#and softness in their hair after just 1 use. I thought the price was fair for the product and I liked the fact that you can buy it in a s

[hotxcheeto]

Hii could I have Chloe price and a plus size s/o and lots of romance and smut pls <3

(who’s your fav lis character btw)

━ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐍

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Chloe Price x G/N!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Smut, AFAB reader ( no pronouns/nicknames/pet names used ) cursing, tongue fucking, oral ( r! receiving ), fingering ( r! receiving ), fluff

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - oooo, i love both sean from game 2 and kate from 1, but i have many favs like max, rach, nate etc... but sean and kate take the absolute reign lol. ty so much for requesting!!!

She'd been laying in your lap for hours, sleeping, holding you close with her face buried in your tummy. You only knew she was alive from her soft snores and consistent twitching that would sometimes make you lightly jerk yourself awake.

You were ready to fall into dreamland too, eyes staring at the TV heavy lidded. Your hand slowed to a stop from raking through her short strands of hair but immediately the girl shifted when you did so only for her to lift up her head not even a minute later.

"Why'd you stop?" Her voice rang out making you turn your head, laughing when you were met with her disheveled appearance, her hands settled on the tops of your thighs as her arms were tucked underneath your legs.

"Cause I thought you were sleeping." She huffed when you answered, rubbing her eyes. "Well I was." You hummed, not really paying much mind after, focusing back on your show with a soft blink.

Chloe did not enjoy the lack of attention because her face then fell back into your stomach, a huff following a few seconds later making you giggle as it unintentionally began a fight for her to gain attention by blowing raspberries into your belly.

"Chloe- Chloe stop it!" You tried pushing her away and squirming yourself out of her grip. The girl only continuing to execute her attack by moving with you, finally coming to a halt when her need to kiss you took over instead.

"You are so hot." You continued to laugh as giant, sloppy smooshes were placed on your plush skin. Again and again until it tickled, making you try your best to run once again only to be straddled by her entire body.

"I mean it... fuck." She said dramatically, yet truthfully, licking her lips while staring down at you. "Look at you." You felt your face flush a bit, though not visible, you could for sure feel it on your cheeks.

"Oh shut it, you flirt." You giggled, moving to cover up your face, though she was faster. Her hands gripping your wrists before you got to move them even as far up as your collarbone. Your limbs trapped at your sides while you wiggled to escape, a kiss though made you still once more.

"You taste good." She muttered, making you grin and burn even harder. Avoiding her eyes by looking at the ceiling instead but she captured your lips once again, snatching you back to reality with the taste of shitty beer and her toothpaste.

"Like, really fucking good." She just kept going, moving off your body to grab your legs, sitting between your thighs once again. If you asked Chloe, you would bet that if you asked, she'd claim them as her most favorite things in the entire world.

For a moment the girl pulled back, taking in the sight of you before moving down to the hem of your pants.

"Have to test down here too."

"Chloe Price!"

"What? It's only fair."

She gave you that face that made you want to punch her right in the nose. Chloe whining when you huffed as if you were pretending to think about it, ignoring all her little pokes and prods.

"Y/nnnnnn...." She dragged for longer than you really listened, rolling your eyes. "Fine, go ahead, but I'm watching my show." "You won't be when I'm done with you."

The game was on then and your bottoms were across the room before you could finish another thought. Dressed with nearly nothing made you feel a little wave of life down below but you came to the conclusion to begin ignoring it as to not give her the satisfaction that you were enjoying this.

That was short lived though, a tiny breath following that shook slightly when your underwear were peeled away and you could feel the air against your cunt.

But that was all it took for her to be invested in gaining more from you. Her stare fixated on the way you flickered back and forth from the television to her, though you'd been trying not to be too obvious, that failed.

"Fuck, this... if I could see one last thing before I die, it would so be this." You felt yourself blushing again, Chloe only able to see your flustered state when you brought that shy smile on your mouth and couldn't contain it any other way than hiding it.

"Shut up." You teased, almost begging. Her laughter intoxicating, swirling around the room, following her as she leaned down closer to the area that slowly felt more and more uncomfortable the hornier you began to get. Pulsating and throbbing to the point where you wanted to buck your hips right into her mouth.

But you also knew that she wanted that as well.

"Not taking that back." She commented, meeting your gaze while moving close, her tongue poking out just enough to kitten lick your clit. You couldn't even respond, the action repeating itself again and again while you finally gave in. A soft sound erupting from your throat, though not loud, Chloe enjoyed it.

Her fingers dug into your skin which melded to her touch, and she took that as an invitation. Grabbing all that she could which had much choice in where, you had much to hold and in turn, much to love.

"H-how's the taste test?" She heard you whimper, a little giggle following afterwards from your own amusement. "Really good... gonna need more to give it a rating though."

She pushed back against you, tongue delving into your hole before you got a chance to say another word.

Soon enough you were in your own little world, eyes fluttering shut as you absentmindedly jerked to meet her. Grinding against her, chasing your high that was starting to match your pace.

You could feel nothing but her, straining your body to get as close to her as physically possible.

"Fuck- fuck Chloe- please- please don't stop-" And she wasn't planning on it, fingertips teasing your clit and her tongue did your entrance. It felt like you were on fire, just like every other time, yet the feeling never extinguished.

"I'm- I'm- oh shit- fuck-" You came barreling towards the edge, head falling back as you came against your girlfriend, shaky breaths and quiet cries following with.

Her mouth continued its act while you trembled and began pushing her away, the feeling too much and too tingly to handle.

"Fuck.." She muttered, wiping her mouth.

You waited in the quiet of the room for any other sign of life from her, covering your eyes with your forearm as you calmed yourself. Feeling her caressing your legs and lower belly.

"Ten out of ten." You erupted into chuckles, peeking at her while shaking your head. "I hate you so much Chloe Price." "As long as you let me do that for fucking ever, I don't even care."

#chloe price x reader #chloe x reader #chloe price smut #chloe price #nevy writes

[toonztown]

Mafia husband! x (GN) reader Part 1

How did your life get this like, slaving away for a man you don't love? it started 10 years ago, back in high school.

you remember being in class writing a particular topic you had been assigned in your notebook when you were called the principal's office, when you reached your eyes landed on your parents faces. they were crying.

tears streaming down endlessly as they wept openly, with red faces and puffy eyes. It seemed they were shedding tears for a long period of time, you were bewildered. Your parents especially your father never shed a single tear, not even when we had to bury the family dog after it succumb to old age.

your eyes scanned the room, besides your parents were scary men dressed in black suits covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings that was when your eyes landed on him.

a tall gentleman with slick back hair was sitting at the principal's desk, like the others he also had numerous tattoos and piercings, but this man had more jewelry than the others and was more well built as well . you assume from the cold dead gaze he gave you when your eyes met, he was the leader.

the corners of his lips curled to make a smirk as he looked at you up and down, looking back you wish you could have slapped that damn smirk off his face hard enough to leave a bruise.

"a fair price to pay, consider your debt cleared Mr. Vincent," the leader said, smirk widening into a grin*

Your father, Vincent Harvey, finally looked into your eyes. the words that came next would ruin your entire life. Well to explain, you father had always had a tiny bit of a gambling addiction, him and your mother often fought about him spending the rent money to 'test his luck' at the pub, he never once won.

he looked you in the eyes, and there was silence momentarily before he finally spoke, his voice was so soft that it was just above a whisper

"..looks my gambling finally caught up to me, i uh- borrowed a large sum of money from some very dangerous people to gamble, i lost it all in a matter of moments and.. you have to understand- they were going to kill us. it was the only way, my dear (Y/N) Mr. Capone here, asked for your hand in marriage.. in order to clear my debt."

after he finished speaking, i couldnt say anything. It was like words were stuck in your throat. your heart beat was pounding in your ears like big drums.. your entire life forcibly taken from you, just like that.

over the loud noises you could hear your parents try to explain the situation to you.. you didn't want to listen, how can they be so selfish to sell their own blood.. their only child to save their own skins.

the next few moments after were a blur, Mr. Capone and his cronies escorted you out to the car. Reluctantly you got in, looking out the window as they drove off to your new life.

you remember feeling a hand on you shoulder, you turned your head to see Mr. Capone who was smiling at you. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, maybe you'll learn to love him? what a foolish thought that was.

the next moment his nails were digging into your shoulder causing you to wince

"why the long face my betrothed? after all, your getting wed in a few days, like it or not." he said, his grip on your tightening to the point your sure a bruise will be left, a small pool of blood started to stain your white uniform. No matter how hard you pulled he wouldnt let you go, he seemed to be getting immense joy from your torment.

they finally pulled up into the driveway for a big mansion, he got out and opened the door for you . As you looked around your unfamiliar surroundings fear was carved into your face, looks like your life as a mafia's spouse had just begun.

#mafia x reader #toxic relationship #forced marriage #manipulative #gore #young people for older men #tw bruises #tw blood #sold to the mafia #mafia x you #mafia #x reader #fanfic

[erricdraven]

For the malec prompts, 7, t, 22 ? Feel free to change stuff if you prefer!

*so i used this to my advantage a bit so this can be read as a prequel-sequel to my previous fic the number of heartbeats between here and there. also it's a bit canon divergent because of the parameters of the request!* 7. deleted scene | t. secret relationship | 22. "i'm going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else."

To: Alexander – 1:23am

Did you still want me to come over tonight? I know it’s later than we had planned but…been thinking about you 🥰

To: Magnus – 1:26am

Sorry I was in the shower but yeah please come if you still can!

To: Alexander – 1:27am

Pretty boy.

To: Alexander – 1:27am

Handsome.

To: Alexander – 1:27am

Angel.

To: Magnus – 1:28am

…yeah?

To: Alexander – 1:28am

I always want to see you. Do you want to see me?

To: Magnus – 1:28am

Yes definitely

To Alexander – 1:29am

Then I’ll be over quicker than you can say my name

Magnus made his way around the sprawling architecture of the New York Institute, looking for the wing of living quarters. The buttresses that framed the familiar third-story window would have made fair footholds for scaling the building, but there were better methods available to him. Twisting his index and middle fingers, he summoned a dense amalgamation of magic beneath his feet that expanded upwards. Fortunately, Alec had left the window unlatched and slightly ajar, allowing Magnus to slip through and land soundlessly in a crouch.

Just as he straightened up, the bathroom door opened and damp steam from the shower billowed out. Alec emerged, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist, but when he caught sight of Magnus, an almost smug smile pulled at his lips. “Hey,” he greeted, striding over to kiss him softly, one hand gently cradling Magnus’ cheek while the other held the towel in place at his hipbone.

“Is this for me?” Magnus teased, running the soft outer part of his forefinger along the damp skin of Alec’s bare chest. “How thoughtful.”

Alec laughed boisterously, his ears faintly pink with a warm blush. “Sorry to disappoint you but that was just a happy accident. Patrol ran late and I had to deal with— Well, that doesn’t really matter.”

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Magnus shook his head. “How can I be disappointed with this outcome, unintentional as it may be.” He skated his palms up to Alec’s upper back and reverently drew them down across the planes of muscle until he got down to the small of his back. His fingertips dug into the soft skin above his buttocks needfully, pressing just hard enough that his blunt nails would leave behind little crescents if one were to look hard enough. “I still come out victorious in this scenario, I think.”

>> READ ON AO3

The way that Alec smiled at him, tired and weary but endlessly soft, made Magnus feel like his heart were being squeezed just this side of painful. It was the most vulnerable he had ever seen him, and it was simply theirs to share.

“Hey, Magnus… Why did you agree to this, us, like this?” Alec gestured vaguely. His eyebrows drew tightly together in consternation, and Magnus fought the urge to kiss the skin between into relaxing. “Why are you willing to hide with me?”

It had been a few weeks since their conversation about an arranged marriage for the sake of preserving the Lightwood legacy and foothold in the New York Institute. Maybe it was some kind of desperation that had driven Magnus to be so cavalier about his willingness to accept the “don’t ask, don’t tell” mentality of shadowhunters. The thought of losing the first spark of hope in love that he had had in over a century was excruciating, and concealing it so meticulously was a high price, but he was paying it. In a way, though, keeping this fragile thing between them a secret, left to grow in discretion, felt a little like a relief. Whatever it may be with time, it was theirs alone.

At the silence, Alec licked his lips nervously and started to say something.

Instead, Magnus held up a finger to his mouth to quiet him anticipatorily. Through a roguish grin, he said, “I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else. I want to give that question the answer it deserves, but that’s a tremendous ask when you’re up against me like this.”

Alec rolled his eyes as if it were nothing more than a line, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed his self-satisfaction. And that was exactly what Magnus had intended. “All right, well then, look away.”

Magnus turned his back with exaggerated movements and crossed his arms over his chest with a smile. It was nice to have someone to be this way with again; it felt like liberation to have someone with whom he was free to be himself without the burden of titles and expectations. He was exposed when he stripped away the personas and facades that were like secondary skins. They were facets of himself that people expected him to have, but Alec never seemed to want him to be anything but Magnus. Not Magnus Bane, not High Warlock Bane, not Prince Regent of Edom.

“Are you decent?” Magnus teased after the sounds of fabric on skin had subsided.

In response, Alec came up behind him and leaned in just enough that his chest brushed Magnus’ back. “All done.”

Magnus shifted his weight to lean back into Alec lightly and reached back to thread his fingers into Alec’s still-damp hair. Softly scratching his nails through the soft strands made Alec hum contentedly. “We should sit so we can discuss your question.”

“Can we lay down?”

“Of course.”

They climbed on the bed over the sheets and comforter, and Alec immediately rolled over so Magnus could curl up behind him. He even lifted his arm away from his chest so Magnus could slide an arm over his hip bone and anchor his hand on his abdomen. This was something they had done once before—bearing their heart to anyone was hard for both of them, but this way made it a little easier.

Magnus took a slow breath, gathering his thoughts appropriately. “You’re a possibility, Alexander. A beautiful, liberating possibility that I’ve never had the fortune to come across in all my life.”

Ever melancholy, Alec replied, “How can you feel that way when I’m basically shoving you back in the closet with me, and asking you to sneak around and be ashamed of something that should be so simple. It makes me feel like a child to ask you to…stoop this low.”

“It was my choice, Alec. I chose to put myself in the position I’m in. And for the record,” Magnus added, pressing his lips to the back of Alec’s ear, “I’m glad that I did.”

Alec pressed back perceptibly closer to him, ducking his head to press into the crook of Magnus’ neck in a self-soothing gesture. “You’re not just saying that so that I feel less guilty, right? Because it doesn’t work if you don’t mean it.”

Many times throughout Magnus’ life he had been in the position of feeling at the disadvantage with the people he loved. He worried himself sick over whether he was being too clingy, too transparent, too vulnerable, and then he overcorrected and worried about being too aloof, too distant, and too unavailable. The cyclical questioning and self-doubt had ruined a lot of encounters before they even had the chance to become something concrete. Even now, there was a seed of doubt about what he was doing with Alec—maybe he was giving him too much credit, and maybe putting his own heart on the line was naïve.

“I don’t have the luxury of knowing what will come of this, Alexander,” he said carefully, “but I am certain that never giving it the chance would be something I would always regret. Will I always be content to be the soul of discretion in regards to you and what we may feel? Likely not. But you didn’t ask me for forever, and I’m not asking you either. I think both of us just needed the chance to be worth the risk of seeing it through to whatever end it might reach.”

Warm calloused fingers made their way down Magnus’ arm to lace between his own and squeeze gently. “I can live with that.”

Magnus chuckled and pressed a kiss to Alec’s hair. “I hope you can do more than that.”

“Mmm.” Alec yawned and rolled slightly, taking Magnus with him. “For now, though, I’m just going to sleep with it.”

“‘It’ being me?”

“By the angel,” Alec groaned, exasperated yet fighting a smile. “You talk too much sometimes.” Before Magnus could reply, he had captured his lips in a languorous kiss. Each one they shared felt like a discovery that Alec relished, unrehearsed and uncertain but wholehearted in the best way. The anticipation and enthusiasm of each new moment they shared was somehow so much better than any shared with Magnus’ most experienced ex-lovers.

Magnus pulled away just enough that their lips parted but their noses still touched. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

“This is even better than my white noise machine. Having you here is…peaceful.”

“Aren’t you a romantic,” Magnus said dryly. But when Alec pulled him close again, he was helpless to resist.

>> PROMPT LIST

#malec #malec fic #sharona1x2 #cuubism #thatnerdemryn #shfanficnexus #sugarandspace #bytheangell #ask #anon #mywriting #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #otp: we always seem to find our way back to each other

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

A Small Price to Pay

doing this thing | day 1 - makeshift gag

"I cannot and will not." Jaskier puts his foot down - literally and metaphorically - and crosses his arms in Geralt's direction. Geralt just rolls his eyes and sighs at him.

"Then how do you propose we get past half the Nilfgaardian army?"

He's being ridiculous, of course; a few dozen men hardly constitute half their army, but he does have a point - Jaskier is disappointingly low on ideas. But the idea of being bound and gagged is just... well, it's not detestable but he'd prefer it under very, very different circumstances.

"We'll just go back. Or wait for them to move on." Geralt glances over to where three men are setting up a tent and quirks an eyebrow at Jaskier. "Oh, I don't know! There has to be something else we can do? Surely we can go around, through-"

"We've been delayed enough already. If we don't make it to Vengerberg in the next three days Yen and Ciri will leave without us."

Jaskier frowns. He does so enjoy travelling with Ciri, but the entire trip to Kaer Morhen without Yen sounds like a dream come true if he's honest. He wants to say as much, but he suspects it won't be taken well. Instead, he just continues to frown at the grass beneath his feet.

Truthfully, Geralt has a very good reason for not wanting to upset Yen - or to confront the army, to be fair - but has failed to take into account that Jaskier also has a very good reason for not wanting to be tied up. Nor does he seem to care as he rifles through his pack and produces a length of rope short enough to bind Jaskier's hands behind his back.

"But why does it have to be me? They're looking for you! I could just say I'm bringing you to them!" He takes a step back as Geralt moves into his space and the look he gets is incredulous.

"And risk both of us getting killed because I can't use my swords? I don't think so." Geralt reaches out to him and Jaskier takes another step back, promptly hitting the trunk of a badly placed tree.

Realizing he's trapped and Geralt is smiling about it, Jaskier sighs and relents. He turns around reluctantly and Geralt takes his hands, placing one wrist over the other. Under other circumstances, he would revel in this much contact, but right now he just feels defeated and apprehensive.

It takes all his concentration not to think while Geralt binds his hands. It's bad enough that Geralt is practically holding his hand, rough, calloused fingers curled around his own to steady him, but the rope. He doesn't know where it came from, but it's surprisingly smooth against his skin without even the reliably scratchy bits to distract him from the feeling of, well, being entirely at Geralt's mercy. And that- that is something he really can't focus on right now.

"Is it too tight?" Geralt asks and Jaskier doesn't trust himself to speak so he just shakes his head. "Your heart is beating too quickly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he mutters, staring too hard at his boots. "Nervous," he adds as an afterthought; Geralt won't shut up about it until he gets an answer that satisfies him and sometimes it's better just to lie.

"Do you trust me?"

Fuck, what kind of question is that? Trust is not at all the problem here. "Of course," Jaskier whispers and his voice comes out light and wispy, not at all what he was hoping for. But Geralt seems unfazed.

He finishes his task and returns to their packs. When he returns, he's got a scrap of fabric in his hand and if Jaskier's heart was beating quickly before, it's outright pounding now. Because Jaskier would recognize that fabric anywhere. He's the one who washes and mends their clothes and that right there is a piece of Geralt's unsalvagable shirt and it's not going anywhere near his face - not in a million years.

He opens his mouth to tell Geralt as much, but he just splutters indignantly as Geralt slips the material between his lips. With his hands bound behind him, Jaskier is helpless to resist.

"Surely, you've had worse," Geralt mutters and Jaskier doesn't know if he's referring to traumatizing experiences, embarrassment, or bondage but the answer is no almost straight across the board.

Because this smells like Geralt. And Jaskier doesn't know what he tastes like, but this is probably as close as he'll get, tasting the soap he uses to wash it and something he can't place but feels remarkably like Geralt. A sharp stab of want breaks through his composure and for a horrifying moment, Jaskier wishes the gag was covered in dirt or blood or monster innards.

"Ready?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just groans. He most certainly is not ready and if he thought pushing down his arousal was hard with his hands bound, it's ten times worse with Geralt's scent flooding his senses.

Geralt steps away to collect Roach and Jaskier takes a moment to try to breathe and compose. It works for the briefest of moments before Geralt appears out of nowhere, wrapping a firm hand around his bicep and hauling him forward. Heat spreads through Jaskier's entire body and he stumbles to catch up.

Either he's going to blow it for them because the guard will take one look at him and realize he is in no way a prisoner against his will, or they'll make it through and he'll be horrifically embarrassed for the rest of his life. It's not that he's ashamed of his sexual preferences, he'd just rather not share them quite so blatantly with Geralt.

As expected, a soldier stops them just as soon as they step out of the trees. Geralt's hand tightens a little around his arm and Jaskier tries to keep as close as he can to him without seeming suspicious. Geralt speaks before the Nilfgaardian even has a chance.

"I need to speak to your commander," he growls, low and commanding, "this man claims to have knowledge of princess Cirilla's whereabouts."

He isn't even questioned, the guard just mutters something and Geralt grunts a response and hauls Jaskier forward a little more roughly than necessary. Jaskier's cock twitches and he pretends not to notice as Geralt makes a self-satisfied noise at him. So he was right then. There'll be no living with him after this.

They make it to the opposite side of the Nilfgaardian camp, a safe distance away and Geralt finally released him, but it's too late for that now. Jaskier's cock has taken a distinct interest, what with the growling and manhandling and bondage that fucking smells like Geralt and is now pressed firmly against the front of his trousers, unmistakable in his current position.

Jaskier angles himself away from Geralt, and Geralt naturally reads him wrong and slips up behind him to untie the gag. Which is little relief at this point and then, as Geralt presses up against his back, actually so much worse than just keeping it on. Because Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off his body, can imagine what it would feel like if Geralt just took one more step forward and slotted their bodies together. Jaskier bites back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else, but then Geralt's hands are on him.

And who touches someone this much just to untie a gag? Someone who seeks Jaskier's imminent death via spontaneous combustion - or, apparently, Geralt. His fingers slip up the back of his neck, press lightly against his head. And if it's not bad enough that he spends an eternity untying the damn thing, he pushes his fingers through Jaskier's hair after before finally stepping away.

