his ship. Although I doubt he will be useful.”  

Remus nods quickly before he walks over to the other side, grabbing ahold of the other arm to help hold him up. “Doubt he will as well, to be frank.”

The pair carry the dunkard back to the docks without much strain. Aside from the occasional bump to the head. They walk up to the ship where the first mate sees them approaching, walking down the loading dock.

“What the bloody hell happened to him? I have been waitin’ here for hours boy!” The bulky man marches to Remus. His face red in anger. 

“Well rather difficult to track down a man with this many taverns in this town isn’t it?” Quinn says in defense, looking down to the unconscious man before continuing an explanation, “Your Captain got himself plastered and in a tavern fight. I had to help the boy carry him back.” He glances at Remus and gives him a conspiratorial wink.

The first mate begrudgingly orders two men from the crew to take the captain onboard. He looks to the boy with a scowl. “What are ye waitin’ for, get back to work!” 

Quinn frowns lightly as he looks to Remus. “You work the docks?” 

Remus fights the urge to flinch at the hard scowl under the first mate’s gaze. He looks to Quinn at his question before nodding. “I do.”

Quinn can only nod once slowly in understanding. He looks to the first mate, then to the docks, then to Remus before he smiles. “Well not anymore.” 

Remus’ eyes widen as he looks quizzically at the man he had just met. “What?” 

“What the bloody hell are you talkin’ about.” The first mate growls out.

Quinn ignores the man as he looks over the young boy. “Tell me honestly Remus, would you rather work the docks for men like him, or come with me to my captain’s ship and actually live your life without regrets.” He looks back to the docks and the wrecked ship the bulky man sent the drunk captain to dock. “I know what I’d chose. And it wouldn’t be a life with little to no rewards.” 

Remus looks out to the sea beyond the docked ships, watching the sun’s rays reflect upon the blue waking waters as he contemplates. This man hardly knows him, practically just met him about half an hour ago, and yet he’s offering him a chance to sail? A chance to leave this place? How can someone be this trusting? 

He looks back to Quinn with a skeptical look, “Why are you offering me this? You hardly know me. I could be a thief for all you know.” 

Quinn smiles. “Because I like you, you have wit and you clearly are a hard worker. I have a good feeling about you.” He looks to the sea. “So, what will it be, Remus? A life of servitude, or a life of freedom?” He looks back to Remus.

Remus cannot help but smile in return, “Freedom.” 

[spiltscribbles]

Hey love your blog!! Sorry you got no inspiration that always sucksssss. If you feel up to it #189 wolfstar prompts?? Love ya 💙💙

Notes: OMFG Nonny!!! This is such an angelic message!!! Thank you so fucking much! Also this is like 5400 words, which is disgusting and I’m sorry!!!  |  A Reblog is worth a thousand stars!!!!

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189  »  Stop pinning this on me! You started it!  |  Send Me A Prompt

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Odds On Us

Focus.

All Remus needs to do is focus. It’s not that hard. He’s a damn prefect for Morgana’s sake, in the top 3% of their entire year. Learning to focus amidst madness became as easy as slinking on his cloak before strolling through  the cool Scottish outdoors. For fuck’s sake, it  had to be a learned talent considering he was assigned to a dorm  with the chaotically brilliant duo that is James and Sirius. With Peter besides  who’s always crowing on about classes or the latest bird he’s fancying or the next prank he’d like to commit (which almost always included a stop by the kitchens). 

Focus, that’s all he needs to do. So what if the object of his affections since sodding third year is currently draped all over him— Sirius’s head bent so that he can brush his aristocratic nose against Remus’s temple, and one of his hands discretely rubbing up and down his thigh, inching closer and closer to where Remus’s jeans are beginning to tent. 

Fucking damn it Remus will not be distracted by the blue blooded wanker that is Sirius Black!

With a huff and very deliberate shuffle so that there’s some space between them, Remus returns to scanning the opened page of Withering Heights he’s got opened up, and he relaxes into The Beatles song crooning out  the record player he’s charmed from home to play within Hogwarts grounds, and pretends to care about James from across the room, swaying in his place with a half empty flask of fire-whiskey in hand and his pointer finger twirling in the air with seemingly great effort.

“Righto. Lads.” He declares with a hiccup  between thoughts. “’S our sixth year, nearly the crop of the cream.”

“Erm, think the saying’s cream of the crop,” Peter says, words slightly slurred as he collapses on the nearest bed, which just so happens to be Sirius’s.