Which, Jaskier quickly discovers, is only because they've been followed. He drops to his knees to further hide his... situation and peers over his shoulder as Geralt strides toward the soldier, apparently unconcerned.

"What are you doing here?" the Nilfgaardian asks. Geralt cocks his head to one side.

"Nothing. And you're going to go back to your camp and forget you ever saw us here. In fact, you're going to tell your commanding officer the surrounding area is clear, no reason to send out scouts."

Jaskier just sits and gawks, horrified and betrayed, as the man nods and echoes Geralt's words back to him before turning away.

"Are you-" he splutters when the soldier is a safe distance away, "are you telling me you could have just done that the whole time!?" The faintest smile tugs at the corner of Geralt's lips and Jaskier could kill him. Might, even, if he wasn't still bound.

Geralt casts a final look to make sure the soldier is gone and crosses over to him. Jaskier shifts, but his mobility is limited without his arms to balance and Geralt crouches down in front of him, clearly pleased with himself.

"Maybe," he shrugs, reaching up to tip Jaskier's chin up. Jaskier's heart is in his throat and he can't fucking believe this is happening to him. Either Geralt has some very surprising feelings about humiliation or he's a grade-A dick. "But then I wouldn't get to see you like this." His voice goes very soft at the end and Jaskier shuts his eyes, biting down on a groan.

Either Geralt is a very cruel man or somewhere along the way Jaskier passed out from the lack of blood to his brain and he's dreaming. But Geralt's fingers feel solid and real where they slide against his jaw and he's close enough now that Jaskier can feel his breath on his face and oh-

Geralt's hand settles on his thigh and Jakier's eyes flash open, searching Geralt's for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing. If he doesn't do something soon, Jaskier's going to do something incredibly stupid that he'll probably regret. He sits back on his heels, pulling out of Geralt's touch and looks up at him.

"You knew?" he asks.

"No. I was joking when I said I could tie you up and take you through the camp, but the way you reacted-" he hums and Jaskier's resistance fails him.

Geralt shifts toward him, dropping to one knee as he reaches out, running his fingers down Jaskier's chest. And Jaskier is weak to resist him. He presses up into the touch, only barely conscious of how needy he must look and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I wanted to see how far you'd let me go," he breathes, "I didn't think you'd actually let me do it."

"You're an arse," Jaskier huffs and Geralt grins at him.

Jaskier doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. This is a side of Geralt he's never seen before and he's not sure how far he'd actually take it. Geralt moves closer, kneeling between Jaskier's thighs and it's all Jaskier can do not to lose control right there. Geralt's breath dusts over his jaw and Jaskier lets a soft moan slip out as he shuts his eyes.

"You didn't think I'd just leave you like this, did you?"

Everything in Jaskier's head comes to a screeching halt and before he can even consider whether or not that means what it sounds like it means, Geralt's hands are on his trousers, working them open and slipping inside. Steady fingers curl slowly around him and Jaskier loses control of his body in an instant. A sharp whine slips, unbidden, from his throat and his hips snap forward against Geralt's hand.

Fuck, he doesn't even remember the last time he was this turned on.

"What was it," Geralt asks, sliding his hand maddeningly slowly against Jaskier's cock, "that got you so worked up - the rope or the gag?"

"Both," he whimpers, "and the uh- manhandling."

"Hmm. I was just trying to make it seem realistic."

"Mission- ah!accomplished."

Geralt shifts to sit on the grass and with one quick motion gets both arms around Jaskier's waist and tugs him into his lap. Jaskier shuffles forward, encouraged by the way Geralt's hands slip to his ass, squeezing almost playfully. Jaskier tips his head up and Geralt catches his mouth in a rough kiss, nearly dislodging him in his enthusiasm.

Jaskier's head swims. He's never known Geralt to be so forward with anyone, much less with him, and the thought of it makes him impossibly harder. He aches for Geralt's touch again, rolls his hips forward encouragingly but Geralt's hands remain firmly in place, pulling him in closer. Here, Jaskier is pressed right against him, can feel the firm lines of his chest and the surprising press of Geralt's cock, thick and hard where it fits up against his own.

"And what about you?" Jaskier tries, feeling much more suave than he sounds, "what's got you so hot and bothered."

One of Geralt's hands slips up his back, right up his neck and into his hair, pulling his face right up against his own. Their noses bump together and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath against hi, and then they're falling, dropping back into the grass beneath them.

"Just you," he breathes and Jaskier feels like he could combust. Geralt keeps a hand on him, rocking up against him and gods, he feels incredible. Geralt mumbles something against his lips that Jaskier doesn't quite catch and then Geralt is reaching between them, tugging his trousers open and pushing them down.

Jaskier rises up as his cock slips free and he finds himself staring, unable to look away. His lip is trapped between his teeth and Geralt reaches up, gently freeing it and running his thumb along the sensitive flesh. Geralt tugs him forward, grinding up against him and Jaskier drops his head against his shoulder, hips shifting quickly.

"Should I untie you?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically, pressing his forehead into Geralt's skin.

"Please," he groans, "I want to touch you."

Geralt doesn't move, but reaches around, fumbling with the rope as Jaskier kisses him again. As soon as he's free, he gets one hand on Geralt's face, sliding the other up through his hair, groaning as Geralt rolls him onto his back.

He should probably be more concerned about the Nilfgaardian camp only a few hundred meters away, but all he can think about is Geralt's cock against his own, his hands, his mouth.

Jaskier comes with his legs wrapped around Geralt's hips, completely entangled and the sky darkens above them. He doesn't move for a long time afterward and Geralt kisses his neck, slides a hand up under his shirt to brush his fingers over Jaskier's skin.

When he finally settles, he rolls onto his back, tugging Jaskier up against his side.

"Yen's gonna be pissed," he mumbles, tipping his head to press a kiss to Jaskier's temple.

"A small price to pay."

#geraskier #october prompts 2k20 #rex writes #the witcher

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: viii

(M (for now!)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||   chapter 3   ||  chapter 4   ||   chapter 5   ||  chapter 6   ||  chapter 7  ||  chapter 9  ||

masterlist

word count: ~4.7k

realities, huh. 

warnings: descriptions of blood and bodily injury, post-traumatic symptoms, panic/anxiety attacks 

----

oof. wow. here it is, part one of the BIG boy chapter. please mind the warnings on this one!! trauma and post-traumatic symptoms are a big theme in this chapter and the next. 

as an author, these have been some of the harder, more vulnerable chapters to create and i hope that the writing shows this  :’’’^) all that said, enjoy :’^) 

|||||||||||||||

Keigo was fucked up.

Or he had fucked up.

It was hard to tell the specifics of his predicament, considering how hard he’d hit his head.

 ‘Hawks’ was known for his speed, his skill, and his ability to finish fights off before they even had a chance to truly start. He prided himself on his prowess, the product of his own diligence and meticulous training. Normally, Keigo kept to these high standards without fail and with faltering. 

On the rare occasion he did get injured, it was usually simple scrapes or bruises.

Except, sometimes time, his shortcomings created much more than scratches. 

 His left arm was twisted the wrong way, wrenched from its socket. His skull ached, hair sticking to the back of his neck and cold.

Keigo blinked slowly, vision tilting and blurry against the asphalt he’d crashed onto. He’d sent his feathers to finish off what was left of the fight, knowing that he was, bodily, down for the count.

It hadn’t started as a large fight, notably. It shouldn’t have gotten so bad. The first alert he’d received just made it seem like petty burglary. Quickly after arriving on the scene, it escalated into an entire firefight spanning several blocks. 

He’d been one of the first heroes there, naturally. It wasn’t hard to disarm and pin most of the villains down, but quickly, things got out of hand. Figures forming from the afternoon’s shadows, quickly turning the simple de-escalation into an all-out brawl. 

Keigo pushed himself from the filthy ground, coughing up spittle and blood on the blacktop below. It wasn’t from an internal injury, he knew, just a bitten tongue and cheek that made the drippings of his mouth pink and cloudy. 

He sat up, forcing himself to his feet as more heroes arrived, finishing the job out of sheer numbers. Mentally, he cursed his mistakes and his stupor. The media circus and bureaucratic bullshit he was undoubtedly going to have to deal with made him audibly groan. Keigo could handle pain without question, but his least favorite parts of his job were the nuts and bolts of it all.

 Maybe it was the head trauma or the fact he’d just gotten sloppy lately, but Keigo didn’t even notice the oddly large amount of shattered glass at the scene or the shadows that loomed and weaved without rest nearby, though they never moved to the offensive. 

...

You sat on your couch, boot propped up (as usual), and a pillow hugged in your arms. 

Typically, you weren’t one to watch the news, but the moment you’d seen the alert from your phone about ‘large scale villain attack- Hawks and Miruko on the scene!, you’d rushed to turn on any channel that had coverage.

Which, creating a sense of dread in your gut, was most of them.

You watched the varying camera angles of the fight, squeezing the pillow tightly in your arms like the pressure would comfort you.

 The fear and terror was such a contrast to the absolute bliss of the first couple of weeks of you and Keigo’s relationship.

During that time, your text-based communication hardly changed, still ambiently throughout the day and including the exchange of many memes and well-placed photographs and selfies. 

The messages had changed, somewhat, truth be told. There was a sweetness to it, soft, warm, and new. The bantering never stopped, but woven within each of your words were small, tender lines that were new to you both.

Wonderfully new.

You found that Keigo was particularly affectionate over text, but it was nothing compared to him in-person.

You hadn’t really expected him to be clingy. Not based on the way he texted and talked previously and how he was generally portrayed by the public.

But god, was he.

He came over several other nights, always bearing food, drinks, and a bright smile. He wouldn’t even think of settling for the evening in the comfort of your couch (or bed) until you’d been showered in kisses and teasing touches, always seeming hungry, maybe even starved. 

He was careful, however, to never go too far or touch too much. 

When you two would finally settle on the couch, usually finding yourself strewn over each other in some way, Keigo would continue heaping on affection in any way he could, subtle or otherwise. You returned the gestures, giving your own too.

You craved the heat of his body in the same way he hungered for yours. 

You found that, as the nights would wear on, he tended to slip his rough hands under any top you might be wearing, settling his grip on your sides or back. He’d either press and massage, or just ambiently draw shapes. At first, you thought it was some sort of sexual preamble, expecting his touch to drift higher and hungrier.

 It took you a night or two of it to realize it wasn’t like that at all— 

Keigo just craved contact.

It all made sense, though your revelation surprised you a bi at first. 

One night, with his head in your lap, you had simply hummed out, “I never thought you’d be touch-starved.”

Keigo hummed as you ran your nails around the shell of his ear, “Mind elaborating on that one?”

“You’re always touching me when we’re together,” You replied simply, heart squeezing at the little twinges of anxiety you could see forming around Keigo’s eyes. “Not that it's a bad thing— I really love all of it, it’s just sweet. I didn’t think you’d be so affectionate and touchy. I would dare to say, it's cute.”

That comment turned Keigo’s cheeks bright red, though you hardly got much of a chance to tease him about it before he was on you with another wave of soft kisses and squeezes.

Maybe, you were a little touch-starved yourself.

And definitely, surely, falling into each other simply and sweetly felt like heaven. 

 ...

 But all of that syrupy goodness was gone, the flavor of it stale and rotten.

All you could focus on was your TV screen as Hawks was being pulled from an alleyway. The camera angle was poor, the quality shaky, but the picture was clear as day to you.

Keigo was walking, barely, most of his weight bared into Miruko’s side. He looked half-dead when he first emerged, limbs twisted painfully and face downcast.

He brightened up a moment later. You weren’t even sure that anyone would’ve caught the change in his expression if they didn’t know him as intimately as you did.

 Your chest tightened painfully when he gave his most dashing smile, pearly white teeth stained with blood that was rushing from a wide cut on his forehead. The juxtaposition of him being purely fucked up mixed with the shining expressions he was flashing at the media made your stomach churn with dread.

He’s hurt.

And it seems bad.

You chewed your bottom lip until it ached. 

The newscast kept playing, showing the wreckage of the scene, all of the hurt civilians— it was a few cities over, but you swore you could hear the sirens just outside of your window.

You dug around for your phone, typing out a message to Keigo, fingers shaking as you did.

 [you]: hey i saw about the attack? how are you doing?

 Texting him was the bare minimum, wasn’t it? If you could, you’d call. But based on the way he was reported to have been taken to a nearby hospital, he wouldn’t be answering his phone any time soon. 

It didn’t feel like enough, but what more could you do?

You felt uncomfortably powerless.

A very lucid, perhaps cruel part of your mind rang out amid your quiet panic:

Get used to it.

 You fell back into the cushions, unable to turn off the screen, though unable to do anything other than watch and churn. 

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Keigo didn’t have a great recollection of the day's events after sustaining his fairly significant head injury, not to mention the shattering of the bones in his right arm and a few in his left leg. Not to mention his sorely dislocated shoulder. 

Pain blotted things out memory, he knew.

Hospital trips were few and far between for Keigo, but in the unfortunate circumstance he was stuck and strung up with wires and IV tubes, he was more than well taken care of. 

He was aware, somewhat, of the Commission’s hold on the scruff of his neck, though complacent in it. His good attitude and impeccable, nearly-perfect performance earned him the best medical care they could provide. 

Some sweet girl, a student from the west, was brought in to heal his wounds. Healing quirks of any significance were rare, so it was always interesting to see how they worked and manifested.

The girl’s quirk came at the price of any energy his body had, but he was completely patched up in a number of minutes. Fatigue be damned, he was happy to be quickly and easily put back together. He made sure to put on his best camera-ready smile as the girl traced symbols on the backs of his hands, fingers shaking and shyly smiling.

She was probably starstruck, all things considered. Meanwhile, Keigo was exhausted and out of it.

All through it, all of it, the actual fight and subsequent medical nightmare, he had slipped into a far different mindset than the one he’d been occupying for the last couple of weeks. 

Consequently, he hadn’t thought of you at all. 

You didn’t even cross his mind. 

Keigo could’ve blamed it on hitting his head, but that wouldn’t be entirely fair or truthful. 

All the same, the absence would burn later. 

...

Keigo flashed a dopey smile to the door of his hospital room when he spotted a familiar puff of bright yellow hair. 

Despite his stupor, familiarity still resonated. Besides, his PA stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the greyscale scrubs and antiseptic. 

“Akane! I knew you’d never be far in my time of need,” Keigo relaxed against the hospital bed he was still resigned to. He was to be discharged as soon as possible for the bevy of press reports he would had to complete. Not to mention the mountains of paperwork he’d probably have to file and sign. 

Akane kept a stern but humored expression as she shooed a nurse out of Keigo’s room. She was shorter than most, face cut with sharp angles and high ridges. They were dressed immaculately as always, a well-tailored black suit with crisp-looking dress shoes. All professionalism, trained and honed by the Commission in a similar way to Keigo, though it was implicitly recognized. 

“You’ve got a press conference in thirty with Miruko,” Akane didn’t answer his greeting, though Keigo could tell by their quick nod that it was at least acknowledged. They rolled a small suitcase next to the bed. “Extra hero costume in there. I called your normal hair and makeup, they’ll be in a few minutes after I leave. It’s been a while since you’ve been this injured in a fight, so put on a good show for everyone, won’t you?”

Akane’s sarcasm always brought a smile to his face, contrasting so starkly with their well-pressed hems and seams. 

Keigo quickly sat up, dropping his feet to the cold linoleum below, “Always a show.”

He quickly began to re-robe into his new garments, tired mind returning to its trained roots. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 You had been watching the newscast for hours, probably (definitely) against your best interest.

You’d have plenty of time to kick yourself for it later.

You couldn’t stop watching the repetitive footage and bland media, despite the report that ‘Hawks’ was safe, well and receiving treatment. 

Until you saw him, you couldn’t rest—- Or that’s what it felt like, anyway.

The image of him bloodied felt painfully etched into the forefront of your mind. The contours and highlights of Keigo’s wounds were uncomfortably bright and hot, nestled next to swirling images of your own. Uncomfortably vivid sensations and colors of your own stitched-up wounds that once wept blood themselves.

If you steeped in it all too deeply or for too long, your breathing would quicken, memories unbridled in the way they sucked down.

Sweat dripping down your brow, you willed your breath even and slowly despite how you definitely were having trouble handling what you were experiencing. 

As the evening wore into night, you remained wired.

You convinced yourself, despite the thorns that ran deep, you would be able to rest once you saw Keigo well. 

Eventually, there was an announcement for a late press conference, a conclusion to the media frenzy.

You knew you’d stay up for it, no matter how long it took to air. You knew he was fine, it had been confirmed over and over throughout the coverage, but it wasn’t enough.

You just need to see him.

Then you’ll be fine.  

Keigo is fine.

No amount of reassurance comforted you. You were sinking too deeply in your throes, ungrounded and crackling within your own fragile mind. 

The memories of blood and gore and hot, white fear rolled over you, suffocatingly close to how you’d felt less than a month prior. 

On the cold cement floor of the tea shop, you had Keigo’s feather, the knowingness that he would be there.

Yet, now?

You were alone in your dim apartment. 

No Keigo.

No villains.

Just you and your skull. 

 You had to pull yourself back when you felt your quirk begin to activate with your adrenaline, thankful for the low stimulation of your apartment, and the pillow in your arms being exchanged for the plushie Keigo had gifted you. You forced yourself to ground, counting your breaths, and holding yourself together. 

(Maybe the trauma of your own run-in was deeper than you wanted to acknowledge.)

You pushed the thought aside as the live footage of the press conference began. It was better to compartmentalize it all, wasn’t it? Why not shove it back where it was easier to not deal with? You’d get a therapist or something.

If Keigo is okay, you’ll be okay. 

The press conference decor was coated with the diamond insignia of the Public Safety Hero Commission, along with a few sponsors and nearby police departments. Local heroes and police officers sat around microphones with plastic waterbottles, ringing around the focal points of the events:

Keigo and Miruko. 

Seeing him, perfectly in uniform and switched-on didn’t make you feel better.

If anything, it made you feel worse. 

Before everything, when he was just your regular you pined after, you saw and heard of him doing heroic duties all the time.

But, it was different when Keigo was your partner, yet living an entirely different reality from yours. In the safety of your apartment, and formerly the teashop, that line of difference was somewhat blurred, or, it at least appeared to be.

But while Keigo was shiny and dazzling, charismatic and blunt as ever on the stage of the conference, the contrast turned polar. 

As there was a jeer of laughter, Keigo grinning as Miruko clapped a hand on his back, your stomach rolled. 

Seeing him fine and good-as-new wasn’t soothing.

It was like pouring moonshine on a brush fire. 

Every moment of the conference highlighted the separation between the two of you, the feeling of fear and now loss so strongly in your mind, it started to taste like the tannin of a rotten wine . 

The concoction was made even viler as the memories of injuries didn’t fade or falter.

Your chest ached.

 The press conference droned on in front of you, but none of the content of it registered. It was all sickly background noise to your own pains

You pressed the plushie against your stomach, ignoring the phantom stabs of rancid-yellow that traced up your leg from your booted foot. 

...

“From what we can surmise, there’s activity of several different villain groups in this area that are connected. This incident is related.”

...

You were getting to yourself, you had been all evening. The problem was you couldn’t climb out— 

Not if you weren’t honest and self-aware.

Too bad you were actively spiraling away from anything even close to the latter and former. 

...

“There is much we don’t know at this time, but it is clear there must be further investigation into the roots of the attack.”

...

You recognized, even then, that Keigo was going to be in harm's way because of his job, constantly. He was always in danger.

It just felt different, having to see it play out in front of you, isolated from him in all ways except the glimmer he showed the cameras and the gore he bore prior. 

The absences burned. 

 Your gaze moved to your phone, the device still dormant. 

With a thick, sticky swallow, you resigned yourself to sitting back into the cushions of your couch, spiraling and numbing as you had been hours. 

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Following the press conference, Keigo had one priority— 

Sleep.

Despite Akane’s nagging that they ‘really needed to talk to him’, Keigo was exhausted after being healed and wanted nothing more than to go home and rest for as long as he could make himself lay still. 

Maybe, he could’ve handled a patrol (if he had had anything significant of his wings left), but he could not stand the idea of dealing with bureaucratic bullshit in his wrung-out state. 

At this admission, Akane sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Fine, but you need to come to the office as soon as possible,” Akane seemed exasperated after such a long evening (now night), of dealing with the attack. “Seriously, or your publicist is going to kick both of our asses.”

Keigo didn’t ponder too far into the topic of whatever Akane needed him for. Far too mentally wiped-out to bother with what was undoubtedly bureaucratic bullshit. 

He rolled his eyes, sending a feather forward to trigger the automatic doors ahead, “I’ll be sure to come in— It’s not like I don’t have a backlog of paperwork to finish.”

“That too,” Akane sighed, pausing outside of the doors, just dimly lit under the lip of the entrance of the building. “Feel better, quick. And please, stay safe.”

Keigo raised an eyebrow, “You know I always am. I’ll see you around tomorrow, bright and early.”

Keigo flew away so quickly, he didn't notice Akane’s pinched expression and set jaw and she waved goodbye. 

 ...

Nearly featherless and on the edge of total exhaustion, Keigo dragged himself back to his penthouse. His mind and body ached, his thoughts messy and disorganized. 

It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar state, though he didn’t get to it often. 

He had ample training to not get like this. The fuzziness he was clouded by should’ve been tossed aside easily; he blamed his own overcast on the healing he received.

(And, not that he, perhaps, had more on his mind as of late) 

More on his mind meant more to forget. 

It wasn’t until he toweled off from a quick shower that he even looked at his phone. 

It wasn’t until he saw your single text that you even came to his mind.

Keigo called you nearly instantly, jaw going tight.

It made sense that he’d forget, he rationalized. 

The portion of his psyche that was trained to be a hero was the same part that struggled the most with his feelings for you. All of the affection, validation, and deep admiration (and perhaps more) was slowly but surely allowing long-dormant parts of him to awaken— 

Yet, all of the new roots and growth aside, he’d forgotten about you in the chaos of the day. 

Maybe a passing, subconscious twinge in his gut, but otherwise? Nothing. 

A bit of guilt chewed him as the line began to ring. 

 You laid across your couch, curled up with the plushie in your arms. The news reports played like white noise, your mind long having gone to gum and static. You alternated between different horrors of memory and sensation. 

The buzzing and shrill sound of your ringtone made your jump, pulling you from your stupor.

 [birdboy <3] calling...

 You immediately picked up the call.

“Keigo?” You asked, trying to ignore the continual light shaking of your hands. 

“Hey, dove,” His voice was cool and calm. “Sorry, I just saw your message now. I figure you saw all the news, but I’m all good, no worries! How are you?”

Oh.

Was it that easy?

The gears in your skull turned far slower than you wanted them to.

He’s fine, (Y/N).

He’s so unbothered. 

Everything is fine.

You tried to comfort yourself, taking a few methodical breaths.

“Dove? Are you there?”

Get your shit together.

“Yeah, I am.” You shook your head. “I was worried, that’s all. My bad. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“The news really plays things up, huh?” Keigo laughed with a sigh, scratchy from the speaker. “Sorry about the media circus. They like the drama.”

“Uh-huh.” You replied, feeling yourself begin to spin all over again.

Drama.

Dramatics.

...

Calm down.

It wasn’t that simple.

“Hey, dove, are you alright?” Keigo spoke casually from the line. Maybe there was some concern in his tone (or you just wanted there to be). You couldn’t fully tell.

You sank back into the couch, bending your good leg into your chest, “I was just worried, is all. I freaked myself out.”

“I’m sorry about that, angel,” Keigo clicked from the phone. “I don’t get banged up too often. Besides, they always stitch me back together quickly! It’s just like this sometimes.”

“‘It’s just like this sometimes’,” You repeat mechanically, processing so slowly it was painful. Your voice sounded far off— 

You felt like you were drowning.

Why couldn’t you handle seeing him hurt?

It’s part of his job. 

Why does this all feel so bad?

 “Can you come over?” You asked, praying that he’d say yes, and maybe, maybe, you could have your fears be assuaged with some contact. Some support— 

“Sorry, dove, the healer they got for me really drained me,” Keigo yawned from the other side of the line. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay. But, tomorrow is just an office day for me, so I can come by after?”

Your heart sank in your chest, faster and harder than you could try to make yield.

“That works,” You replied, despite how rotten you felt. “Take care, okay? Get some rest.”

You hung up abruptly, not waiting for his reply, and lowering your head.

Tears drip from your eyes, soaking the plushie in your arms as you finally let out the sobs you had been holding back for hours.

 ...

 Despite Keigo’s exhaustion, he knew that the entire phone call was so off. You’d never hung up that quickly before, and you sounded a bit off.

None of it sat right. 

He shot off a kind text or two before knocking out for the night, nodding off just after sending them.

 ...

 You hardly slept. 

You felt like you were being eaten alive as the night wore on and the moon remained high.

It was all metastasized, unchecked. Breathing exercises had stopped cutting it at some point, your own thoughts and methodical actions lost in the soup of it all. 

You ‘rationalized’. 

He’s a fucking hero, he’s going to get hurt. It’s part of the job and you need to get over it.

That doesn’t matter! It’s still terrifying to see someone you care about super injured!

You knew all of that though.

None of it was new.

What was new, and harder to understand, was the storm that had buried itself like a barbed arrow between the two halves of your brain.

The rest of it.

The complex miasma of feelings that were only set off by the events and subsequent feelings you tried to rationalize. 

The mental thunder-cracks kept you tossing and turning, any sleep light and flighty. Your eyes burned and dripped through the entire night, soaking your pillowcase. 

By the time morning light began to shift in from the heavy curtains of your bedroom, you might’ve felt worse than you did the night prior.

Your mouth was dry, tongue tacky, and swollen in your mouth. You forced yourself out of bed, methodically showering despite all of the energy it took with your leg still recovering. 

You felt hazy beyond belief, fatigued, and purely awful.

Quickly, you nested for the day, still damp from your shower and sore from your lack of sleep. Tucking into the couch, you covered yourself with blankets and held the plushie to your chest, not even bothering to turn on the TV.

 Keigo, meanwhile, prepped for his office day. Since his wings were sparse, he made an extra effort for his face. Bit of concealer to brighten his dark circles and smooth out the finer lines around his brow and under his eyes.

It seemed pertinent to cover more, wipe away his anxieties as his gaze flickered to his phone on the countertop of his bathroom.

You’d never responded the night before. You hadn’t said anything— not even giving an indication that you’d seen the message.

Truthfully, now that the drum of the press and his de-facto role had died down, your lack of contact filled him with burning anxiety. 

You two had a habit of texting each other in the mornings, little sweet greetings and the occasional messy selfie that the other adored. Keigo typically woke up earlier than you, but still. 

He gave you a call.

 You robotically picked up on the second ring, hardly looking at your phone and its caller as you held it to your ear, “Hello?”

“Hey, angel!” Keigo’s voice seemed too chipper from the other side of the line. “I just wanted to call and check-in. You just sounded a bit off last night, is all. Are you doing okay?”

“Oh,” You sounded hollow, far-off, and sticky. 

There was a pause, your numbed out psyche far-too slow and miswired to say anything else.

“(Y/N)?” Keigo asked. “Are you there?”

Your name shoved you a bit closer to reality. 

 “Yeah, I am.” You blinked, your name making you twitch, “Sorry, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Awww, since last night too?” Keigo’s wings beat in the background of the call. “Is that why you wanted me to come over?”

Sort of, not really.

Your voice shook as you quickly were losing the will to keep it even, “U-um—”

How do you even explain?

Your quirk spun alive, the feeling of shrapnel and rusted nails running jagged lines down your spine.

You need to be honest.

“I j-just,” You sniffled back tears, though fruitlessly. “I just got really scared.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, holding the phone away from your mouth and praying that Keigo couldn’t hear the muffled sobs you forced to stay in your throat.

 “It’s alright, I’m okay!” He tried to assure you, tensing at the doorway to his balcony. “Everything is totally fine, there’s no reason to be scared.”

You went quiet on the other side of the receiver, all sound muffled and mixed. It made Keigo chew his lip, tightening his grip on the phone.

“I know.” Your voice broke at the same moment as Keigo’s chest tightened. You sounded so hurt. 

It pricked those seldom-used parts of his brain alive. 

It was those weird tingles and shooting bits of cortisol that screamed ‘protect them’. They screamed to life at your distress, hot and bright.

“Dove, are you alright? Are you crying?” Panic seeped into his tone as his feathers rippled from soft to razor-sharp in his instinctual rise. 

“I just got so f-fucking scared,” You choked, voice fizzling on the line. “Keigo, I’m sorry, I just— “

Your voice broke into tears, sobs echoing from the phone.

Keigo’s grip tightened, heart-pounding and feathers vibrating.

He acted before thinking too hard about it. 

“(Y/N), I’m gonna come over, okay? I’ll be there soon,” Keigo assured you, and himself, truthfully as he tore open his balcony door and launched into the sky

 You sputtering out an affirmative as wind-whipped into the receiver. 

Burying your face in your hands, you felt dread weigh you down from the inside out. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||

 ko-fi

||||||||||||||||||||

taglist: @thepandapopo @hawksexual @sinclairsamess  @darcia22 @inhalingsoysauce @yee-fxcking-haw @aproperthottie @seasalttrioforever @msgrungie @mia--merc @a-monsters-love @peach-buns-unicorns@amethyst-rose-17 @mega-bastard @an-untamed-rose @ravioliplease @keigosangel @gobestupidelsewhere

(send me an ask if you would like to be added!)

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks #takami keigo #my hero academia #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #lavender latte #takami keigo x y/n #enjoy y'all hehe and SMOOCH

[big1ron]

Shampoo is a luxury item: clone wars shenanigans.

Tup laid across the men’s fresher counter of a space 7/11, or refuelling port. face up with his head in the far sink and a rolled up towel under his neck. his knees bent to fit in the space. He didn’t know if this was going to be a great or terrible idea. That would depend on just how competent Hardcase and Fives were. And Tup realized Hardcase didn’t actually have hair, and Fives’ was pretty short.

“Wait ok so you can’t do this in the sonic why?” Asked Fives again, genuinely curious for the 5th time, inspecting the much too bare-bones instructions on a bottle of shampoo they bought.

“The sonics don’t work with that stuff. You need actual water”

Hardcase was reading the other bottle, conditioner. “Don’t know why you’re making us go through all this trouble anyways. It’s just hair. Doesn’t the sonic wash it good enough?”

“Maybe. But these smell nice and you owe me after abandoning me.”

Hardcase sighs annoyed and slightly guilty. Fives runs the tap and cold water runs right into Tup’s face. Tup tries to sit up quickly but hits his forehead on the tap. Fives pushes his face back down and redirects the slowly warming water away from his face. “Oops. Sorry”

Tup groaned in annoyance and Hardcase sat onto the counter opposite to him, swinging his legs and reading out the instructions on the bottle. “Ok... first rinse the hair, which is what you’re doing now. Then massage in the product and wait 5 minutes before rinsing it out again. That’s what mine says anyways.”

“Shampoo says the exact same thing. So do you use both? Which ones first?” Fives asks semi rhetorically letting water splash back into Tup’s face as he reaches for the other bottle. Tup shields his eyes from the water and sighs annoyed.

“Shampoo first, then conditioner. Use both.”

“Oh. And how much are you supposed to use?” Fives asks, realizing his mistake and redirecting the water from Tup’s face again.

“I don’t know, never used it.”

“Well it’s says 2 in 1 so I assume that means half the bottle?” Hardcase suggests.

Fives turns off the water and pours some of the product onto Tup’s hair, face lighting up at the smell and shine, and again at the foam as he starts to massage it into Tup’s scalp. Hardcase sticks a finger into the foam and tastes it to see if it tastes as nice as it smells.

“Tastes like soap” he says, informing the others of his amazing discovery. That this fancy soap tastes like soap.

Fives chuckles lightly at Hardcase, though surprised at just how much this stuff was expanding. There was more than enough to cover Tup’s entire hair and the bubbles were quickly filling this sink. Hardcase watched with fascination.

“You having fun there?” Fives Asked Tup, who had his eyes closed looking like the very image or relaxation on the countertop of the men’s fresher in a space 7/11, at 23:00 hours local time. Tup hummed in contented confirmation.

“Man I’m kinda jealous” says Hardcase “I almost wish I had hair.”

Fives turns on the tap again to wash out the soap.

A natural born- or civilian togruta male walks in and stops at the entrance. Hardcase waves at him and he just turns around and leaves.

“Huh. Hope that’s not gonna be a problem.” Hardcase thinks aloud.

“What’s gonna be?” Asks Fives as he moves onto the bottle labeled ‘conditioner’, disappointed at how little this product puffs up compared to the other one.

“Someone saw us just now. They looked confused and kinda concerned.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. Not an employee though. As long as they don’t tell anyone we should be good.” Hardcase dips a finger into the different floral smelling lather, and tastes the conditioner as well. Just in case it’s different. “This one also tastes like soap. They smell different but taste the same!”

“They’re both soap Hardcase. Do you eat every kind of soap you come into contact with?”

“No but these aren’t just soap. They’re hair soap. Maybe they taste different. I don’t know. Well now I do, cause I tasted them but I didn’t know that before I tried them.”

Fives shrugs. “You’re right I guess.” He reaches for the faucet again but Tup stops him.

“You have to let this one sit for five minutes remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Fives looks around for a chrono, but he can’t see anything to tell the time. He remembers seeing one by the cash register in the store. “Hardcase can you go outside and tell us when five minutes passes?”

“Give my five credits.”

“What? No! Why? It’s not even that big a task. Look I’ll do it if I have to I just-“

“It’s to buy us slushies, chill. If I’m out there I may as well.”

“Oh.” Fives produces the credits, as he was the one holding the money for the group. “Mix red and blue to make purple for me”

“And purple for me too” Tup adds.

“Sure, sure.” Hardcase waves them off as he grabs the credits and leaves the fresher, back into the store.

Fives takes Hardcase’s spot as soon as he leaves, swinging his legs idly until he decides to pack up the shampoo and conditioner in the backpack of stuff the group had brought with them. He assumed he wouldn’t need them again, all he had to do was rinse out the conditioner. In five minutes. He set the brush they had brought along with some hair ties onto the counter in preparation.

“Was it worth it?” He asks Tup, quickly growing impatient and ready to see the results.

“It felt really nice when you were washing it but now my neck kinda hurts from holding my head here. And it smells nice so, yeah so far I’d say it was worth it.”

“Cool, cool.” Fives had been having fun too, but he wanted to get on with the next step already. Where was Hardcase with those slushies? Surely five minutes had passed.

Some amount of time passed, which felt like an hour before Hardcase came back in with two purple slushies and one that leaned a bit more into magenta. “I think five minutes is up, I lost count.” He set them down on the countertop.

“Finally! What took you so long?” Fives sprung up, wasting no time turning on the water, not yet interested in his slushie.

“I was browsing to see if there was anything I thought looked more interesting. There wasn’t though. At least nothing in my price range” Hardcase took his spot back as soon as fives vacated it. He watched Fives through the mirror, sipping his magenta slushie through a straw.

Fives was delighted that Tup’s hair now felt silky smooth, even nicer to touch than before. He turned off the water and wrung the hair out before removing the towel from under Tup’s head and shoddily wrapping his hair with it.

Tup sat up cross legged on the counter and stretched, yawning. He turned to face the mirror and pulled off the towel. His face lit up as he saw his still wet hair, much shinier than he’d ever seen it. And it was soft to touch too! He ran his hands through it.

“I think it was worth it” he said happily. “It feels so nice!”

“Want me to brush it?” Fives asked, though he wasn’t really offering a favour, more asking one.

“Sure” Tup slid off the counter

“Wait I want to do it! Can I?” Hardcase interjected. Fives scowled at him. But Tup said it was more fair Hardcase got to do it, because Fives dis the entire washing. Fives drank his slushie dejectedly as Hardcase claimed Fives’ own prize.

Tup also insisted on them leaving with a shopping car because it was “just that easy” and riding in it because he “was too pretty to walk now.” Fives had pretended to be annoyed but he didn’t mind it. And it gave him somewhere to set his drink as they started the long walk back to base.

By the time they got back, some other troopers were also just returning from 79s. It’s was the early hours of the morning now, and the group had felt they spent the night well. Fives had regretted having to turn down their offer to go drinking earlier that evening, as Tup had forced him to come do this. But now? He bet he had had just as fun a time. And definitely a more memorable one.

#clone troopers #tcw #star wars #arc trooper fives #fives #clone trooper fives #Hardcase #clone trooper hardcase #tup #clone trooper tup #my wriitng #my writing #omg I love this a lot #it’s so stupid but #I love it #this was fun

[genesisrose74]

Christmas with the Karasuno Boys (HC’s)!!

Part 1: Daichi, Suga, Asahi, Nishinoya, Tanaka, & Ennoshita

Part 2 (Kageyama, Hinata, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Kinoshita, & Narita) here!!

A/n: Tumblr said my word count was too much so I’m splitting this bad boi up into two parts :p Enjoy!!

*****

Daichi

A huge romantic during Christmas, 10/10 quality cliche times spent together

You wanna go ice skating? Hell yeah sweetheart, he will make it the most beautifully romantic thing you’ve ever seen

Like straight out of a holiday postcard type beat

Istg the rink he takes you to looks like a more heartwarming version of Rockefeller Center

He’s a big keeper of tradition when it comes to making plans, but doesn’t mind a bit of nonsense fun when everything falls into place

Which is why you love to bring the team along on adventures because they make everything all the more entertaining

At first he’s confused like ??? You don’t have to do that just if they’ve been pestering you about it

But then he realizes you care as much about them as he does (hint: a hell of a lot) and they’re thus invited along for some stuff

Of course y’all also get some quality time together on dates with just you both

Anyways you and Daichi have talked a lot about traveling and how he was really interested in seeing new places

So as his gift you got him a carved map with a roll of red string and thumbtacks, so that he could plan out all the places he wanted to visit

You know how when Kiyoko found the “Fly” banner for Karasuno and all the boys cried?

Yeah

Like that but with lots more hugging and laughing

“You know you’re gonna have to help with mapping this out, right?”

“Is that an invitation I hear?”

“Oh, that’s a promise”

FJSFJDSK ALEXA PLAY AMERICAN BOY BY ESTELLE—

Please I love him; he is so damn sly and sassy I will die with this headcanon

Sugawara

I swear on everything that Christmas with him is equivalent to a Hallmark movie

It smells like joy and warmth wherever he is, and this season only amplifies it

He is such a cheeseball without even having to try

But it’s in the really endearing and heart-melting way,,, just MMM PERFECT

He’ll take you on a walk through those neighborhoods with those crazy light decorations in the front yard and buy you hot chocolate

If he sees a group of little kids gaping at all the lights, he’ll leave them starry-eyed with stories of magic, reindeer, Santa and so-forth

“You know, I’ve heard that Rudolph’s nose is supposed to be brighter than the world’s most powerful Christmas light”

Good heavens, children absolutely adore this man

Anyways he’ll make it a little game as y’all walk around this beautifully lit neighborhood, both of you with a different assortment of bingo squares printed on paper

First one to bingo chooses a movie to watch after getting back to Suga’s house

Will wrap a big fluffy blanket around you both and pull you into his chest while watching the movie

For his gift, you got a star named after him

It’s because y’all alway go stargazing for dates every month, just to sit out, talk and cuddle

Suga gave you the SOFTEST look after opening your gift and this cute little card you made 🥺

“Lets go try to find my new favorite star”

PLEASE HE IS SO SWEET

“Right now? Koushi it’s 11:30 pm”

“Just for ten minutes, and then I’ll get you home”

So y’all spend the rest of Christmas Eve on his roof, sipping warm tea and attempting to locate Star Suga

Asahi

Cuddle bear alert ‼️‼️

It’s basically hibernation time for him, because he’s not the biggest fan of cold

That’s alright with you though 😌 more coziness for you

Lots of quality moments indoors means more creative dates

A whole day devoted to chill present wrapping? Hell fuckin’ yeah

Nice music, pretty wrapping paper, shiny bows, maybe a little Christmas rom-com playing in the back — the whole shebang

You find out pretty quickly that despite how it sounds, it’s actually quite a satisfying and enjoyable pastime

Practically had to drag him out of your living room to secretly wrap his own gift

As much as he’s the king of timidity and soft™, he can be very playfully stubborn when he’s comfortable, hence why he was such an ass to get out of the room

I have no doubt that Asahi would melt for the most adorable, cheesy shit

So you not only bought him some really reliable headbands for volleyball use, but you also made a little coupon booklet

He can basically cash in paper promises for certain things, like getting to choose the next date idea, picking a movie to watch without any objection, having you make his favorite food, etc.

There’s one that he can exchange for a full out spa day trip, because good heavens he’s a sucker for those

Massage and exfoliation and everything — it makes him feel ✨refreshed✨

He was ecstatic fam, I don’t even know what to say

Like a puppy who just got a bunch of toys and a new backyard to play

Mans cashes in one almost immediately, and at first you’re confused

Like it’s Christmas time bubs, what are we gonna be able to do when most places are closed and it’s the holidays?

Then you read the paper

“Free hug (can be used and renewed <3)”

GIVE HIM HIS DAMN HUGS RIGHT NOW

He uses that one a lot throughout the upcoming days, to the point where he just keeps the paper on him for fun

“You realize you can just ask me silly, you don’t need to keep carrying the coupon around”

“Yeah, but it’s entertaining”

Cute little cheeky bastard

Nishinoya

LOVES LOVES LOVES CHRISTMAS

You know the 12 Days of Christmas? The song??

He gets you a small present EVERY DAY for all 12 days

Not to mention he has a big present that he saves for the actual holiday

Y’all are the type of couple to get ice cream in the middle of winter

Nishi loves his cold snacks any time of year, and you’ve thus picked up a similar taste

He will consistently pester you about what kind of present you got him

Gets pouty when you don’t tell him, but in the back of his mind he’s glad because it would ruin the surprise

Anything you get him instantly becomes his most prized gift tho

It could be a literal rock with googly eyes and he’d put it in a protective glass case for preservation

But of course you get him something better than that because he only deserves the best

He’s got this specific assortment of products to maintain his spiky hair and to make sure it’s healthy, but they’re pretty expensive to buy when he runs out

When he tore open your present’s decorative wrapping to discover a huge basket of basically every hair product he ever needed, he got wide-eyed

There was also a booklet of little notes you’d kept throughout the month that listed all the little things you noticed and adored about your precious boyfriend

He nearly CRIED reading them

“Baby, you didn’t have to do all that for me”

“You act like you don’t deserve all of it and more, Nishi”

Refuses to leave your side after that

Holding your hand, hugging you as tight as he can, etc.

He is head over heels idc idc

Tanaka

Another man who is obsessed with the holiday season and everything that comes with it

He is the biggest sap for this shit istg

Will spend hours trying to get you the best present of all time

And he succeeds exceptionally

Mistletoe? He’s got an ABUNDANCE on hand at any time, just to make sure he can get fair share of his kissies 🥰

His signature beanie appears in full force during winter

Sometimes you’ll pull it over his eyes before giving him a peck on the cheek and dashing off in the school halls

“I’ll see you after school, babe!”

Speech = jumbled + incomprehensible

“Uh hUh, you do that~”

He’s: adorable

I just know that he melts for really sweet and thought-out gifts

Like anything you give him he’ll adore, don’t get me wrong, but the ones done with special care and love are just his kryptonite

He brought you into a massive bear hug and spun you around when he opened a photo book of old pictures taken together, complete with lots of cute messages and anecdotes written alongside them

You and Saeko may have also gone in on another present for him without his knowledge

And on Christmas Eve, you dragged a curious Tanaka into his front yard to the sight of a shiny motorbike

It was Saeko’s old one that she’d held onto for a while, and an old schoolmate offered to fix it up nice in time for the holiday at a discount, so y’all decided to divvy up the lowered price and got it done for Ryu

Sweet boy was taken aback, with his hands clapped over his mouth and everything

Saeko patted him on the back as he stood there in shock, giving her baby brother a sweet smile

“All yours, little bro!”

Ya, Saeko fucking loves you 😌 and so does Tanaka

Overall very lovely, would cry to be loved by the Tanaka siblings

Ennoshita

After spending past Decembers with his fellow second year classmates (namely, the very enthusiastic Noya and Tanaka), he’s grown to know quite a bit about the different holiday events that go on around town

Still, Ennoshita is a pretty simplistic guy and is content with simply spending time with you

So when you recommended going to pick a Christmas tree out for your place together, he’s totally down

As long as he gets to help decorate too ☺️

Y’all end up picking a beauty of a tree ngl

It’s SO TALL

And a super stronk friend — fit for the most heavy duty of ornaments

It takes some damn work to get that bad boi inside and upright after driving back to your house

But like hell did that stop you

Now that it was all set up, sturdy, and given plenty of water, decorations were brought into the equation that same night

No rest until it’s all set up and looking mighty beautiful

Okay maybe some coffee breaks in between, but other than that the grind don’t stop ✋😤

Ennoshita is an expert at making Christmas trees look absolutely immaculate

Idk if it’s because he’s had to deal with cleaning up disorder for a while now?