Remus laughs, cuts a glance to an offended looking Sirius, “Think he’ll be sick on your 700 thread count sheets, love?”

Sirius glares, retaliates by kissing the corner of Remus’s mouth and trying to distract him all over again.

“Oi! Stop your canoodling you mutts! I’m trying to talk here!”

Sirius rolls his eyes and Remus snickers before ever so graciously returning his attention onto a red faced James who’s taking another pull of the whiskey they smuggled in from the Hog’s Head on their nip to the town after the welcoming feast. “Sounds like just blustering from here, mate.”

The fierceness from James’s glower is significantly lessened by the way his eyes can’t even focus on Remus for longer than a second at a time. “’S important marauder business we’re discussin’ here, Moony! Pranks to be had, redheads to be flattered!” The remaining three chorus a snort. “I’m serious damn it!”

“Nah mate, I’m Sirius,” the aforementioned blue blooded wanker preens, narrowly dodging the pillow Peter unceremoniously hurls his way, thumping on the wall instead. “Besides,” he continues leisurely, practically lying half on top of Remus now. “’S not my fault that Moony here can’t keep his hands off of me, such a exhibitionist. A little wildcat if I’m being at all honest.”

Remus makes a strangled noise in his throat like a very affronted hyena, “Fucking plonker.”

This time Sirius is too slow to avoid the elbow to his side, but the positively devious grin he’s sporting doesn’t let up in the slightest. “I’m telling you boys, it’s the quiet ones indeed.”

Peter and James seem to find this hilarious, but Remus is suddenly plotting out a very elaborate and very mutinous murder using only his pillow and targeting Sirius’s stupidly gorgeous face.

Revenge will be sweet.

“You’re the one smothering me if you’ve forgotten tosser.” He fumes, which makes Sirius positively incandescent with glee. 

“Well I can’t jilt you dearest Moonbeam,” he says with a ridiculously exasperated flapping to his lashes— pinching his cheek just for good measure. And Remus would really like to bite his finger right off but is 60% certain that Sirius’ll take it as something sexual. 

“I hate you.”

“You love me and my washboard abs.”

Remus’s eyes flicker down to Sirius’s sadly clothed torso and wishes Sirius didn’t know how to read him so well. “You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re a beautiful little cabbage,” he replies, leaning forwards for a proper kiss, and frowning when Remus resolutely does not meet him for it. 

“Oh no, I will not be felt up as if you didn’t just slander me.” He sniffs, goes back to his reading; ignoring the way James and Peter have moved on to their own conversation about James’s chances to land a date with Lily this term— From what Remus picks up on a good deal of it is dependent on Gryffindor winning the quidditch cup this year. 

“Oh you wanna play it this way Moons,” Sirius says in that tone of voice that is ordinarily saved for when they’re entirely alone— ensconced behind the curtains of his four-poster or an empty broom cupboard between classes— A very low, slightly gruff, and entirely alluring baritone that still makes Remus’s toes curl while they’re sitting in plane view of their two, beyond sloshed, best friends.

“Don’t know what you mean Pads,” Remus says measuredly, hopes that his voice comes out as unaffected as possible instead of the haggard, frayed at the edges way he thinks it does.

“We’ll make it a bet then,” Sirius says, rolling over so that he’s crowding Remus against the headboard, noses touching and Sirius practically straddling his hips. “First one to cave for a kiss is the loser?”

Oh God, Remus should’ve expected this, truly. Of course Sirius wants to make everything into a bloody competition. And Remus should probably say no, considering that the full is in two weeks and they’re only just starting their NEWT level course work, and he’s got prefect rounds practically every other night. But he also knows it in his bones that he can hardly deny Sirius anything, and he’s always loved competitions himself, especially winning them. Especially if it’s his far too smug, far too self assured boyfriend who he’s taking down a peg or two.

“Mmm, fine. Winner gets?”

Sirius’s pale eyes glint wickedly in the dim light of their room for only a moment, before he says, “Head.”

God Remus should’ve just kept on focussing on his reading.

.-

The general bustle of the Great Hall seems to be especially graining this morning, but Remus refuses to blame it on anything to do with the bet, or the fact it was the first night in nearly a month that he hasn’t shared a bed with Sirius— after Remus had spent part of the summer in the Potter estate in Devon before Sirius returned to spend the final week with him in Wales in his small coastal town with his small but loud mother with her musical supremacy  and sly jokes that told them they would never pull one over on her in a thousand years and all together outrageous amounts of vivacity.

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