Looking at you, ya second year loons

He just has the touch, fam

He’ll of course let you have input on which light colors, what type of ornaments, and so on

But honestly it’s really fun seeing him fully concentrated on making your tree the best it can be

He lets you on his shoulders to put on the tree topper 🥺

For his gift, Ennoshita really loves books, so you decided to get him 12 different (hardcover!!) stories — one for each month in a year

Along with a small sticky-note blurb on the covers of each to explain why you chose it, and to give similar title recommendations if he ends up enjoying

He was so surprised with how thoughtful and extensive it was

Loved it so much that he immediately started to read the first one, with you sat in his lap

“Chikara, you realize you’re meant to start this one in January?”

“Shh, I’m getting a head start”

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu anime #haikyuu to the top #haikyuu x reader #daichi sawamura #daichi x reader #daichi sawamura x reader #sugawara koushi #suga x reader #sugawara x reader #asahi azumane #asahi x reader #asahi azumane x reader #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yuu x reader #tanaka ryunosuke #tanaka x reader #Tanaka ryunosuke x reader #ennoshita chikara #ennoshita x reader #ennoshita chikara x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu christmas

[whump-town]

Hand In Unlovable Hand

While out on a case Hotch gets bitten by a rattlesnake, the team races to get him to medical attention before the situation turns fatal for their friend.

Warning: snakes / snake bites

Growing up, Aaron Hotchner’s father often bought his mother’s silence through small gifts. The brightest flowers he could find and spent hours in the Virginia heat planting them just where she liked in the garden. Every summer until it was some morbid tradition of theirs. He’d be woken early one Saturday by his father, his mother in her best summer dress, and they’d shop for these flowers until his mother was perfectly content. Eventually, the florist stopped regarding his oversized sweaters in the middle of June and he was thankful for their blissful chosen ignorance.

The price of these wondrous, well-loved flowers was blood. They were blood money and they paid adequately for her silence. His father never worried what Aaron might say, to whom he might speak up because he was never dumb enough to assume he could buy his son’s silence. But Aaron was always quick to stop fighting so long as Sean and his mother were left alone. So, he didn’t touch them and they remained, what appeared, to be the perfect family.

In the middle of his mother’s blooming garden, had been a pond. Aaron and his father had dragged up giant rocks from the creek. On those large rocks, he could lay for hours reading or writing or just thinking. Burning in the sun was always a better option than being stuck in that house.

Which is how he’d encountered his first snake. It was just a simple rat snake, not too bothered with Aaron. He got used to seeing the rat snakes around his mother’s ponds and in the mulch around her flowers. Comfortable enough that he’d been taken by complete surprise the first time he went to move one and it struck him. He hadn’t made a sound when it clamped down but it’d shaken him pretty good. The adrenaline folded him and he’d ended up puking.

That night he thought he’d die in his sleep so when he woke up the next morning he was surprised. Yeah, as it turns out, rat snacks aren’t venomous and he got much better at catching them and moving them. No more bites but it made an interesting story to tell in college so long as he left out the right details.

So, in other words, Aaron Hotchner’s understanding of snakes is minimal but more experienced than one might think. And that’s exactly why things went so wrong so quickly.

“Oh,” Rossi hisses as he looks down over the bank’s edge. “I’m not going down there.” He hooks his thumb into his belt loop and takes a step back. There’s more than just an air of finality in his conviction, it’s a certainty. No one can say anything that will guilt him down that hill.

Reid looks nervously to Hotch, then to Morgan. Waiting with that flickering uncertainty of his for someone else to speak up for him. Anxiety a striking pit viper in his stomach, slithering its way up his throat every second that passes. His knee aches from the idea alone of having to walk up or down that bank of the river they’re standing by.

“You can direct us from the bank,” Hotch excuses. He nods at Reid and without the words even having left his mouth, Reid knows he’s being allowed the sweet serenity of staying up here. “We don’t all need to go down. You’re free to stay on the bank, Reid.” That and maybe the rushing water below scares him a little. He’s not a strong swimmer and he’s fairly certain if he falls in no one’s swimming in after him.

(One, the water is not that deep but it is quick. Two, surely, someone would come in after him-- not Rossi, certainly not JJ, but maybe Hotch or Emily).

Morgan is entirely unenthused about the prospect of what awaits down that bank. It’s steep. It’s muddy. They have pictures of the scene, why can’t they just use the damn pictures. “Is going down there really worth breaking our necks?” Just because Hotch wants to play cowboy and get back into small-town roots doesn’t mean Morgan feels like slipping in this thick, clay-like mud and dying for the cause.

Prentiss comes up beside him, pinching at his side where his jeans come over his hips. “Aw,” she teases. “Morgan doesn’t want to get his shoes dirty.” She doesn’t hesitate to keep moving, edging down the bank after Hotch who is only a few hesitantly placed steps ahead.

Morgan rolls his eyes, why he lets himself be bullied by the likes of Prentiss he doesn’t know but it’s too late now and there’s no way he’s going to let her get the last say.

JJ may not have grown up in the south but she’s not going to let a silly little bank stop her. That is until she stumbles and she winds up crashing into Hotch. Who, by the way, is like a fucking brick wall. He doesn’t budge an inch and easily rights her back on her feet again like it’s nothing. “You’d be fine to stay on the bank,” he informs her softly.

She knows it’s not to undermine her decision so much as to assure her that she is not bound by anything to be stumbling down here. Morgan and Emily, maybe. Hotch needs dumb and dumber coming in with him but her part of the job doesn’t require it. Not that he really needs to tell her that. He never tells her what to do and she’s always appreciated that.

“I can’t leave you down here with those two,” JJ informs him. She nods her head behind them, to Prentiss and Morgan actively arguing and fumbling down the bank.

Hotch frowns at the two of them and grunts at JJ’s comment. Fair. He offers her his hand and she takes it gratefully. They both make it to the water’s edge without further incident. The same can’t be said for Morgan and Emily. When they get to the bottom, Morgan has mud up the side of his left leg. He slipped and ran it down the side of the bank. Emily’s hands are covered in it.

Emily shakes her head and comes to stand in between JJ and Hotch. She shakes her head when JJ raises an eyebrow in question at the sight of her smacking her hands together to get the mud off. “Morgan pushed me,” she informs her.

Which is a statement guaranteed to start an argument so Hotch moves the conversation on. “Getting down here takes a lot of work,” Hotch mumbles, moving a tree branch from his line of sight as he ventures a step further. “Definitely a local.” No one else is going to even consider this river as an option and no one else would try it. “Physically strong.”

Morgan huffs, “yeah, I’d say. It’d be nothing to break an ankle coming down that bank. You’d have to be confident to come down here at night and while carrying a body.”

Emily frowns, “carried?”

“No drag marks,” Hotch comments, squatting right where the water laps at the grass. He puts a hand down to steady himself, knees protesting this position, but he’s trying to see how murky the water is. Considering why it is that the Unsub had left his victim on the bank to be found when the water would have easily hidden the body for days. Maybe longer.

“Do you think he was hiding her? Going to come back?”

Hotch doesn’t need to look to know it’s Emily standing against his side. He nods, that’s the conclusion he was getting to. “He could have tied her down,” he motions to the water. “It’s a few feet deep there,” he motions to the section of murky water a little further out. The surface nearly still-- his mother’s old warning playing through his head: “still water runs deep”. He’s found it to be true a majority of the time. “If he was looking to dump the body we would have never found her.”

Emily turns from him, biting her lip. She doesn’t want that to bother her. All of it, she doesn’t want Hotch’s words to send a shiver of pain down her back. Her eyes still move up to JJ, her soft blonde strands of hair tucked up into her ponytail. She’s all Emily sees when she looks at this victim and she knows Hotch sees Haley.

The two of them are always a double-edged sword. Keeping up the mirage of being unfazed keeps professionalism but it creates this doubt. And, though she does the same, there’s a spark of curiosity that runs through her. How human can Hotch really be if he can do this job so well? It makes her sick to her stomach to doubt him like that. He’s the other half of her coin. Too different to be the same but too similar to separate.

“Ho--Hotch!?” All four of them look up, eyes searching above them until they find Reid and the single finger he points out far ahead of himself.

“Jesus Ch--”

“Don’t move.” Hotch is standing closest to it but JJ is right beside him. “It’s just a snake,” he sounds far calmer than he is. He knows two things for certain: (1) venomous snakes have a more triangular-shaped head and (2) this snake has a triangular-shaped head. Which doesn’t sound nearly as helpful now that’s he’s considering it.

Morgan has backed himself to the edge of the bank, as far as he can get from the snake (he’s snagged JJ up in his stumble back).

The snake swims towards them, wiggling in a hypnotizing back and forth sway.

“Ho—Hotch? Should—Should you really be doing that?”

Squatting down, Hotch gathers a large stone. One that spreads his fingers out as it rests in his palm and he doesn’t have small hands. “It's either a rattlesnake or a copper mouth,” he says with a certainty Emily finds odd. How would he know? But that doesn’t matter. What he knows for sure is that snakes don’t like being messed with and if he just splashes some water at this thing it’ll fuck off.

Emily is standing right beside him, enraptured enough to stay right where she is. Forcing her hands down at her sides and to not cower behind him. “Is one preferable?” She spent the majority of her childhood in Europe and her time here hasn’t been spent learning the types of snakes that live on this side of the coast. She doesn’t even know what a cottonmouth is (well she knows about getting cotton mouth from smoking but she senses that’s not what he means).

Hotch feels himself getting worked up, too emotional to aim properly. He’s a little scared. “A cottonmouth is more likely to bite,” he informs her. They’re aggressive little shits. “But a rattlesnake is more likely to kill.” He doesn’t see a rattle but he also doesn’t really know what he’s looking for.

“So we want the cottonmouth?” Emily touches his sleeve, needing something to ground her. 

“It's not a cottonmouth, is it?”

Hotch doesn’t comment. Swallowing thickly he tosses the rock, jumping when the snake jerks in the water and speeds up. It turns sharply and stops and though it’s farther away it’s not gone. It’s staring him down and, though, he’s not sure what it’s next move is he doesn’t want it to double back this way. He bends back down for another rock.

“Hotch!”

Oh. So that’s what a rattle looks like. Okay, yeah, so that’s a rattlesnake and whatever that is in the water is not a rattlesnake. Good to know.

He jerks his hand back, the sting of the bite immediate, but he stared down George Foyet and he’s got a sinking feeling that the “don’t show any fear” profile needs to be implemented here too. “Emily,” he can feel her still hovering just over his shoulder. Still well within striking distance of the snake curling around itself only a foot from him. “Emily move slowly to Morgan.”

There was a second snake, of course, there was, right there with them the whole time. Before silent and now raised up and shaking its little rattled tail at them in a warning that’s coming a bit too late given the deep ache in Hotch’s hand.

Why does she have to argue with everything he says? “No,” she says firmly. Her eyes are caught on the rattle raised in the air. Shaking. That thing is pissed and she’s not going to leave Hotch sitting on the ground right in its warpath. “I’m not going to leave you for--for snake bait.” She moves slowly to crouch behind his back. “What can we do? Shoot it?”

The outright anger in his voice is good, that means he’s okay. “Shoot it,” he whispers hotly. “Great idea, Emily. Then I can add getting shot to today’s list of unfortunate accidents. Right alongside getting bitten by a rattlesnake!” His luck would have him clipped by a bullet hitting a rock.

“Don’t get pissy with me--”

“Hey,” Morgan fusses. They all stop, frozen in fear when the snake raises its head. “Would you two get it together?” Shooting the snake is not a good idea. Any sudden movement from Hotch is going to get him bitten, again. Emily is standing just behind him and to have her shoot it is definitely going to deafen Hotch. Not to mention, there’s the all too real threat of hitting a rock and having the bullet come back and hit one of them. So that leaves what? Distracting it?

Morgan shakes his head, “how fast can you get up and get away, Hotch?”

Hotch’s entire hand is throbbing to the point that it feels like his hand pulses, genuinely moves. Though he can see that he can move his fingers, he can’t feel them. His fear is that if he tries to get up and move, he won’t get away fast enough. Passing out is probably not ideal right now and he’s certain that if he stands too quickly he’s going to drop.

Behind him, Emily turns to glance at Morgan and shakes her head. Her hand has worked its way between Hotch’s shoulder blades and she can feel his racing heart and the fact that his entire body is shaking. He’s going to drop like a ton of rocks if he stands up and that’s not ideal, in any sort of way.

Fuck.

“I’m going to run at it,” Morgan says. Emily and JJ both look at him like he’s crazy. However, he can see Hotch’s shoulder making rapid, shaking rises as he breathes. The way he seems to have popped a leak, leaning heavier and heavier to the left. “Emily,” he leans down and gathers a rock in each hand. “Unless you want me to get bitten too, get him up. Do you understand?”

Emily looks at the snake, still curling and seething, and then at Morgan. She nods. She moves, sitting on her haunches, and moves her hands under Hotch’s. “Ready?” she asks. Hotch nods. “Okay.”

“This is an awful idea,” JJ whispers.

Morgan agrees. “On three,” he announces. He’s going to run at it, throw rocks (try not to hit it), and distract it enough that no one else gets bitten. “One, two--” he shouts, and rushes the snake.

Hotch struggles to get up but the snake is not worried about him, its focus has moved to Morgan. Emily pulls him back, they stumble blindly a few feet back, JJ coming in to stop them from going any further.

Morgan scares the snake off. It strikes the air and he tosses a rock near its head. Enough to make it move back rather than closer. It keeps moving backward, the rattle still measuring its displeasure but it’s not coming towards them. “Everyone okay,” Morgan asks, walking backward, eyes never leaving the snake.

“Ugh,” Emily is half-holding Hotch upright. Her half in reply is all she manages to get out before Hotch roughly pushes himself away from her side. He makes it three stumbling steps before he hits the rocks hard and gags bringing up nothing thin watery vomit. To which Emily winces and turns her head. He might have taken three steps but that hardly put any distance between them.

Squatting down beside him, she places a sympathetic hand on his upper back. “I’ve never been so thankful for your awful eating habits,” she comments. He hangs his head groaning and drawing his hurt hand to his chest, cradling it.

He hates her. God, he needs new friends.

“We’re alive,” Emily answers, rubbing Hotch’s back.

Morgan sighs with relief, eyeing the snake still out of the corner of his eye. Now they just need to get up this hill.

Shakily rising back to his feet, Hotch clears his throat. Trying to preserve some part of his dignity he rolls his shoulder, dropping Emily’s hand. Weakly, voice not nearly as strong as he’d like he mumbles, “ ‘m okay.” His body is drooped to the side, pale lips parted as he pulls in quick, shallow breaths makes it a little hard to believe that. “Gotta--” he swallows down against the raspy quality of his voice. Forcing it to work, to sound normal. “We have to get up the hill. There’s a hospital ‘bout… about fifteen minutes away. It’s fine.”

He already looks pale enough to drop dead.

Even Emily knows better than to fight. She just wishes she wasn’t such a coward but still, she steps back and lets Hotch maneuver himself. Morgan steps close behind, falling into line with Hotch’s lurching, stuttered steps. No one touches him, no one says a word. JJ glances at Morgan and Emily, raising an eyebrow in silent question as to why neither will do anything.

Emily could. He’s more likely to accept her touch and she can physically help to a degree, capable of at least helping a little. He won’t like Morgan at all which is why Morgan follows silently right behind him. If Hotch falls, he’ll fall into Morgan who waits without question to be that help. Without comment, if he’s needed.

He slips in the mud, aware of their eyes watching his every move. A hand lands on his back, steadying, strong. Morgan.

Each step throws a wrench in his hammering heart. His pulse is way too fast and he’s gone from feeling each contraction of the tired muscles like a heated thud in his face to not feeling his face at all. The skin numb.

Finally, his foot hits the grass and he heaves himself up the final step. Never so grateful to see the grass so much in his life. It’s solid underneath his feet, doesn’t threaten to propel him to the side with its slick sludge-like malleability. Someone calls his name and he looks up, sees the worry in Reid’s eyes as he steps close. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He’s cold, shivering, and without a warning, not even a grunt to acknowledge the pain that has spread much farther than his hand, he hits the ground.

(there will be a part 2)

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #snake bites #tw snakes

[broadstbroskis]

surprises- pt 8 | mat barzal

oooffff it’s been quite a long journey and thanks for sticking with me through the wait! it’s finally here- the next and last part of surprises! thanks to everyone for reading, thanks for all your lovely feedback and kind words throughout this series, and all the support as i worked through this last part! it’s meant the world to me and i hope you all enjoy this last part!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

When you wake up one morning to absolute silence, you get suspicious. No baby cries, no sounds of Mat breathing next to you, nothing.

But when you investigate, you find Mat sprawled out on the couch, holding Maeve against his chest, and they’re both passed out. She’s grown, definitely grown a lot since you brought her home, but his hand still covers most of her body. You reach for your phone, snapping a picture (to add to the many you’ve taken of the two of them over the past month), only to fumble it when you see the instagram notification on the front screen. 

Mat’s tagged you in a post and you sit down on the floor in front of the two of them as you slide to open it. And then, you gasp, immediately reaching to cover your mouth and hide the sound, as you look through the roll of pictures that Mat posted.

One Month with Maeve: You Like: eating, sleeping, anything your mom does You Dislike: tummy time

When you look up, Mat’s watching you, with a hopeful look on his face. “Hi.” He says quietly.

“Hi.” You return, flipping your phone around to him. “I call bullshit.”

He laughs-gently and quietly, so as not to wake Maeve-and then grins. “Oh yeah? On what?”

“That she likes anything I do.” Maeve’s just...so content anytime she’s in Mat’s arms. Anytime he’s just in her proximity. She’s recently started to recognize his voice, turning her head for it anytime she hears it...sometimes even over FaceTime. “You are definitely the favorite.”

Mat kisses the top of Maeve’s head gently; it’s a favorite thing for both of you right now, you’re pretty sure. “Maybe, but we still like anything you do.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “We?”

“Yeah, both of us.” Mat says, like it’s something he says everyday, totally normal and casual.

Cheeks flushed, you stand up. “I’m going to go make breakfast.”

“We’ll come.” Mat stands, careful not to jostle Maeve too much.

“You don’t have to.” You offer. You know how tired he is all the time now, between Maeve and playoffs. He could use all the rest he can get.

“I want to.” Mat settles himself on one of the chairs by the counter and re-adjusts Maeve. “I feel like I barely get to see you guys right now.”

“Somebody’s gotta pay off that nice, big house.” You chirp, pulling out the eggs to make omelets.

Mat laughs. “Can’t even move into it yet and it’s already costing me money.”

“Don’t think about the price tag until you get paid this summer.”

“Once again. You cannot max out my credit card in the Target Home Section. Even with a bonus this year.”

“I gave you the most perfect human ever and this is how you repay me?’

Mat looks down at Maeve, unable to stop the smile that grows over his face, and in return, you feel one spread across yours as you watch him. “Go crazy.”

-----

Two Months with Maeve: You Like: the new hockey mobile Uncle Tito bought you, when your mom and i talk to you You Dislike: the carseat, more tummy time

When you slip into Maeve’s nursery in the new house (just barely unpacked, but still the most unpacked room in the entire house by far), Mat’s got the same sad look on his face that he’s worn for the last three days, standing in the middle of the room, watching her sleep. You give him a minute, see if he notices your presence, and when he doesn’t acknowledge you, you slide behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, dropping your head between his shoulder blades. “You’re still amazing.”

Mat’s laugh is hollow and you know he’s thinking about how he was held scoreless for the last two games this series, thinking about all the things he could have done differently so that they weren’t eliminated. “You’re biased.”

“Like I’ve ever held back from telling you that you suck before.”

It’s not a smile, but the corner of his lips do turn up. “Fair.”

You smile, hiding the grin in his back. “We’re happy to have you home more.”

“Even though this means we won’t get to put Maeve in the cup?” You can picture his eyebrows raise with the question, even though it’s dark and you’re not even looking at him.

“I mean, she would have looked really cute in it.” You poke his side. “But I’ll get over it. We’ll just have to take cute baby pictures with her somewhere else.”

“You mean, like this new house we just moved into?”

“This new house we just moved into where every room is either filled with boxes or has no furniture?”

You feel Mat hesitate. “Maybe there’s a park nearby.” He says and you laugh. 

“Maybe.” You agree, slipping around to curl into his side, so you can both watch Maeve sleep.

-----

Three Months with Maeve: You Like: that new activity mat, music, afternoon walks You Dislike: pop goes the weasel, noisy birds on the walks

“These came out so good.” Molly enthuses, beaming as she stares at the pictures of Maeve that you and Mat had professionally taken, shortly after your conversation about it, to send out in cards to everyone you know.

“Right?” It had taken a little to decide where you wanted to have the pictures taken, the house still not finished and immediately eliminated. Almost all the parks nearby had been eliminated by your photographer due to lighting and the one that hadn’t, had been nixed by you. You and Mat had both scrunched your nose up at the thought of bringing Maeve to the beach already, as well as a few other suggestions. In the end, though, you can’t imagine anyone will be shocked to see the ice rink in the background of a few of the pictures, and it seemed only fitting. 

As usual, Maeve’s perfectly at ease in Mat’s arms, who’s beaming down at her, in your favorite shot of the afternoon, as you hang onto his arm gently to keep yourself upright, the same wide grin on your own face as you look at the two of them. There are so many other shots from the day- Mat skating while holding Maeve; the two of you laughing while you move easily on the ice; close ups of Maeve sleeping peacefully in Mat’s arms, just happy to be close to him (unless it’s the proximity to the ice- she is definitely his daughter). And then there’s all the candids.

“Some tough choices for the photo wall.” Molly muses.

“Gonna need lots of frames.” You agree, as the back door opens and Tito walks in, bouncing Maeve gently in his arms, closely followed by Mat and Brian. 

“Alright, patio’s done.”

“Perfect!” Molly claps her hands together and you give her a look because she sounds too excited. “Great timing.”

Tito huffs, still bouncing Maeve, who’s smiling away at him and probably going to start giggling at any minute. She’d laughed for the first time last week and it felt like since then, she hadn’t stopped. “We said we’d have it done in time, didn’t we?”

“In time for what?” You press, skeptically.

“Yes, “Molly ignores you completely. “But I honestly didn’t believe you.”

“Rude.” Brian teases. “The lack of faith.”

“Yeah.” Tito adds. “What’d we do to deserve this?”

“What are you three talking about?” Mat huffs, and you feel ten times better already that you’re not the only one left out.

“Oh!” Molly blinks, like it’s only just occurred to her that she hasn’t actually told you what’s going on yet. “Right. You two are going out tonight. We made you a dinner reservation and we’re going to stay here and babysit while you do.”

You hesitate, relieved that when you look over to meet Mat’s eyes, you see the same look. “I don’t know.”

“We’re not going to force you to go.” Brian says, before Molly or Tito can jump in, with what’s certain to be a much less soft comment. “We just thought you could use a couple hours out. Without having to worry.”

It’s not...the worst thought, if you’re honest, and you can see the idea growing on Mat as well. “I mean, we’re probably still going to worry.” He says, even as you can see him start to grin.

“What, now, you don’t trust me with your kid?” Tito says, feigning hurt. “And to think, I almost made godfather.”

“Because YN’s brother almost didn’t show up.” Mat throws back at him.

“Classic Christopher.” You grin at the memory of your brother literally running into the church last month for the baptism only just in time. 

“You two go get moving; we promise to take perfect care of your baby.” Molly says.

“Team Baby.” Tito sticks his free hand, the one not holding Maeve to his chest, into the center of the circle you’ve all formed, and stares at you all expectantly, until each one of you piles a hand on top of his. “Team Baby!” He cheers again, and then he steers Maeve over to her activity mat and lies down on the floor with her.

“Go.” Molly gestures and it doesn’t take much more for you and Mat to turn and start getting dressed because that’s her I mean business face. “Dress nice!” She calls after you. “Suit, tie, dress, heels. The works!”

“Where could they possibly be sending us?” Mat mutters as the two of you climb up the steps toward your room, and you hide your snicker much better than he does.

“Mathew!” Molly calls, warningly.

“First shower.” You call dibs to him, and rush past him for it, laughing at the look on his face.

While Mat showers after you, you fix your hair and makeup, and then step into your closet, already pulling a face at all your dresses before you even look at them. 

You’re starting to feel more like yourself after giving birth, finally, after three months, but you don’t feel completely there. You’re not sure you ever will, that’ll you’ll ever feel that easy and carefree again, or that you’ll ever look the same again, and you’ve talked with Grace and Lauren, and are coming to terms with it. Have come to terms with it, really. The trade-off for Maeve’s smiles made everything worth it.

But.

But you don’t have a single dress that fits the way you like now.

There are four dresses on the floor of your closet and at least five more that you couldn’t even bring yourself to try on before you find a charcoal colored slip dress that’s covered in a pattern of dark sequins. The strappy heels that go along with it are an old comfort; they, at least, still fit you.

Mat’s holding a tie up in the mirror when you come out of the closet, like he’s debating if he actually has to wear it, but the second he sees you through the glass, his eyes go wide and the tie drops from his hand.

“Now those hands aren’t going to earn you that new contract.” You tease, unable to handle the thick silence that’s fallen between you.

“What?” It’s like he didn’t even hear the joke; his eyes are roaming up and down. “Fuck. You want to skip dinner?”

You actually kinda do. You’d seen Mat leaving the old apartment all spring in a suit on his way to the airport or the arena, all the way up until they’d been eliminated, so maybe it was just the context of the evening, but he looked unreal tonight. You nod, but then immediately bite your lip...which just makes Mat groan. “They’re not going to let us just stay here, though.”

Mat grins, reaching for your hand. “Trust me on this.”

“I do.” You smile at him, squeezing gently in return,

And it takes the two of you almost thirty minutes to leave the house after that, despite the heated looks in your bedroom, because neither of you wants to leave Maeve again once you see her, but Molly shoves you out the door with threats about missing your reservation, and once the door’s closed, that’s all it takes for Mat to turn his gaze right back to you.

There is, blessedly, still furniture in his old apartment, still his as he continues to decide whether to sell it or rent it, and you’ve never been so thankful for his unusual moment of indecisiveness as he lies you down into his old bed, pressing kisses onto any spot of skin he can find.

-----

Four Months with Maeve: You Like: playing with your toes, sitting, laughing and babbling You Dislike: when anyone takes a toy from you

Expecting Mat, you’re a little surprised when you turn and see that the form that’s flopped down in the shade beside you and Maeve is actually Tyson. “How’s my best girl?” He coos at her, as entranced with her as anyone else has been since you and Mat had come up to Canada last week to see Mat’s family.

Maeve giggles, babbling some noises back at him, and reaching her hands out for his curls. “Don’t.” You warn him, but he’d learned that lesson already this week, and he intercepts her with his thumb instead, a wide grin on his face. “Sucker.” You tease.

“How can you say no to this face?” He cries and yeah, when she’s laughing and smiling like that, you can see what he means. Especially because it’s Mat’s smile she seems to have inherited, even if it looks like the rest of Maeve’s features might be all you.

“Mmmm, you get used to it.” You tell him anyway, and Tyson grins knowingly, so you close your eyes, relaxing in the sun for a moment, confident that someone is watching your baby and you can get a few minutes of rest.

It doesn’t last long, because shortly after closing your eyes, you feel something heavy and wet plaster itself to you and you open one eye to glare, which is as much as you can be bothered with out by the lake. “Mat!”

He’s already grinning down at you, water from the lake dripping from his face to yours. “You looked a little hot.”

“I was very comfortable.”

Mat lays his head down on your chest. “Well, now I’m very comfortable.”

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” You say, and you don’t need Tyson to laugh to know that you don’t sound serious at all.

“Liar.” Mat says, and you can feel him grinning against your skin. “You love me.”

You pause for a moment, unintentionally, as you move your hand up to play with his hair, but it’s long enough that you feel the smile start to slip from his face. “Yeah.” You tease. “I guess I do.” 

Mat’s grin returns and he presses the softest kiss to whatever piece of skin he can reach, but before he can say anything else, Maeve starts babbling away. “I know.” Tyson coos at her. “They’re so cute it’s disgusting.”

“Hey!” Mat frowns. “Let go of my baby so I can push you down.”

Tyson laughs. “Well thanks for that get out of jail free card!”

-----

Five Months of Maeve: You Like: hide and seek, bananas, applesauce You Dislike: peas (can’t blame you, kiddo)

“Do we really want to try peas again so soon?” You frown at Mat, holding up one of the other jars of baby food.

He shrugs. “Gonna have to jump back in eventually.”

You pull a face. “Spoken like the man who didn’t get puked on.”

“We get puked on like ten times a day!”

“It was green!”

He laughs. “I’ll do the peas this time.”

You laugh. Sucker. “Deal.”

It’s super gratifying then, to see that Maeve hates the peas this time just as much as she had before. She’s not about Mat’s airplane noises once she realizes what’s on the spoon he’s trying to feed her with and none of his usual tricks are working to try and calm her down once she starts crying. 

But when Mat looks at you for help, you don’t do anything but laugh, continuing to film the entire disastrous event. “Really?” He gives you a look.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” You fire the video off into, like, three different chats- the one with his family, to Team Baby, and the Islanders Moms chat, because he could probably use the ego deflation- and then reach for Maeve, who settles almost instantly against you, her crying quieting as you hold her against your side.

“Sure.” Mat grumbles, dropping the spoon against the high-chair’s table. “All calm now.”

“Oh hush.” You tell him, with a smile, knowing exactly what he’s annoyed about. “You’ll go back to being her favorite in an hour; don’t worry.”

Mat tries to hide his grin by ducking his head to clean the high-chair but you see right through him.

-----

Six Months of Maeve: You Like: bouncing, rolling, wiggling, literally any kind of movement You Dislike: teething (but we dislike you teething too), staying still

“I think she’s going to really start crawling soon.” You remark to Mat, the two of you both seated on the floor, opposite sides of the room, to catch her before she could wriggle into any walls.

She hadn’t quite pushed herself up there yet, but she scooted around pretty well.

“Don’t say that.” Mat groans, reaching out for Maeve and ignoring her cry of protest as he placed her back on the ground, safely away from the wall. She gave him a look, but then went right back to rolling around, rolling onto her back and then over to her stomach again, scooting toward you. “Fuck, imagine when she can walk. Chasing after her.”

“Inability to sit still for sure comes from you.” You try to distract Maeve with a toy, watching as she puts it in her mouth and starts to gnaw on it. Her first tooth had come in the other week, an absolute nightmare, and you were pretty sure another one was following. 

“Can’t prove that.” Mat says, eyes fond as he watches Maeve.

“Wanna bet?” You tease. That’s an easy phone call to make.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” Mat beams at you and you burst into laughter because you haven’t showered and you’re covered in baby formula.

“That’s what I thought.” You grin, and then reach out to pull Maeve away from the coffee table.

-----

Seven Months of Maeve: You Like: blocks, knocking down block towers, clapping blocks together, anything blocks You Dislike: noise-cancelling headphones

“These are so cute.” Grace beams, scrolling through the pictures on her phone and simultaneously bouncing a wriggly toddler on her lap. “I’ll send them out as soon as we get upstairs.”

You smile, thanking her already, fixing the earphone covering Maeve’s tiny head. It’s the Islanders’ home opener, Maeve’s first game actually attending, and there’d been a well-documented photo shoot with all the kids prior to the group of you heading down to the glass, to wait for warm ups to start. 

She wasn’t a big fan of the headphones you’d placed on her ears, constantly reaching up to bat them off, but she was looking around, eyes wide as she stared at the crowd around her, even after both teams skated out for warm ups, unable to grasp what exactly was happening.

But she was smiling, beaming the whole time, a grin that only got wider when Mat skated up to the glass in front of you and put his fist up against it. She reaches for it as you bring her closer to the glass, grabbing out for it as he taps it with a grin, and then she babbles a bunch of nonsense when she’s stopped by the glass, retracting her hand immediately.

You and Mat both laugh and he gives one last tap on the glass to you both before skating off to rejoin warm ups.

He absolutely lights it up that night, but the gifs of the the three of you at the glass during warmups cycle through the internet for days.

-----

8 Months of Maeve: You Like: your favorite blankie, Cheerios, cheese You Dislike: i really tried with those peas, kid

You’d do literally anything for some sleep right now, even just a power nap. Mat had been gone on a road trip for a few days now, due back shortly, but Maeve had been so clingy the entire time he was gone, not even wanting to be held by Molly when she’d stopped in to visit, and fussing anytime you’d walked away from her. 

She was playing with a couple of her toys on the floor right now, and it took everything in you to keep your eyes open to watch over her. You contemplated moving her into her bouncer, even as she kept side-eyeing you to make sure you were still close, just in case you accidentally dropped into a nap. 

Suddenly, an arm drops over your shoulders and Mat’s pressing a kiss to your temple. “You look sleepy.”

“I’m exhausted.” You lean against him immediately. “When did you get in?”

“Just now.” He squeezes gently, smiling and waving as Maeve, who’s abandoned her toy the moment she saw him, clapping her hands together and beaming at him, babbling at him happily. “She keeping you up at night?”

“She’s just…” You trail off, not sure how to describe what Maeve is right now. Because on one hand, she’s not normally this clingy, and it’s certainly a change of pace. But it’s not a bad thing to have her so close to you all the time, for her to want to be so close to you- you don’t dislike it at all. “I’m just tired.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead, but before he can say anything, Maeve reaches her arms out for him. “Da!” She’s frowning, probably because Mat’s been ignoring her in favor of you. “Dada!” She reaches out again, and this time Mat’s face lights up, both of yours do, as he sweeps her into his lap.

“Say it again!” Mat prompts, tickling her, which of course doesn’t get her to do anything but giggle.

“Dada.” You try, leaning closer, and she repeats it then, but won’t say it again, for all that Mat tries, struggling out of his arms right after that, to go back to playing.

Mat runs his fingers through his hair, looking absolutely floored, and you still haven’t stopped smiling either. Your baby’s first word! You have to tell everyone! But there’ll be time for that later; Mat’s comfy to lean against right now and he doesn’t look like he wants to go anywhere either, so you press a kiss to his cheek and then lie your head back against his shoulder, content to watch Maeve play with her blocks.

-----

9 Months of Maeve: You Like: walking, giving your mom and I heart attacks while walking You Dislike: sitting still for any length of time (stop laughing at me mom)

“You,” Mat sweeps Maeve off her feet and up into his arms as she toddles past him. “Went from walking to running in like two days! Give your mom and I a rest, kiddo.”

“She gets that from you.” You tell him, tiredly. He’s not wrong though. She’d started pulling herself into standing not long ago, and then shortly after, taken her first steps, and then it felt like the next day, she was off to the races. You spent most of your day chasing her around the house now; she almost never wanted to be picked up anymore.

Even now, she was squirming to get out of Mat’s arms and be back on the ground, already starting to whine about it. Mat obliges, and she takes off- or as well as she can; she hasn’t quite mastered it yet, her feet make that distinct slap noise on the floor that you associate with all babies walking. 

Mat chases and brings her back, but you two quickly have to settle each on one side of the room, eyes watching Maeve and turning her between the two of you. “She needs a friend.” You mutter, steering her back towards Mat, for what seems like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

Mat nods furiously. “Suddenly I understand why people have more than one of these.”

You burst into laughter, loud enough that it stops Maeve for a second. But only a second; she’s right back to toddling over toward you, throwing herself at you, giggling along with you for a moment there. “One of these?” You call Mat out, and he joins you in laughing, as Maeve uses your arm to pull herself back up and starts walking again.

Mat shrugs it off laughingly. “You know what I mean.”

You do. “God, I used to not even imagine being able to have another one of her, but god, if another one meant they could entertain each other; I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“I’d have five more if it meant we didn’t have to chase her like this.” Mat pulls Maeve back into the room, a small noise of protest coming from her until he puts her back on the floor.

You give him a look. “You can find someone else to have five more with.”

When Mat smiles at you, it’s softer, not his usual bright beam. “Alright.” He says. “We won’t have five more. Two or three more.” You side-eye him, trying to gauge how serious he is, but he must take your silence for agreement, because then he does beam.

-----

10 Months of Maeve: You Like: patty cake, waving, causing chaos You Dislike: bananas, apparently, even though you loved them last month

“Tito!” You gasp excitedly, only just remembering to pick Maeve up and bring her with you, ignoring her fuss in favor of Mat and Tito walking in the door with something much more exciting. “Why didn’t  you tell me you were getting a dog?”

Luckily, she’s easily swayed by the dog, eyeing the wriggling puppy in Tito’s arms. She still doesn’t look like she’s 100% certain about it, but it certainly captures her attention; she stops moving in your arms entirely, blinking at the dog, unmoving.

“Uhhh.” Tito says, in response to you, looking at Mat and then back at you. “Not exactly what happened.”

Mat grins. “So you wanted a dog, right?”

Your jaw drops and the next words are out before you can even think about stopping them. “Shut the fuck up.” And then you immediately wince, because you’ve been on Mat recently about watching his language around Maeve, who’s soaking up words now like an absolute sponge. 

But Mat only laughs, reaching to pull the puppy into his arms, and stepping closer to you and Maeve slowly. “Her name’s Blue, but we can change it.”

“Boo!” Maeve repeats, which really ices the cake on that one, and brings a smile to both of your faces. She’s reaching out for the puppy as Mat steps closer, and you prepare yourself for the worst, but Maeve bursts into happy giggles the second her hand touches the puppy.

Blue sniffs her tiny little hand tentatively, and then licks it happy, and Maeve giggles even harder as she does. “I might cry.” You announce. “This is the greatest day. I thought you’d never cave.”

Tito snickers. “He was worried he’d come home one day and you’d brought a stray home.”

“I considered it.”

“Thought this was better.” Mat agrees. “At least I got to screen for a good one.”

“All dogs are good dogs.” You state firmly. “Let’s put her down and let her explore a little.”

“Come on, Menace.” Mat takes Maeve from your arms, who goes happily, reaching for his hair as she does, but you’ve both caught onto the move by now, so he intercepts her hand with his thumb. “Let’s go follow your new best friend.”

-----

11 Months of Maeve: You Like: baby dolls, baby doll stroller, your fancy new cup, Blue You Dislike: puzzles- you’re not really about toys you sit for anymore

“How soon,” Mat starts one night, when you’re getting ready for bed, both child and dog already asleep in crib and crate from an exhausting evening of playtime. “Is too soon, do you think, to bring Maeve out for a skate?”

You’ve got a mouth full of toothpaste, but you think you still manage to convey what you want with a look. “You’re asking me this question?”

“Good point.” You rinse your mouth out and join Mat in bed. “Maybe we’ll start with mini-sticks and a soft ball.”

You burst into laughter. “You think she’s ready for that?”

“Oh she’s got this walking thing down now.” He brushes that off. “My girl’s an expert.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, we knew that was coming.”

Mat grins. “Work on that hand eye coordination now.”

You give him a look, trying to decide how serious he is, and then when deciding that he’s absolutely 100% serious, you press a kiss to his shoulder-the nearest spot of him that you can reach. “Please don’t kill our baby.”

Mat’s already scooting in closer to you, already half asleep because this asshole somehow manages to fall asleep like the second his head hits the pillow basically, and he throws an arm over your waist. “Mmm, kay, promise.”

-----

It was a mistake to sit down, you knew that before you even did it, but you’re exhausted from the day. Between spending your morning getting ready for Maeve’s birthday party, playing hostess throughout the afternoon, and then starting the clean-up process, you honestly think you could fall asleep right here against this wall that you’re leaning against.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you slip it out-it’s another message from Molly, probably just more pictures that she took throughout the afternoon-but it’s the instagram tag from Mat that really catches your attention.

The app opens to a picture of the two of you standing on either side of Maeve and her smash cake, both wearing happy parent smiles, as her hand brings another fist of icing to an already-covered face. There’s a picture with the three of you standing with his parents and sister; another with Maeve, Tito, Molly, and Brian; and the last one, just you and Maeve, sitting on the floor and her trying to play with the party hat Molly had put on your head, right after you’d fixed the bow on her headband.

1 Year of Maeve: Happy Birthday to our favorite girl! It’s been an entire year with you already and your mom and I can’t wait to see what comes in the next one

You can’t help but smile at both the caption and the pictures, unable to settle on one and still scrolling through the post when you feel Mat sit down next to you. “Somebody’s getting sleepy.”

The same dopey, fond smile is definitely still on your face as you turn to look at Mat and Maeve, who’s curled in his arms in a way she only does now when she’s absolutely exhausted. But she’s fighting it for sure, eyes fluttering shut and then popping back open again. “Big day.” You agree with him. “And it was a nice day. But I’m happy it’s just us now.”

“Yeah.” Mat says, and it almost sounds like his thoughts are completely in another place for a second as he shifts around on the floor for a second. “It was a great day.” It was; it truly was, and even though there’s still a mess to be cleaned, you’re perfectly content to just sit here for a while longer with Mat and Maeve. When he settles, you lean your head against his shoulder, reaching your hand out to rest it on Maeve’s tiny little wrist. “Hey.” Mat says gently.

“Hmm?”

“Marry me?”

“What?” You laugh, until he brings a hand out to you and opens his fist to show off a diamond ring, and then suddenly you’re not laughing at all. “Oh my god.”

“I just-I want a million more days like this with you,” Mat smiles. “I want forever like that. Marry me.”

“Yes.” You breathe. “Yes, god yes, of course.”

And immediately, Mat’s kissing you, or well, trying to, because you’re smiling and kind of crying, and he’s still holding Maeve in his arms, so you both pull away pretty quickly. “I love you. God, I know I don’t tell you that enough, but I do. So much. It-”

“I love you too.” You cut him off. “I really can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

Mat beams at you and you reach your left hand out, biting your lip to avoid giggling as he fumbles a little, one-handedly sliding the ring onto it. But he succeeds, and you admire the ring on your finger, as you lean back against Mat’s shoulder.

The silence that follows is comfortable; the only sound the slight wheeze of Maeve’s breathing. “I think she’s finally out.” Mat says quietly, after a moment. “I’ll take her up?”

“Nah.” You clutch at his arm. “Just-let’s just stay here for a while.”

Mat smiles against the side of your head before he kisses it gently. “Okay.” He kisses it again. “But you know you’re stuck with me forever now, right? Not going anywhere.”

You squeeze his arm. “Not stuck.” Mat beams. “Well, I guess I might feel differently in a month or two.”

“Brat.” Mat says fondly. 

“Yup.” You grin and then throw his own words right back at him. “But you’re stuck with me forever now.”

“Never stuck.” Mat says, and it sounds like such a promise that you can’t help but lean over and try to kiss him again.

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fan fic #hockey imagines #hockey fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #my hockey fics #surprises series

[the-sympathetic-villain]

The Stowaway’s Heart - Chapter 1

AO3 | Next | Masterpost

Description: Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil's poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Pairings: Analogical, Platonic Logince (There may be more as I go along!)

Word Count: 1813

Chapter Warnings: Dehydration, Imprisonment, Mentions of human trafficking, Mild Suicidal Ideation

Author’s Note: This is something I’ve been writing when I need to take a break on You Belong With Me.  This will eventually probably end up being a lot of extremely gay fluff with a little hurt/comfort to start.

    Three days.

    Three days since they’d thrown Virgil in the brig.

    Three days since he'd heard the voice of another person.

    Three days since he’d last drank water.

    Three days.

    He couldn't even open his eyes as he lay motionless on the stiff cot in his cell. If it weren’t for the chill of the night air, he wouldn’t even have known how long they’d left him here. Not that it mattered. No one was coming for him. He was going to die of thirst, locked in the brig of this godforsaken ship drifting through the ocean. They could have at least had the decency to kill him outright, instead of forcing him to wait as he slowly wasted away.

    The haze in his brain seemed to break for just a moment as the sound of footsteps echoed above him. He held his breath, straining to hear as the gentle tap of steps moved across the deck. He waited for the footsteps to disappear. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. His mind had to be playing tricks on him.

    But the sounds continued. For several minutes, he could hear the deliberate movement of footsteps clicking above him. The sound wasn't just objects rolling about the deck. There were actual people on the ship somewhere above him.

    Maybe someone came back to finish the job they started.

    Virgil exhaled bitterly.

      No. It can’t be.

    He moaned, confused. They wouldn’t have come back for him. He was worthless to them at this point. In his condition, he wasn’t even worth keeping as a captive for trade. Nursing him back to health would cost them more than the price he'd fetch at the market. Distraught, a groan escaped him as he willed whatever strength he had left into trying to push himself off the ground, only barely managing to roll onto his side. Virgil nearly bit his tongue, forcing back a wave of nausea as he fought the urge to gag.

    Moving is bad. Got it.

    He groaned, remaining still as he listened to the soft tapping above him. He forced his eyes open to stare at the hatch in the ceiling in the space outside of his cell. Time passed slowly as he waited, yet the hatch to the brig remained closed. Virgil couldn't help it. His eyes started to droop with exhaustion as his focus faltered. His vision blurred as he nearly answered sleep's enticing call.

    It doesn't matter anyway.

    Virgil groaned. Even if they were coming back for him, he stood no chance of fending them off. Whoever was coming would find him, regardless of whether he was awake. He couldn't stop whatever they were going to do to him. He was at their mercy. His head drooped.

    Maybe it would be better to be unconscious.

    The sound of metal moving against metal above him tore him from his thoughts. He listened, waiting, until a metal clink from above confirmed to him that they had found the hatch. Even as his heart raced in his chest, he couldn’t even find the strength to tense his muscles in anticipation of whoever was coming his way.

    Bright light assaulted his eyes as the hatch opened. He groaned loudly as he clenched his eyes shut and cringed as the footsteps at the hatch came to an abrupt halt.

    Great job, Virgil. Now they know you’re here.

    He listened as the footsteps started to descend the steps once more. Slowly, this time. Virgil ached to open his eyes and see who was approaching him. He wanted to see their face. At least then, he could brace himself for whatever they had planned for him, but he couldn’t. So, he waited, lying prone on the bed, vulnerable to whoever approached.

    The footsteps paused at the cell doors. Virgil grunted. He forced his eyes open, ignoring the pain. He was only able to make out a tall, dark silhouette standing at the cell door, hands on the bars before the pain became unbearable and his eyes closed once more.

    “You’re alive!”

    The deep voice was loud and jarring and Virgil couldn't help flinching at the sudden sound.

    “I am sorry. I did not intend to startle you, small one.” The voice dropped to a whisper. “Give me a moment. I will get you out of here.”

    Virgil relaxed. The voice was mesmerizingly smooth and deliciously deep. Virgil couldn’t help wishing the man would speak more. At least if he was going to die, he could listen to something pleasant as he drifted away.

    The source of the voice, however, seemed to have other ideas. As fast as the pretty voice had come, it was gone once more, and Virgil had nearly drifted off to sleep again by the time the voice returned. The man was further away this time,. He was somewhere close to the top of the stairs and he wasn’t alone anymore. Another booming voice echoed down through the hatch above. Virgil cringed. The second man’s voice was deeper and he sounded angry.

    “—he’s injured!” The pretty voice spoke again.

    “He’s dangerous!”

    “He’s barely conscious. Look at him. He's hardly a threat to anyone in his current state.” The pretty voice was flat now, starting to sound annoyed.

    “Look at the state of this ship.” The angry voice paused. “What if he’s responsible for this?”

    “You think he did this and then just locked himself up in a cell to die?” The pretty voice sounded bitter now. “I find that highly unlikely.”

    Silence hung between them for a moment before the other voice spoke again. “He’s still dangerous, Logan. They all are.”

    “Undoubtedly, they would say the same about us.” The man, Logan, said bitterly.

    “I hate it when you’re like this.”

    “Compassionate?”

    “Stubborn.”

    “Forgive me if lowering my standards of who is worthy of basic compassion is a topic on which I refuse to compromise, Roman.”

    “I’m not asking you to lower your standards.” Roman muttered bitterly. “I’m asking you to consider the consequences.”

    “I have considered the consequences.” Logan sighed. “I’m not willing to leave him to die over complications that may never arise.”

    “I shouldn’t have let you come with me.”

    “That is of little consequence at this point. I’m here now.”

    Roman sighed, considering the situation. “Fine, but he’s your responsibility and yours alone. No one else will be allowed near him.”

    “I would expect nothing less.” Virgil could have laughed at the barely concealed smirk in Logan’s tone. He could guess that this man with a pretty voice was used to getting his way.

    “He will remain confined the entire time. He's not going to be moving about the island unchecked.”

    “Roman—”

    “This is not a negotiation.” Roman stated. “These are my rules if you choose to do this. Otherwise, I’m not allowing it.”

    Virgil heard a dissatisfied grunt before Logan spoke again. “Fine, I will concede to your terms.”

    “Good, because I have one more.” Roman hesitated. “You will leave your pelt with me while you care for him.”

    “That’s not fair—” Virgil could almost feel Logan bristle at Roman’s suggestion.

    “I don’t care if it's fair or not. I’m not taking the risk of a human controlling you. That would endanger everyone at home.” Roman interrupted, quiet for a moment before he spoke again. This time his voice was soft and pleading. “Not to mention, I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you again, Lo. He'd never forgive me.”

    Human?

    “Very well, Roman.” Logan’s voice was tired, but he seemed resigned. “That will make the process uncomfortable, but if it will put your mind at ease, I will do whatever you require of me.”

    “Thanks, Lo.” Roman’s voice was softer. His angry tone had faded. Virgil’s heart warmed pleasantly at the sweet tone that drifted through the brig. “Now, go do whatever you need to do. We're leaving soon.”

    “Thank you.” Hurried steps dropped down from the stairs above. A loud thud resonated in the floor below Virgil as the man jumped past few steps to land on the ground. A moment later, he could hear the jangling of metal as someone fiddled with his cell door. Virgil’s head started to spin and he resisted another wave of nausea. His vision darkened as his consciousness faded for a brief moment.

    He woke to the feeling of hands on his neck. Panic coursed through his body as he weakly tried to struggle away from his attacker, but he barely moved, too exhausted and weak to truly fight back.

    “Do not move, human. I have no intent to harm you. I only wished to confirm you were still alive.”

    Virgil settled as the hands moved off his throat, too weak to do much else.

    “Good. You are going to be okay. My name is Logan and I am here to help you.”

    Virgil’s skin tingled at the pleasant melody of the stranger’s voice.

     “You appear to be severely dehydrated.” Logan spoke softly. A blissful sigh nearly escaped Virgil as the stranger’s soft hands pushed his hair away from his face. “I am going to give you some water, but I will need to prop you up to prevent you from choking. Will you allow me to lift you?”

    Virgil groaned and Logan seemed to accept that as consent. Warm hands gently curled him upright, cradling him around his shoulder. He felt a cup at his lips and he opened his mouth, sipping eagerly at the sweet, cool water. Instant relief washed over him as the aching dryness in his throat eased. He nearly moaned with satisfaction, but his relief was cut short as the cup was pulled back away from him too soon. He grumbled unhappily.

    A heavenly laugh sounded near his ear. “I'm sorry, dear one. Too much at once will make you sick. You will have more soon. I promise.”

     Virgil melted into the man's arms, relaxing at the soft tone of his voice. He wavered at the edge of consciousness, nearly giving into sleep at the comfort of the man's touch.

     “You are going to be okay, human. I give you my word.” Logan whispered. A sad tone crept into the beautiful sound of his voice. Virgil felt a hand on the neck, and he leaned into its warmth. “But I don’t think you need to see what is waiting for us up on the deck. Please forgive me, dear one.”

    Vague confusion swelled in Virgil’s mind for only a moment before he felt a small prick in his neck. He winced but the pain quickly faded.

    “Don't—" Virgil rasped the first word he'd spoken in days. He tried to pull away but his resistance was short lived as his racing mind succumbed to oblivion.

     “Sleep now, human.” Logan whispered sadly. “You’re safe now. You'll be in a better place when you wake.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #ts #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #analogical #platonic logince #The Stowaway's Heart #villain writes #selkie au

[california-raccoon]

eye’s on the sparrow

He just stares at her, like he’d been wishing for his mom but she appeared instead. This belief - in wishing, in divine intervention, in fate - is probably the reason why he chooses to believe in her. BLEACH / AU / ICHIRUKI • [← PART 1 ○ PART 2: A study of Rukia Kuchiki] 

III.

Of all the things Rukia considers herself as, fortunate is not one of them. Though the echoes of fortune haunt everything she sees and touches, she considers she’d rather do without it all. When she looks in the mirror, she recognizes herself, but it’s in a vague way. She knows what she looks like, but she doesn’t actually know who she is.

It isn’t that she’s ungrateful for what she has.

Her parents love her as much as any daughter; her childhood with them is filled with memories of picnics in the park, trips to museums… the annual cherry blossom festival where she’d walk down the rows of trees, warmth on her face and always two hands to hold.

They have always been kind, giving, and extremely passionate about their work. It seeps into her blood, as if they were related, to work twice as hard, to shine twice as bright. Rukia wears her last name like a medal she’s won and lets it define her completely.

Her father is her pride. He works tirelessly at the Kuchiki enterprises, recently inheriting the company from their now-retired Uncle. She learns importance of proper etiquette and strategy from him. Her mother is her heart, working at a non-profit that finds shelter for the homeless. Rukia used to ask her why she worked, not really in need of anything given their status, but her mom just ruffles her hair, and tells her there’s more to life than money. Rukia understands, because what else had she ever wanted besides the two of them?

Adjusting the hem on her black dress with a tug, she takes one last look at herself before leaving her room.

She is thirteen when she attends her mother’s funeral.

Her mother looks asleep in the coffin, make-up caked on, her giving her an artificial glow like she’s just sleeping. Rukia thinks it’s a pointless gesture, but she appreciates it anyway. She’d like the last look of Hisana not to be the pale image she used to visit in the hospital to say goodbye. The cancer came quickly, too late when they found out. They’ve already been grieving for months.

The event is small and intimate, mostly filled with family and friends. Her grandparents and cousins hug her and keep her soft, reminding her of everything her mother was. When they share their stories of Hisana, they reveal sides of her mother that she’d never known: when she and her friends got lost traveling around Japan during their last high school summer, her first big win gaining a successful client at the office, one of her first dates with Byakuya retold by her best friend. She was adventurous, determined and loved fiercely, they say; she will be missed. Rukia cries. It’s the first time she’s cried since she’d been adopted.

Her dad takes it the worst. After the funeral he floats around like his gravity’s been taken from him, no longer tethered to Earth. To counter this, he chains himself to his desk, focusing on his work to keep himself grounded. She comes home from school to an empty house.

If this is the cost of having a family, Rukia thinks, she isn’t sure it was worth the price. The loss she feels in her chest is too heavy; six years of happiness ending so abruptly that no fortunate person could ever experience.

So Rukia lets herself float. She skips classes and spends the day in arcades, in parks, talking to homeless people and stalking cats.  

It takes her back to another time, hazy infinite summers sneaking out of the orphanage and playing by the river. It gives her the idea.

On a fair winter morning, Rukia takes a train to Karakura. The ride itself doesn’t take too long, and she hides her school uniform with her coat so as not to seem suspicious.

Walking around the streets, the town is quiet and serene. It feels like a dream. The buildings don’t seem as tall as they used to, the distance of things having shrunk between her steps. The river flows beside her at a constant ebb that floods her with nostalgia.

When she reaches the hill, she takes a moment to take it all in. Overgrown foliage and forest trees surround the Torii, weathered and dulled by time. It welcomes her like the arms of the birth mother she never met, but she ignores them in favor of the off-beaten path to the side of it, leading to the gate of a traditional-style house.

The laughter she hears from the children stops her cold on her feet. Rukia hides behind the gate and stands there, watching. The boys are running, all pranks and belly laughs with one another and the girls are gathering the toys to fight back at them. They were playing house when the boys had usurped the game with a declaration of war. There’s one kid, a little too scrawny and too short, who joins in the fight anyway, scrappy and unwavering.

She watches till she realizes her cheeks are wet, tears coming undone at the sight of it all, guilty for everything she’s built up in her head. These kids are tenacious, hoping for a better life that’s out of their control as foolhardy as it is. She was once that child, until fortune smiled upon her and gave her everything she wanted. Who was she to refuse it now when it was all she had asked for?

Rukia’s family may be broken, but it doesn’t mean she can’t try to mend what she has, to be grateful. Her mother was everything to her - to them - and she doesn’t regret anything about her life with her. She thinks of her mother, her ferocity for living, and keeps the spirit close to her heart.

Stepping away from the orphanage, she walks back to the station with renewed energy. The town itself seems to come alive with her. It’s the late afternoon and there are kids playing by the river, others biking past her in their school uniforms.

She deep in thought when a glint of orange across the street that catches her eye. She knows him, she realizes. He looks a little menacing, with a crinkle between his brows and a frown that’s permanently taken residence on his face. The look doesn’t suit him, too angry for someone so young. She doesn’t think she’d recognize him if it wasn’t for his hair. It has to be him though, right?

Rukia thinks she should say something. Hey. Hi. It’s been too long. Didn’t we used to write to each other? …it’s been years. Do you even remember me? The thoughts spill into her head all at once and jumble into a pit in her stomach.

What should she say? What would he think?

She stops walking and settles for a polite wave and a firm “Hello” deciding not to yell across the street. Panic calcifies in her chest when she can’t remember his name.

In the end, he doesn’t notice her. He’s got his earbuds on and when he’s closer she swears she can hear him humming a fast tune. They cross each other on the street with little fanfare.

The moment it’s over, Rukia just laughs, the sound foreign as it escapes her lips. She thinks herself silly for even trying.

Rukia’s mind wanders as she watches the landscape from the train windows morph from open fields back to the compact buildings she’s familiar with. She wonders what happened to him. She wonders if she’s changed as much as him.

-

Back home, she cooks a dinner big enough for two and waits for her dad to come home. He finally arrives two hours past his usual office hours. If he’s shocked by her gesture, its marginally expressed. The stovetop ticks to a lively fire as she reheats the food while he hangs his coat in the foyer. She’s laid the dishes out onto the table into a traditional setting she knows he’d appreciate.

“We can’t do this to her,” Rukia breaks the silence during the meal, fire in her words. “She would hate what you’ve become.”

“She’d hate what you’ve become too, skipping classes all the time.” He responds with ice, eyes low. “Don’t think I didn’t know. Your school’s called me every day this week.”

“You’re right and I’m sorry, but—” She grimaces, gesturing a slight bow to apologize.

“It’s hard to lose someone, isn’t it?” He says softly. “I don’t blame you for taking some time for yourself, but tell me next time… I know your mom usually handled these sort of things better, but…”

Rukia’s eyes are wide, her heart gutted at seeing her dad this way.

“I’ll make a deal with you. No more skipping classes but you have to come home for dinner.”

“I can’t help the office has been busy lately—“

“No excuses.” Rukia interrupts, strengthening her resolve, but her voice cracks. “I hate coming home to this empty house every day.”

There’s no response from him then, but his brows lift slightly in an expression she’s not used to.

“I visited the orphanage today.” Rukia says, the implication unfolding before him. She looks at him and his brows are still raised. “I just - I just wanted to see… to remember that time. I’m grateful for everything you’ve both done and given me, but.”

She takes a breath. There’s no fire in her now, just the calmness of knowing. “I forgot what it was like. Not to have parents. Or anyone. I don’t want to lose it again.”

The chopsticks clink against the porcelain of her dad’s bowl as he puts it down. He looks at her with a warmth that she’s never seen from him.

“I’m sorry… You have a deal.”

They don’t shake on the agreement and neither really speak much after the talk, but she feels the shift in him after dinner. Over the weekend they buy a frame and candles and set up a shrine by the dinner table. They buy flowers every week for Hisana. It’s not a lot, but they’re trying, and it’s enough.

Still, sometimes, she’ll take a train every once in a while back to Karakura.

#ichiruki #ca-r-makes #am i officially a fanfic author when i have a fic that i will never finish

[queenmylovely]

Okay okay okay i have a blurb request - reader and rog are chilling out and shes like playing with his hair and discovers *dun dun dun* a grey hair and has to talk roger down from a midlife crisis or whatever lmao

I was a little worried I wouldn’t be able to turn this into smut other than the usual “I’ll show you I'm not old” railing (which I love) but never fear, cause I’m actually very happy with where this ended up. Thank you babe for a great prompt and for being my smut muse as always 

warnings are smut (18+), cussing, and it’s 1.9k 

☆☆☆

As much as Roger thought he could always go go go, there were days that he preferred to hang out at your place the whole day. These days were usually after a big concert, several long days in the studio, or a big party. This time it was a party. To be more specific, Freddie had thrown a Hanukkah party. Even though he wasn’t Jewish and to your knowledge knew almost nothing about the holiday, he argued that it was only fair to throw a Hanukkah party if he was going to throw a Christmas one.

His decorations were blue and white with giant menorahs and dreidels. As well as the usual food, there was latkes, his chef’s interpretation of sufganiyot doughnuts, and gelt everywhere. Freddie had also made sure that all the food was kosher compliant, which you thought was good of him.

Somehow, this Hanukkah party had ended up even wilder than his typical ones, and Roger had paid the price. Normally, he would’ve made it over to yours around 1:00pm the day after a party, but this time he didn’t even come until a day later, though at 9:00am.

He brought with him coffee and muffins so you let him in with a smile instead of grumbling about how he woke you up. Then the day passed pretty much doing nothing. You lounged in your bed sharing breakfast until you were ready to get ready for the day, had a precarious and giggly romp with each other in the shower, made sandwiches and cut up fruit together in the kitchen for lunch, and finally sat on the couch half-watching Christmas movies as they came on the tv.

While you had both started sitting up, Roger had slowly leaned over onto you until eventually his head was resting in your lap. Because you knew it was what he wanted and because it gave your hands something to do, you started playing with his hair. At first, you did it mindlessly, just feeling your fingers comb through his soft hair. But when the movie switched to one that you had seen a million times before, you paid more attention.

Roger’s hair was shorter than it had been in years past, and while you liked how it looked now, you were a little sad that gone were the days of long, wavy, pretty hair. Still, it was long enough for you to braid little tiny braids into it, especially in the back and on top. That’s what you were doing now, giggling as his head became covered in one inch long braids. Roger didn’t seem to mind, but that was probably because it felt good and he was more than half asleep anyway.

You finally made it to the hair just above his temples, sectioning out the hair that was long enough to braid. That’s when you saw it, a single grey hair among all the bleached and natural blonde.

Before you could help it, you gasped and Roger immediately jerked awake.

“What? What’s wrong?” Roger asked quickly, though his voice was still filled with sleep.

“Oh nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you claimed hurriedly.

“Then why did you gasp like that?”

“It was just the tv, very exciting part.”

He looked at the tv, “One, you’ve seen this thousands of times. Two, this is not an exciting part, nor has there been an exciting part for the last five minutes. So what is it?”

“Well, it’s just that-- I just,” you tried to stall but Roger gave you a look. “... I found a grey hair on your head.”

Roger shot up, both hands going to his head, “What the fuck, no you didn’t!”

“I did,” you grimaced. Then touched his arm, “But it’s okay, it was just the one.”

“No, if there’s one, there’s got to be more!” Roger said, trying to run his fingers through his hair but having trouble. “What the fuck did you do to my hair?”

You had to cover your mouth to keep yourself from bursting out laughing, but when he still looked at you for an answer, you had to reply through laughs, “They’re just little braids.”

“Arghh! Help me!” Roger demanded because as dexterous as his hands usually were, they apparently weren’t very good at undoing braids.

“Here, here, let me,” you said, batting his hands away with a few final giggles. You moved so you were kneeling beside him on the couch so you could reach his hair. It only took a couple minutes to do, during which you could see Roger frowning deeply. You thought about telling him he shouldn’t so he didn’t get frown lines but decided that probably wouldn’t help in the current situation.

“There you go,” you said, sitting back on your heels, smoothing his hair away from his face a final time.

He was still pouting so you thought for a second before speaking again.

“You know, Rog, 31 seems like a very reasonable age to start getting grey hairs. Some people get them in their twenties.”

Roger just looked at his hands.

So you tried a different approach, “And you know, I think you’d look pretty hot with grey hair.”

As you spoke, you placed your hand on Roger’s wrist and he looked up at you, raising his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’d look sophisticated and confident,” you took a slow breath in. “Like you’re totally in control.”

Roger watched you closely, feeling how the energy in the room was shifting. Then he grabbed the hand that was on his wrist, pulling you closer until you got the idea and slung a leg over so you were straddling him.

“In control of what?” he asked, lowering his gaze ever so slightly towards you and lifting a finger to brush along your jawline.

“Whatever you want,” you almost whispered, waiting until he tilted your chin up before you moved closer and kissed him.

He kissed you back, but kept it slow and controlled. Keeping one hand right on your jaw, Roger moved the other to your waist to pull your body close to his. He pulled his thumb on your chin, parting your mouth enough for his tongue to run along the inside of your lower lip. You breathed in sharply and parted your mouth further, just hoping that he would deepen the kiss. To your great relief, he did and you sighed further into the kiss.

The hand that was on your waist started roaming, and whether it was to brush his thumb against your nipple, to splay his fingers across your ass and squeeze before landing a sharp spank, or to reach up and pull on your hair, every move caused a moan to be pulled from you.

You had fully lost yourself in the kiss when Roger’s hand crept in between the two of you, so his thumb pressing along your slit until it reached your clit made you gasp and pull away from the kiss for a second. His thumb rubbed you through your sweatpants and your brow furrowed as you focused on the feeling.

“Does that feel good?” Roger murmured, and when you looked at him there was a confident glint in his eyes that made you swallow thickly.

You nodded and Roger waited expectantly so you continued, “Yes, so good.”

“Good ‘cause that's what I wanted. To control your pleasure by giving you all of it,” his words and the way he was touching you made you shiver.

Suddenly, he pushed you to stand but he started pushing down your pants and underwear and you hurried to help. You tried to do the same with his, but he shook his head and stood up.

Roger motioned to the arm of the couch, “Lay back there.”

You did as he said, putting down a throw pillow first to cushion your back. You leaned back, legs in front of you and bent at the knee, your feet resting on the couch cushions. Roger laid down on the couch in front of you on his stomach. To fit he had to bend his knees too and so he crossed his ankles in the air. You thought it was cute but before you could say anything or laugh Roger licked right up your slit from your entrance to your clit.

There were no light kisses and licks to work you up to more; instead, he just latched his lips onto your clit and started sucking, your hips jumping up underneath him. So Roger used his left hand to press down on your hips and keep you from moving too much. His lips felt so good that you couldn’t resist tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him close.

After a minute, Roger lifted his head a little, but it was just to let some of his spit drip onto your pussy. It was kind of a strange feeling since there was so little pressure, but then his right hand came up between your thighs and as he got his first two fingers wet, you understood what it was for.

Roger pushed his fingers in together, going slow enough so you could adjust, but the stretch still made you groan quietly and open your legs wider. He thrusted them in and out of you two more times and the slight pain was gone, letting you appreciate the feeling of fullness his fingers gave you.

His tongue found its way back to your clit, circling it before pressing down on it with broad licks. Roger was searching for your g spot with his fingers and once he did, he started sucking your clit at the same time.

The feeling turned your moan into a cry of pleasure, “Ah, Roger!”

His only response was to hum against you, and the buzz of the vibrations made a bolt of pleasure run throughout your entire body. Roger kept up this routine, making you moan and whine and whimper and then rewarding you with a hum every time you did. It all became overwhelming when he added another finger, stretching you further and increasing the pressure and pleasure on your g spot.

“I’m-- fuck--”

“You’re close?” Roger asked to confirm.

“Yes, yeah, ohhhh--”

“Come,” he told you, returning his lips to your clit, fingering you deftly, and humming against you, stronger this time.

You had told him he was in control, and it was true because as soon as he did that, you were coming, your legs involuntarily wrapping around his head as the pleasure ran through you, leaving you moaning and breathless.

Roger kept going until you let your legs down, placing a kiss to the inside of your thigh before smiling up at you. You reached for him and he acquiesced, finding your lips and kissing you deeply as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

Breaking away from the kiss, you looked between you to his boner that was still present in his sweatpants, “Do you want me to suck you off?”

“That’d be nice,” Roger said nonchalantly, and you hit his shoulder lightly.

He got up, pushing down his sweatpants and briefs, kicking them to the side. You sat on the edge of the couch, figuring it’d be easiest to do with him standing and you sitting.

Placing your hands on the sides of his thighs, you looked up at him with only slight hesitation,“Do you-- can you control this too?”

Roger grinned.

★★★

#does anyone else feel like their characters are just constantly hooking up on the couch?? #queen #roger taylor #blurb #fluff #smut #roger taylor x reader #queen x reader #roger meddows taylor #holiday advent #terryboot #brigid #queenmylovely

[lazaefair]

Has anyone done the Disney Princess AU yet

Part 1 - written by me, @poemsingreenink, and @iwritesometimes

poemsingreenink: Like, if anyone has big, soft innocent eyes it's Marwan who I swear to god looks near happy tears in most intense scenes. I at one point during Aladdin in theaters thought "You know Jafar's maybe just not had a great life. He's really having a day here." BECAUSE OF HIS BIG SOFT EYES.

lazaefair: LUCA MARINELLI HIMSELF SAID IT

sarah: HOWWWWW DID HE EVEN GET CAST AS JAFAR LIKE THOSE ARE DISNEY PRINCESS EYES

lazaefair: I...I need somone to draw Joe in a Disney Princess dress

sarah: but WHICH PRINCESS i feel like belle's off the shoulder gold ballgown has promise

lazaefair: Ariel’s pink gown would really drive the point home, though Although you’re right, Belle is a literate, dreamy brunette who loves poetry, so she’s closer as an archetype

sarah: i'll be honest: i was mostly thinking of getting his shoulders nude

lazaefair: Nicky is Ariel. Big blue eyes, otherworldly, utterly uncivilized.

sarah: YES

So imagine: Prince Yusuf, who had a giant statue of himself gifted to him on his birthday, and who hates it because his best friend (and immortal general of the army) Andromache is NEVER GOING TO LET HIM LIVE IT DOWN.

Also imagine: feral merman siren Nicolò who bites off fishheads and communicates through weird clicking noises, when he’s not singing men to their deaths. He’s not one of those useless pretty koi mermaids, no. He’s a motherfucking creature of the deep. Lamp eyes that are used to distract fish prey. Claws and pale fins and an intense stare and fangs.

Now imagine: Prince Yusuf going overboard in the storm that hits his royal yacht. Struggling, swept away, half-drowned and losing hope fast when an unearthly song fills the air, low and sweet and compelling. He’s swimming towards the singing before he realizes it, delirious, until something closes around his ankle and drags him under. The thing under the water kills him quickly.

And then kills him again, when it doesn’t take. After the third killing, Nicolò’s on his way to being well and truly mystified (“Okay, don't panic. They all die eventually, maybe...maybe I’ll just need to do it again?”) and gives up after the fourth and fifth killing. He drags his (attempted) prey to a little sheltered island he knows about, kills it one last time just to make sure, and then watches, resigned, as the flesh heals up and the lungs push water out until it’s coughing its way back to undeniable life.

“You rescued me,” is the first thing Yusuf says to him. “Your song – it is the song of my heart. My soul.”

Nicolò...has no idea what to do with this, coughs awkwardly in reply, and leaves before he can think too hard about the warmth in his chest answering to the warmth in the human’s expressive, grateful eyes.

(He doesn’t tell Yusuf the truth about their bloody first meeting until years later. It’s too goddamn embarrassing, to be perfectly honest.)

Of course he comes back within a day, almost shamefully quickly. Unable to help being fascinated by this gorgeous, well-spoken, kind and generous human who cannot die. He starts bringing things to Yusuf: at first just fish, then interesting-shaped fragments of rock and coral, and then bits of treasure he’s collected over the years, just to hear what new poetic turn of phrase Yusuf will spout on the spot when he’s given something.

“...this is my family crest on this treasure chest, Nicolò. How strange.”

“It is the chest you said your great-great-grandfather lost,” Nicolò says, the words coming out dry and halting from long years of disuse. Watching Yusuf’s hands as he traces the elaborate lines engraved on the lid, now blurred with rust and coral. 

“That’s amazing. Truly. I am at a loss for words,” Yusuf says, smiling.

“No, you aren’t,” Nicolò says, and keeps watching so he can see the moment when the smile turns into a laugh.

Another day, he brings to Yusuf what Booker had told him was called a ‘dinglehopper’ and was what humans used to keep their hair in order, as they did not have the ocean to spread it out like beautiful seaweed in the waves. Yusuf takes it, mouth twitching in a way that makes Nicolò doubt the accuracy of Booker’s explanation. Yet Yusuf does not correct him, but in fact solemnly thanks him before offering the dinglehopper back and asking him to help untangle his riot of curls.

And so it goes. Days pass. Fascination becomes infatuation, turns to desire and then into love, until neither can imagine living without the other, and yet—

Eventually, Nicolò has to give Yusuf up. The prince is too noble and good to just abandon his people indefinitely. And because Nicolò loves him, he goes out and once more lures a ship in with his song, but not to dash it to pieces on jagged rocks this time. He leads them to the island. Watches from a distance as the astonished shouting begins, then back-pounding hugs and joyous celebration as Yusuf boards the ship and sails away. Watches Yusuf turn back more than once to scan the beach, clearly looking for Nicolò, but Nicolò does not follow. Instead, he watches until the ship is lost to his sight and he cannot feel the ship’s current or smell, and then he dives deep and goes to visit Merrick.

Meanwhile, Yusuf arrives back at the capital, where his other best friend, Quỳnh (immortal admiral of the navy) feels terribly guilty about the prince going overboard on his birthday. Which is why she uncharacteristically doesn’t give him shit when he comes back babbling nonsense about mermaids. Or when he spends the next few weeks moping around, writing mermaid poetry and drawing mermaid pictures.

To be fair to him, the particular mermaid he sketches over and over does look pretty striking. Otherworldly and all that. Good cheekbones. Nice pearly scales. “Fucking...giant anglerfish eyes,” Quỳnh mutters while she and Andy look over the latest pile of sketches Yusuf’s left abandoned on a library table. “Our prince has been fucking bewitched by a fucking fish.”

“Mm,” Andy agrees. 

So when Nicolò arrives at the palace one fine summer’s day – naked, his fangs smoothed away to look perfectly human, a giant emerald in one hand and a silver fork in the other – and walking, on legs, it causes a bit of an uproar.

“You still smell like the sea,” Yusuf says hoarsely into Nicolò’s neck, the two of them wrapped around each other as closely as two bodies can be.

“Oh, fuck,” Andy says, lowering her axe. Quỳnh looks more closely at the dirty naked wild man their prince is embracing as if his life depends on it. Angular face. Skin encrusted with salt. Absolutely enormous piercing blue eyes. Naked, did we mention naked.

“Oh, fuck,” Quỳnh says.

“You get them separated,” Andy says. “I’ll go...get them a bath.”

The price Nicolò paid for his new human shape:

His siren song.

His immortality.

What he gets in return:

Yusuf teaching him what a dinglehopper is actually called, and what humans actually use it for.

Yusuf teaching him how to read and write his native tongue, and a few other tongues besides.

Yusuf reading poetry to him or sketching next to him on long lazy afternoons in the gardens.

The immense pleasure of intimidating the fuck out of any remaining would-be suitors for Yusuf’s hand in marriage who are still hanging around the palace for some reason.

“I am Nicolò di Genova,” Nicolò replies to the marquis’s indignant demands – predator’s smile still frightening even without endless rows of needle-sharp teeth. “You have seven days to leave this place forever. Get your affairs in order.”

Friendship with Andy and Quỳnh.

“Holy shit. Did he just—”

“—stab the marquis with a fork, at dinner, in front of the entire court? Yep.”

“...”

“...”

“New best friend.”

“Obviously.”

Yusuf writing poetry about him and to him. Nicolò likes them all. He wouldn't know a good human poem from a bad human poem, but nothing Yusuf touches could be bad, so ergo it's good.

Sightseeing throughout the kingdom with Yusuf’s strong, gentle fingers twined around his.

Yusuf breathing blissful curses into Nicolò’s ear, exactly like he used to do on their island, as they move together on his enormous bed.

Yusuf. Yusuf. Yusuf.

(Booker is also there. He insisted on being turned human, too, and coming along to make sure Nicolò doesn’t totally fuck this up, but he’s really mainly there for the entertainment. And the booze. Andy asks him at one point about losing his immortality. He shrugs. “Look, if we die, we die,” he says, then offers Andy another pour of fine French brandy. The two of them get along famously.)

It’s all going great until one night on the beach, while they’re walking along hand-in-hand under the stars and idly discussing human and merfolk constellations. Someone approaches them, dressed splendidly and moving with arrogant grace. He is also angular, also fair-haired, also possessed of unsettling eyes. And he has Nicolò’s siren song, gently humming from the shell that adorns his neck.

“Merrick,” Nicolò hisses as Yusuf’s eyes grow glazed and blank, and he tightens his hand on Yusuf’s, afraid for the first time. “Our deal—”

“He can’t bear the idea of living forever without you, can he? And so he hasn’t proposed,” Merrick says, smiling cruelly. “You’ve missed your chance. He’s mine.” And he extends his hand out to Yusuf—

Who stirs, suddenly, and turns to Nicolò. “Limpid, or shimmering?” 

“What?”

“Shimmering,” Yusuf decides, peering into Nicolò’s eyes. “Yes. Limpid would be too pretentious, I think.”

And that’s pretty much that – we don’t actually get the plot with Merrick the Sea Witch because Yusuf only has eyes for one weird-looking white guy. Also, his one artistic failing is that he's tone deaf.

They do eventually kill Merrick because true love wins out and we are all about those happy endings, Grimm’s can suck it, etcetera, so Nicolò gets his immortality and his siren song back. He’s also back to being a merman, but Yusuf does not care. “I could paint your beautiful tail for the rest of my life, my love, and still fail to capture the luminous iridescence of you,” he murmurs, stroking said tail with tender fingers. The last person to touch Nicolò’s tail got his hand bitten off. Here and now, Nicolò runs his claws through Yusuf’s hair, clicking deep and happy in his throat.

(“This is weird, right?” Quỳnh asks from where she and Andy are busy scraping evil kraken guts off their armor, a prudent distance down the beach from the lovers. “I’m not the only one who thinks it’s weird?”

Andy says nothing, just offers Quỳnh the rest of her bottle of vodka. This is why Quỳnh loves her so.)

(The wedding is a nightmare, at least according to the palace chef charged with cooking the wedding feast. “What is this, this, abomination? What in heaven’s name have you brought into my kitchen!”

“Tubeworm,” Booker says. “Considered a fine delicacy among our people. Don’t worry about it.”)

#the old guard #joe x nicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #disney princess au #by lazaefair

[appleb0mb]

Twisted Wonderland x Date A Live (Outfit) - Vil Schoenheit

Art Process of Agapanthus here!

Poll for Future TWSTxDAL content here!

Purple Agapanthus - Represents beauty, love, strength, power and fertility. For purple, it symbolizes royalty - making the person who receives/represents the Agapanthus as valuable and priceless.

Crocus - Represents dignity, pride and success. Also represents joy and cheerfulness, and the return of spring. 

Previous: “Mm…I can tell that there’s something different about them, Roi de Poison.”  [ The Aphrodites ] here.

“Effort is critical and essential to reach your goal. The ruthless, the hopeless, the beautiful and the ugly have all done the same. Even if people dry up like potatoes, I will persevere - and I will NOT falter.”

(NOTE: This is absolutely free! But NOT free to steal credit from! PLEASE CREDIT MY ART AND MUSIC, AND ASK FOR PERMISSION FROM ME!!!)

If you’re into some Pomefiore plot, please - continue below~.

A word from appleb0mb:

The final and last track I’ll be ever be making 2020 (still December 31st, 2020 over here)- and the second track of Pomefiore, Agapanthus! 

I must say, this track is by the far the most difficult track to make musically and artistically! 

Also when I was doing the quote for Agapanthus I was thinking of “Even if people wither like flowers”, but I think that it contradicts Vil’s personality so I had to do “Even if people dry up like potatoes” XDDDDDD

If I’m going to be honest - I’m not really proud of this track and its art altogether - but I am absolutely proud of the effort I made! I really hope it gets recognized though.

But like all things - its temporary. It’ll pass away. 

The Concept of the Track - Agapanthus: 

Boy Agapanthus was a monster to make.

I was really frustrated from trying to depict Vil’s character musically. Since #1, Vil is barely known (since Pomefiore’s chapter just started), and #2 - Vil isn’t a favorite for me.

Though, I knew the ideas I was going for Vil - a waltz, regal kind of music (like battle music!). I also knew that I had to use some synths and instruments that were applied in The Aphrodites. I didn’t expect to use a Organ and a Glockenspiel though!

I wanted to achieve a powerful, posh kind of battle music showing Vil’s tenacity and upholding personality. But I realized everyone has a gentle and calming side - even Vil.

Not gonna lie, I thought this song was way too good for Vil that I almost pushed this as Vil’s Overblot Theme! But I realized that it’s too soft and serene for an Overblot, so I changed it (and I so glad that did!!! :D).

There was so many images flashing through my mind about this song - and in the end I loved it! I admire how it shows the strong and kinder signs of Vil. The soundtrack sounding loud - soft - then loud again (along with the soft parts helping out the loud bits!).

I also liked how the instruments from the loud and soft sections helped accentuate the last parts of the song - the ending leaving the song on an ominous note.

Anyways.

Imagery and Ideas From Listening to Agapanthus:

In the beginning of the song, I imagine Vil looking into a mirror at his reflection or waving his halos in battle until the lullaby parts. In those lullaby parts I imagine an image of Pomefiore in stained glass at a cathedral till the glitchy part, when later on we transition to him back at the mirror, the mirror shattering and no longer see a reflection of his own...or none at all.

And everything crashes down, and he’s holding his well-toned face in his beautiful hands; hiding his wet, newly-formed tears. Lost in a garden maze of his own creation - covering his face in his knees, trying to seal all those desires of someone helping him.

TWSTxDAL Plot - Continuation!

Warning - long reading ahead!

Hours later the two Spirits finally arrived at their destination, after travelling above the Earth’s calming seas.  

The wintery night transitioned into a scorching, blinding sunrise - forcing the lilac to shield his eyes from the early, morning rays of the sun. The blonde also did the same, pulling his hat to conceal the disturbing light that interrupted his view.

Pearly-white heels and marron, cardinal-ribbon boots stepped on the porcelain tile, the duo waiting patiently near the upstairs windowsill. Within a second, the composite windowsill opened; before hastily closing and securing the grand, sophisticated bedroom.

“Why did you two take so long? I couldn’t even start breakfast without you two.” A firm voice spoke.

“Well, fear not! I have some exciting news to share with you, Roi de Poison.” Rook replied excitedly.

“I see. Epel, head to your room and get dressed. I’ll be downstairs in time to properly start breakfast.”

Biting the bottom of his lip quietly, he silently headed left to his upstairs room; careful to not intervene in the older Spirits’ conversation.

As Epel exited the bedroom a fair-skinned, petite form sat on the lavender, chesterfield sofa; lightly tugging the knots and tangles out of his gorgeous hair.

“As I was saying, Epel and I have discovered some new information regarding some...Spirits.”

Eyes of sangria swiftly glanced at Rook, the figure momentarily halting to a stop.

“I’m listening.”

“When we went to the island for training, we met two Spirits and an Invidaé.”  

His eyes slightly widened in belief. “Hmpf. An Invidaé? Impossible. A human cannot last that long under such intense circumstances.” 

“That’s the thing - they’re human. Besides, they already lost consciousness as soon as we came near them. Luckily, I stepped in and offered a price that they could never deny.”

“What was the price, per say?”

“If they tell us all the information regarding Spirits - we will give them the antidote in return.”

“And the antidote was made by Epel?”

“Of course.”

Short locks of blondish-mauve covered his neck, and a lovely blanched tank top covered his well-toned muscles underneath. Well-cut fingernails were polished meticulously; the polish glittering sublimely under the glaring rays of the sun. Elongated, onyx sportswear perfectly shaped his curves - displaying his fit, and slender body.

A full-length oval mirror reflected eyes of sangria, showing a stunning and enticing figure of beauty.

“Excellent job, Rook - as expected of you. You can go now and get ready.” He paused. “And just a reminder - I don’t like waiting.”

Gracefully, he stood up from the plushy sofa - staring at his reflection before him. The morning light warmed his elegant complexion. 

A complexion of the most fairest and the most beautiful of them all - Vil Schoenheit. 

- End of Post -

Thank you for supporting the fan-made music and art of Twisted Wonderland x Date A Live.

And have a wonderful Happy New Year!!!

Note: If you have any questions about this post, please request it in my inbox or under this post.

#TWSTxDAL #TWSTxDAL album #twisted wonderland #twst #date a live #pomefiore #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #twst vil #twst rook #twst epel #YO IT'S CANON VIL GOT THEM HALOS #AND THEM HALOS GOT SOME HARSH HITS #He's actually a powerful character if you use his powers correctly #and if he wants you to- #I'll might do a part 2 #Idk??? #Happy New Year's gift MAY be coming #actually HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL #You haven't met Vil yet - don't worry! #But be careful! Do NOT underestimate Vil! #Neither Rook! Neither Epel! #I have a lot more to say but I really need to upload this!!! #You can try the inbox! It's open!

[frostsinth]

The Secret We Keep - Pt. 1

*bangs head against wall* .... Soooo I should be working on my ‘Deals with Demons’ Story. Or maybe on some of the art I have around. But I just COULD NOT get this idea to leave me alone until I started writing it down.

Slow burn, sfw, Orc x F. Human. Back to my roots. I hope you like it! I’ve got a great surprise in mind for this one. :DDD

MasterList

The first time I saw him, I thought a storm cloud had passed over the sun. The light streaming in from my window was suddenly snuffed out, and I looked up from my place behind the counter in surprise.

He was so big, even looking directly at him I still couldn’t quite make sense of what I was seeing. His torso filled the window frame from edge to edge, and I even squinted my eyes trying to figure out exactly what was going on. With a huff, I bustled over to the door, opening it with my shoulder.

“Excuse me!” I said, exasperated, placing my hands on my hips and looking up.

And up. And up. And up a little more, until the base of my skull was nearly flat against my back. The man before me must have been well over seven feet tall, with a body that looked more like the broad side of a barn than anything a living person could possess. He wore thick knotted and worn leather armor over his broad chest and legs, with a wide belt probably almost as big as I was. Each leg was as big as a tree trunk, and his arms bulged with muscles. His skin was a dark, washed out green that looked more grey in the shadows of his huge body and he had thick, messy black hair pooling about his shoulders and down his back. He had an equally messy scruff of the coarse black hair on his jaw and cheeks and down his neck, with two thin little braids dangling from the point of his chin. I snapped my open mouth back shut once I had fully assessed him, and cleared my throat noisily. It was rude to gawk.

“Excuse me!” I said again, louder this time.

At first, he hadn’t noticed me. Even when I had spoken. He seemed to be drawing big, deep wuffs of air in through his broad, flat nose nestled in between two massive tusks. A smaller set rested near the base of the first, and his thick bottom lip wobbled a bit as he turned to face me when I spoke a second time. He had to drop his chin to his chest to look at me directly, and one big, bushy eyebrow raised up. Perhaps it was surprise there, I wasn’t sure. I wondered how often tiny humans addressed the behemoth without preamble.

I jerked my head at the window. “You’re blocking my shop!” I told him, not perturbed in the least by his size.

His large, slate blue eyes rolled to look to where I had gestured. I saw them skim over the sign, perhaps even study what could be seen beyond the window. One big meaty hand came up and rested on the huge ax at his hip and he gave a deep grunt. I sighed, shaking my head slightly. Apparently I wasn’t going to get through to him with subtleties. I didn’t recognize him as one of the regular orcs that ambled through town occasionally. Perhaps he was new.  

“I can’t see anything with you standing there. You block out the sun!” I explained, but gave him a friendly smile none-the-less. “You lost? Looking for something in particular?”

He still didn’t answer, dropping his hand and giving another mighty wuff with his nose. I saw his nostrils twitch, then his heavy brow furrowed a little. I decided he looked intrigued, and my grin grew by a few more inches.

“Ah! You’re hungry!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. “You have a good nose, sir, that you do! I’ve got a fresh pig on the spit and a fair large sampling from the last one on salt!” I turned, shoving the old creaky door to my shop open. “Come in! Come in! I’ll get you a sample! I’m sure you’ll love it.”

I stepped inside and held open the door behind me. The big orc paused, frowning deeply. His slate eyes ran over me, sizing my stout little 5’4” frame from head to toe. I couldn’t quite read his expression, but had already decided it didn’t seem remotely aggressive. I gave him another warm smile, waving him in.

With a shrug of his big, meaty shoulders, he ducked his head and scrunched up his bulk. Following me into my little butcher shop. I squeezed against the wall to be sure to make space for him, letting the door close on its own squeaky hinges and bustling back over to the counter. Once inside, he was able to stretch out a little, thanks in part to the high rafters and wide support beams. I saw him looking about when I glanced over my shoulder. I had a few pheasants hanging on the wall, and a good mess of rabbits and squirrels waiting to be skinned and prepped from the hunter who had come by that morning. On the opposite side, I had stag horns mounted for display, amid shallow bins of salted fish already smoke dried and waiting for sale. My jerky I kept at the counter, to avoid sticky hands grabbing at it when I wasn’t looking. A fresh roast sat on the cutting board alongside my favorite knife. It also happened to be my only good carving knife at the moment. There were some lamb chops on the low burning fire in the corner by the counter, and a few dripping cow haunches smoking overhead.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, making my way over to the counter. The orc was eyeing the lamb, and I saw his nose twitch again. I shook my head, waving him to the barrels that I used as makeshift tables in the back and pulling some of the salted pork from another near me.

“It smells good, but trust me, it’ll be a tough chew!” I told him, sighing as I brought the pork to the counter. I picked up the carving knife and easily shaved off a few sample pieces, placing them on a smoothed piece of wood. “Old man Carver was near desperate, selling off those scraggily little things. Barely any good meat on them! If I manage to slow roast them properly, I might just make them passable for food.”

I followed him over to the opposite corner with my little platter and set it on the barrel. He looked down at it, and I saw him lick his lips. I smiled up at him again, placing my hands on my hips again.

“But you look like a traveller! The salted pork keeps well, and you won’t find better flavor, I can promise you.” I assured him, bustling over to the small keg I kept by the water trough. “I’ll give you a good price if you like that; and I’ve got beef jerky and fish besides if you’d like to add some variety! Let me get you some ale to wash it down.”

Just as I was pulling down one of the cracked old mugs from the shelf, the door of the shop banged back open. I jumped at the loud sound, spinning about. I felt suddenly cold and my heart sank through my chest at the far too familiar sight.

The gnarled looking man gave me a gap toothed grin, sauntering in with his two mates behind him. He was not very tall, but fit as an old war dog with a scratchy beard and lopsided ears to match. His leathery skin was wrinkled from a life sleeping outdoors and working in the sun, and I swore a few flies always seemed to cling to him like he was shit haven. He grabbed his scruffy, beaten cap off his head, mashing it between dirty, calloused hands. His men spread out, effectively cornering me as their leader came over.

“”Ello again, lil lass,” Grinned the ruffian, tucking his hands behind his head to stretch out his lean chest beneath his filthy tunic. “Ye pourin’ us a drink? How ver’ thoughtful.”

“What do you want Erlif?” I pressed in a soft voice, hoping it wasn’t shaking as much as my knees beneath my skirts.

“Ye got yer taxes ready?” Erlif replied, sauntering even closer.

I quickly backed away, until my backside bumped into the counter. “I already paid you this month.” I told him breathlessly, nervously brushing my hands down the front of my apron.

His front tooth wiggled a little when he sucked in his breath, shaking his head. “Well, ya see lass, that was yer father’s tax. An’ we charge different by the head, ya kno’.”

I stiffened at the mention of my father, and my lips tightened. Erlif laughed, tucking his thumbs into his belt. He took a few more long strides, closing the gap between us.

“But dun ya worry, lass,” His grin had returned, and his calloused hand snapped out, snatching the mug from my hands. He seemed amused at my tiny gasp, and leaned closer. “I ‘ave another way ya can pay yer taxes if yer a lil’ short.”

There was the soft scraping sound of wood against wood, and Erlif’s companions shot an angry eye over to my sole patron; they must not have noticed him when they first came in. He had been tucked into the shadows of the back corner, but now he straightened to his full height, head nearly scraping the rafters. As they took him in, I saw the blood drain from their faces. They even took a nervous step back, eyes going wide. One frantically began shaking Erlif’s shoulder, still staring as the big orc took one menacing step closer. Unwilling to tear their eyes away.

“Waht, ye-?” The rogue’s angry words jerked to a stop with a small hiccup in his throat as he turned.

I thought his eyes might pop out of his sockets. His jaw dropped open and I saw that loose tooth dangle dangerously. He even dropped the cup in his hands, and it clattered loudly in the sudden silence in the shop. I found myself tickled at the sight, and almost smiled. The sound seemed to break the sudden terror that had settled upon the trio. His two companions didn’t waste another moment, quickly spinning on heel and darting out the door so fast one smashed his shoulder on the way out.

“S-sorry! Sorry!” Stammered Erlif, backing towards the door as well. He quickly smashed the cap back on his head, clutching his hands before him and hunching his shoulders anxiously. “P-please forgive me.”

Then he too spun and bolted. I stared after them, surprised. I had never seen that stubborn old thief move so fast or back down so easily. But a grin quickly returned to my face. I laughed, shaking off the last of my nerves. I ran one still trembling hand through my hair and turned back to the orc.

“Well, you certainly come in handy, don’t you?” I was still smiling as I bent to pick up the mug the lowlife bastard had dropped.

The orc turned his slate gaze back to me, and one thick brow twitched up again. His meaty hand was still on the head of his ax, and I supposed he might look quite imposing. Standing there with his huge frame filling the tiny shop and his hair a thick black shadow around his shoulders. But I was surprised to find it didn’t particularly bother me. I laughed again, looking down at the mug in my hand.

“I can’t serve you that piss poor excuse for ale after that. Come out back, and let me get you a real meal.” I looked back up at him, “As a thank you.” 

He gave another deep grunt, shaking his huge head. He even started to open his mouth but I raised my hand to silence him. 

“No sir, I won’t let you accept anything less. It’s the least I can do.” I moved over, shouldering the shop door firmly closed and sliding the mostly broken latch in place before turning to the door at the back behind the counter. “Come on then.” I told him, placing the mug on the counter. I didn’t wait to see if he was following me, slipping out the open back door.

Behind the shop was a tiny, open aired square, which is where I kept most of my in-progress work. It was nestled between the clay and wood walls of the tiny shop front and the little one room building set behind the tavern that had been my home for as long as I could remember. The two buildings were almost perpendicular to each other, making the square yard uneven. Alongside the largest wall, there was a good sized cow skinned and hoisted by its hind legs, and three great spits over a coal burning fire off to one side of the courtyard. Fats sizzled in the hot stones, dripping off the two pigs I had roasting there. The third spit had four whole chickens sizzling, and as I passed by I inspected the meat’s progress with a practiced eye. There was a small shambling stable on the opposite side, with a half stone wall in disrepair on the outside facing the main square. It was currently empty; I’d had to sell the old horse to manage rent last month, and the chickens were now on the spit. The wall beside my homemade smoke pits had a large wooden gate set into it to allow carriages and fresh product to be brought in. It was hanging off its hinges and had more holes than wood, but it managed to do the job still. There was a small pile of scrap wood and nails leaning on the wall. My father had intended to make repairs before he had passed, but I didn’t have any time or ability to even think to make the same attempt.

I half expected the man not to have followed me. He had certainly seemed reluctant at best. But when I glanced over my shoulder, he was there, looking around. I smiled cheerily when his gaze settled on me again, and jerked my head towards the door to my place. Again, I didn’t wait, making my way over. I had to put most of my strength into heaving the ancient door open, and gave a little grunt to emphasize the effort. The door complained loudly at the abuse, scraping heavily along the dirt floor.

“Make yourself at home.” I told him, quickly moving a pile of furs off the table and bench in the center of the room.

I dropped them onto my bed in the corner, then bustled over to the water bucket against the back wall. The house was wide, with the same high post ceilings as the shop. At one time, this had been the storage room and the main house had been the small tavern at the back. But I couldn’t remember a time when my family had owned both. Due to its original intent, there were no windows to speak of, save for a makeshift opening in the roof with a trap door made from a barrel lid propped over the top.  I didn’t mind. I had hung herbs and various plants to dry amid the rafters, and the worst of the hot air filtered out through the trap hole in the roof. I lifted the old worn pitcher full of wildflowers to run a damp cloth underneath it over the worn, patched wood of the table, smiling as I saw the orc manage his last hurdle and scrunch through my tiny front door. I gestured to the bench, replacing the pitcher and turning to drop the cloth back in the water and open the tiny larder in the corner by the little stove. I had set a few big barrels alongside the little clay stove, and my sole tin pot waited on top of one. I pulled out a large helping of cheese, and an old bottle of wine, bringing both over to set at the table.

“Here, something to wet your pallet while I get a good chunk off the pig on the spit.” I told him, smiling again as he slowly eased himself onto the bench.

It groaned beneath his weight, and I worried it might not hold. But the old wood managed, and I sighed with relief. I hummed quietly to myself as I took the cloth off the basket of bread I had made that morning, picking the crispiest roll to bring to the table.

I took up a plate and ducked back out the door to the pits in the back. I considered the pair, poking one thoughtfully before tearing off most of one haunch to plate. I brought it back in, still humming to myself, and wiped the juices off my hands as I set it before him.

“You’ll have to tell me what you think,” I told him, “You can be my taster! Let me know if you think it needs a bit more vinegar, or maybe another few hours on the spit.”

The burly orc looked over the simple spread in front of him, then at me. Then back down. I noticed his thick, bushy brows were still raised as he gingerly reached out, ripping off a small piece of the pig. As if he was surprised. I wondered how often people treated the big guy just like anyone else. At least without getting to know him first, as he seemed a nice enough sort. He brought the dripping morsel of meat to his big mouth, feeding it slowly between his tusks almost hesitantly. As if worried it was rotten. His eyes widened with delight as his teeth worked at the meat, and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.

“It’s good.” He rumbled, sounding pleased. 

It was the first time I had heard him speak, I realized. His voice was as deep and heavy as a boulder, and seemed befitting to his huge body. The big orc hunched over with his elbows on the table and began to dig into the haunch. He dwarfed the old beaten table, which would have comfortably sat at least four humans. This close to him, I could see a deep scar over one cheek, and a notch missing from his ear as well as a few flat iron rings in the remaining cartilage. His armor covered the cap of his shoulders, but his big muscular arms were also dotted with scars. I could see his meaty hands looked rough. Likely a laborer, I decided. Especially due to the shape of his body; more square than triangular.

“I’m Madara, by the way,” I told him, sitting at the bench opposite. He glanced back at me as he took up the roll and tore off a piece.

“Hanste’kosh.” He grunted, his slate blue eyes studying me. He looked down at his plate, then over at me again. One big meaty hand shoved it closer. “Eat.”

“Has.. Hanshet… Hankos…” I tried, fumbling over the long name. I reached over and peeled off a little of the pork, bringing it slowly to my mouth.

“Hanste’kosh.” He repeated, his voice rumbling in his chest like thunder over the mountainside.

I laughed, shaking my head as I chewed. “I’m sorry. That’s quite the mouthful!” He grunted, taking a larger bite of the pork and draining back a fourth of the bottle of wine. “Would it be alright if I called you Hans?”

His eyes turned to settle on me again. Seeming to really take me in. I tucked back a loose strand of hand hesitantly behind one ear under his scrutiny. I wondered what he was thinking. The deep scrunch of his brows made me think he might be questioning my motives, or wondering if I was making fun of him. I was certain most humans didn’t treat strange orcs nearly so nicely as I. But they had never bothered me. In fact, I found their blunt, straight to the point manners rather refreshing from most human’s passive aggressive behaviors. Preferable even. Finally, he shrugged his big shoulders, pulling the wedge of cheese over to himself and breaking it into pieces. 

“Sure, why not.” He sounded almost amused, but it was hard to tell from the rolling timbre of his voice.

I smiled cheerily at him, tearing a small piece from the bread. “You can call me Maddie, if you’d like.”

He looked up at me from his hunched position, considering me again through long dark lashes. He chewed slowly for a moment, working his square jaw back and forth almost thoughtfully. I tilted my head to the side, curious but knowing better than to pry.

“Those men,” He began, his thick tongue snaking out to clear his lips, “They bother you much?”

I hesitated, and my face must have fallen a little, because I saw a scowl settle on his features. I quickly raised my hands and shook my head.

“Don’t worry about me. I don’t want any trouble started on my behalf.” I smiled at him, my eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can manage.”

He gave a long, deep ‘hmmm’. But returned to his meal without further comment. I watched him eating quietly for a moment, propping my elbow on the table and resting my cheek in my palm. I decided he was probably younger than he looked underneath all that hair. I wondered the last time he had given it a good wash and comb. Perhaps I might find someone not much older than myself if he did. I suddenly longed to take a stab at it myself, and moved to cupped my twitching hands on my lap under the table.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” I mused, “Are you just passing through? Or do you have business here?”

He licked the juice dribbling down his chops. 

“Business.” He replied, sucking the last of the flavor off his thumb.

I smiled. “Well, you are certainly welcome back anytime... Hans.”

He grunted again, flicking his tangled black locks over his shoulder. He flexed his arms, stretching out a little before giving a sizable snort.

“I should be going.”

I jumped up, smoothing down the front of my apron. “Of course! I don’t mean to keep you.” I craned my head back to look up at him as he slowly stood. “Thank you for everything.”

A non-committal grumble answered me this time, and he turned, making his way out the door. As he ducked his head back into the shop, I scuttled after him, heading over to my stock of jerky.

“Perhaps I can pack you something for the road.”

He shook his big head, his meaty hands shuffling about his belt. “I’ve enough.”

I looked up right as he dropped a small pouch on the counter. It clinked as it hit the wood. I started to open my mouth, straightening from behind the counter. But he was already making his way out.

“Hey, wait!” I cried belatedly, still in a little shock.

Hans already had ripped open the stubborn door with a single flex of his big arm. I thought I heard the sound of wood splintering, but didn’t fully have time to register. I took up the bag, rushing out to the marketplace square.

Despite his size, or perhaps because of his long stride, the orc moved fast. Before I had time to even make it to the doorway, he was already halfway across the square. The people seemed to give him a wide berth, shooting whispers under their breath and glancing sidelong at the behemoth orc. It made me glad that I had invited him in; it must be tough to have people instantly judge you so harshly. But then I merely sighed, slumping my shoulders slightly. The tiny bag of gold coins felt strangely heavy in my hand, and I looked down at it. I gripped my fingers about it more tightly, then turned and made my way back into the shop.

...

Hanste’kosh was nearly to the outskirts of town by the time his lieutenant caught up to him. The smaller orc smacked a fist across his chest respectfully.

“Hey boss. Where’ve you been?”

He scowled at him, heavy brow knotted ferociously, making his second wince and take a wary step back. He put up his palms, patting the air as if trying to smooth over the situation. Hanste’kosh flexed his mighty shoulders, as if he meant to take a swing at the other man. His armor creaked in protest. Ready to remind him how disrespectful it was to pry.

“Sorry boss.” He mumbled, dropping his gaze. “Everything’s ready if you are.”

Giving a snort, the larger orc nodded. “Good.” He turned to make his way to the rendezvous point, but then paused, his heavy brow squinting. “Bar’tok, I have another job for you.”

...

UPDATE: Part Two HERE

#orc #orc lover #orc boyfriend #orc x human #slow burn #romance #dnd #terato #exophilia #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster x human #the secret we keep

[weasleymalfoypotter]

i hate you (but not really) pt5

draco malfoy x fem!slytherin! potter reader

summary : summary: draco malfoy and harry potters twin sister have hated each other since they met. but in 5th year he comes to find that maybe he doesn’t hate her and the reasons he did end up be the things he loves

word count : 1.5k

warnings : angst, fluff, mentions of death, mentions of nightmares

A/N : this one is short but i wanted to do one part that was just about the reader dealing with sirius’ death and draco helping her to help contrast something that will happen in the last part (which is the next one) so enjoy and part 6 will be out soon!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

draco didn’t go with us to the department of mystery’s. he had been working with umbridge as kind of a spy for the DA so when she left him to keep us in her office while she went with harry and hermione, he helped us get out of there and go help harry while he stayed to keep her and her goons from catching us.

he didn’t go with us so he didn’t watch sirius die. he didn’t watch me watch sirius die. when i came back and cried to him about everything that happened he held me and ran his hand through my hair while i sobbed. he was the only person who saw me like that. harry and i have gotten good and looking like we’re fine. we don’t let anyone know that we hurt like regular people do. it’s never been in our nature. draco was the only person who ever saw me vulnerable. draco was supportive through out the rest of the year. letting me cry, helping me with nightmares, making sure i ate. that’s why i was so upset about the upcoming summer. usually people are able to keep in touch over summers through letters but if dracos family found my owl or anything i’d sent him it wouldn’t be good.

summer was painful. the dursley’s were never kind and made life unbearable while living with them. harry and i were crammed into the tiny room they allowed us to have. it was a step up from underneath the stairs but it was crammed nonetheless. i also had the worst trouble sleeping. nightmares every single damn night and it always cedric’s death, sirius’ death, or someone else’s death that hasn’t actually happened yet. harry and i were glad to go to the burrow for the summer and seeing dumbledore early was a treat. summer with ron and hermione and molly’s cooking was amazing. seeing remus though was saddening. when i saw remus i thought of sirius and my dad. i felt bad for him, he lost his best friends, but i kind of avoided him because it was painful. i could tell he was hurt by it. remus and i became close during my 3rd year. when he volunteered to help harry with the dementors, he also volunteered to give me lessons for my abnormal wizarding abilities. the more time we spent with remus and sirius the more i could tell the kind of came as a package deal. harry wasn’t as close with remus as i was so he didn’t feel like he needed to avoid him but for me, i looked at remus and saw what we lost. i knew it wasn’t fair to him but i couldn’t help the way i felt.

honestly with everything that’s happened and being around so many people all at once all the time i wanted alone time. i really wanted alone time with draco. i never realized how damn touch starved i was until we started dating and i wanted to be with him, touching him all the time. it never even had to be sexual. simply holding hands, hugging, cuddling, anything at all. we got used to not being around each other that much when we were hiding our relationship but once it was out in the open, we were always holding hands or touching in someway shape or form. we made sure not to be that one couple thats constantly all over each other. we’re classy. but at the end of the day i just missed him. i love the boy, there’s no denying it, and being away from him this long sucks. so when it’s time to go back to hogwarts i am ecstatic. i get my own space back, not that i didn’t enjoy bunking with hermione and ginny because we always had a blast, but i just like having my own room to escape to. i get to have access to the library again which i know hermione is also over the moon about. i get to play quidditch again which will be fun with my boyfriend as the seeker and me as one of slytherins prized chasers. playing professionally is actually on my radar, i just haven’t decided yet but i know i could if i wanted to. everything is just better at hogwarts.

i found the compartment where draco was waiting in for me. we had established before we left that he would be in a compartment waiting for me and i would find him since were usually late or right in time. his head popped up from the floor excitedly when he heard the door open and i smiled at him before he shot up out of his seat to hug me.

“hello love” he whispered in my ear while we stood there

“hi” i giggled back

“i missed you. a lot” still hugging

“i missed you too” i replied, you could hear the smile into my voice. i was breathing him in, taking in the feeling of being in his arms before he pulled away to kiss me. it was soft but meaningful. saying ‘i missed this’ in a thousand different ways. he pulled away and looked at my face, his hands resting in the back of my neck.

“darling are you alright?” he asked looking rather concerned. i knew i looked tired. my nightmares only got worse over the summer and he knew about the ones that started first year and how they plagued me.

“just tired, the nightmares got worse” i shrugged. i had a habit of playing this down and he hated when i did it.

“c’mere” he said sitting down gesturing to the space next to him. i wasn’t going to object. he always put me to sleep easily.

i wordlessly moved laying down next to him with my head in his lap while he played in my hair.

“talk to me” he said. i hadn’t talked about it all summer so i wasn’t sure if i wanted to now. harry and i talked about it once when we were at the dursley’s but after that, we just knew when the other was upset about what happened and we helped each other without verbally confronting it.

“i don’t know how” i said. you could hear the sadness in my voice as it cracked signaling that i might cry. “it just sucks. it always happens to us you know? harry and i lose everyone. i miss him too. he was all the family we really had left”

“i’m sorry” he knew that was all i needed to hear. that someone was sorry harry and i got the short end of the stick. other people thought we were lucky. we had fame and power but it came at a price we didn’t want to pay but we had no choice. he lulled me to a peaceful sleep. while i was sleeping my brother found out compartment.

-

“hey draco, how’s she doing?” harry asked as he quietly sat down in the compartment seat across from draco

“she exhausted mate. she’s better than she was at the end of the year but i’m worried about her you know?” draco really was worried and you could hear it. he and harry had become tolerant of each other. usually they only talked about or around y/n. their relationship never went past that.

“yeah her nightmares got a lot worse over the summer, being at the burrow helped a little bit but she’s still...i don’t know” harry said. draco looked down at her. all he wanted was to take away her pain. “honestly mate this is the most..calm i’ve seen her in months” draco got a warm feeling at this. he loved being able to help her, and he knew she was putty in his hands and he adored it.

“i just hope being back here helps you know?” draco said. harry nodded along and told draco he needed to go back to his compartment with hermione and ron. he let y/n sleep until they needed to get their robes on. she already looked better after just a couple of hours of sleep.

-

i woke up feeling really bad. i planned on talking to draco during the train ride, catching up, talking about summer, what sucked, what didn’t, what we missed. i wanted to talk to him but i just had to screw up and fall asleep. i swear he’s gonna be tired of my sulking so i need to get it together. we got dressed and i sat down with my head on his shoulder.

“i’m sorry i fell asleep” i said softly.

“why are you sorry?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“i wanted to talk to you, talk about summer, instead i just dumped all my problems on you and fell asleep” i said with self annoyance in my voice. he shifted so he had on leg on the seats and he was facing me.

“we have plenty of time to talk” he grabbed my hand “and i want you to dump all your problems on me, it’s what i’m here for. i dump all my problems on you too, i don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me.” i could feel my body relax. i needed to hear it. i kissed him and the train stopped. we got our things and made our way to hogwarts.

TAGS: @idkmanicantenglish @lordlodge @dracoswhore007

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter blog #harry james potter #harry potter #draco malfoy series #draco series #draco malfoy x y/n #draco imagine #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco x you #slytherin #gryffindor #sirius black #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp aesthetic #hp fandom #fanfic #writing #riddikulus #potter fandom #potterhead