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#but I love being indignant. it’s how I thrive
002yb · 6 months
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I don't know, I just really like the idea of a reverse!robins au, you know??? Just little baby Dickie being an absolute menace to a slightly older Jason, and just being completely obvious with his little (huge, enormous, really) crush on Jason, and just Dick being a possessive and jealous little shit as a kid, before they started dating just cracks me up. And like everyone knows about his crush, but they all think its so cute and innocent, and it'll probably go away, right???? Right???? Something like this probably
https://www.tumblr.com/mlim8/691663407306440705/i-want-to-say-how-much-i-love-your-reverse-robins?source=share
https://www.tumblr.com/mlim8/681971460563140608/jaydick-week-day-3-reverse-robins-soulmates?source=share
So I think I may have answered an ask with similar vibes here. (: Here's some thoughts inspired by the first link though! Super cute vibes, kudos to mlim8!
Dick emulating Kon because he genuinely believes Kon is the definition of c o o l g u y. Like, how else could Kon land Tim? The man is playing out of his league; he's a legend. Peak aspiration. Of course Dick is going to be smitten with his older brother's cool boyfriend; Dick needs to learn all the tricks of the trade. He's got his own babygirl to win over. C:
(The term 'babygirl' comes from an overheard conversation and while Kon laughs about it, Tim gets so embarrassed. Despite how he tells Dick to not say that, Dick refuses).
Anyway, Kon? Thriving. Some might call his moves cringe, but Dick is so earnest and hopeful and Kon feels like fucking superman no one can touch him. ;U;
Damian nagging both Tim and Jon about Kon's influence on Dick because Dick won't listen to him; he can't be deterred and Damian is losing his mind over how Dick keeps winking and finger gunning and throwing out these truly terrible, punny lines at Jason and ahhhhhhhh
Basically Damian not liking Kon because of the impact he's had in Dick's life. It's created a hassle for Damian, but more than that? Big brother might be a little jealous. ;3;
Extra detail: Damian didn't like Kon even before Dick came into the picture because he became a distraction for Tim. It's an ongoing argument between Damian and Tim, actually. Damian is convinced Tim keeps Kon around for the sole purpose of annoying him (this isn't the case, but Damian is convinced)
Tim scoffing about it and telling Damian that his envy is showing. Just get laid, damn.
Which Damian gets indignant because no )<
To which Tim smirks a bit and purposefully badgers, 'Alright, Brother Complex (affectionate nickname), if you're threatened by our baby brother stealing Jason from you, then—‘
And Damian hisses because shut up, Drake. Fuck forbid father hear such crass speak omfg Damian will bury Tim himself.
Jason does have a crush on Damian though. The brother complex goes both ways. Or rather, it's a transference sort of deal for Jason that lingers big time because in this verse, Damian chose to save Jason from Joker, consequences be damned. The point stands, Jason is very sweet on Damian.
When Dick realizes this, devastation. Betrayed by his own partner!? Because...maybe Damian would have a similar batman stint where Dick was his Robin?? Yes.
Anyway, Dick refusing to talk to anyone, even Jason. Which is how they all know Dick is distraught.
So despite how it pains Damian, they send in the b i g g u n s: Kon. (:
Who hypes Dick up so hard. Just a bro looking out for his little man, y'know? Kon might hype Dick up a bit too much though because when Dick finally leaves whatever high nook he's sequestered himself away in?
Dick walks right up to Damian and challenges him for Jason outright and the family is caught in a perpetual state of ∑(゚ロ゚〃) because omfg Bruce is right there watching this play out and Jason is his babygirl, first and foremost.
But Damian accepts the challenge if it means having his brother back. And Damian, the sap, kneeling and drawing Dick in for a hug because fuck, having Dick be mad at him? Someone so happy and hopeful and wonderful? It was like a stab to the heart ngl.
And yes. While Damian's brother complex persists, there's zero intent to act but he still plays into this challenge of Dick's because it's highly motivating for the little punkass twerp.
Meanwhile Jason is just...there. Dumbfounded after Dick winks and shoots finger guns his way with a declaration of: 'you're gonna fall for me some day, babygirl.' But don't worry, Dick will catch him.
And Tim groans because Dick, please.
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blorbologist · 1 year
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Its stupid stupid stupid STUPID how emotional im getting over these fictional characters having a baby
After all she went through - unwanted daughter unproven ally - bastard daughter. lost her mother. lost her brother. frosty with her father. her sister is far away. flirting and friendly smiles to keep people at a distance to keep her safe to use as tools - selfish and cruel - labeled greedy and mean for using the only means she can to find security. Greedy greedy greedy to keep it all close, except her heart was not her own and it was terrifying and she could not speak truth to the terrifying weakness until he was dead and almost gone and somehow he came back. Always half of a pair - did not go far from him - always together and now broken in half for his loss, his loss because he saved her, because he loved her. How she is secure in her achievements and busy because she wants to be because shes skilled because she loves it because she has the luxury of freedom, did I mention she can fly? She can fly! How family was her mother (gone) was her twin (gone) and now she gets to build a new one and they're safe and loved and her child is not a bastard not a scorned halfbreed not *not enough* like she was, her child is not, her child is not motherless like she was, her child will have a host of siblings and her child will have that family, whole and at ease, or so help her.
After all he went through - smoke and fire and iron and bullets and bullets and bullets - orphan coward a lit fuse looking only to take them down with me signed his own death certificate and that of thousands more and being *fine with it* so long as he worked down his list and checked off vengeance for each. How it mattered but did not but did because it all was a dream. How he achieved it and was saved and had to live with what he had done and nearly not, nearly not - he was ready to go he was fine with going but lo and behold, behold, against all expectations her heart was his?! - and build a new legacy. How in the end he tried, tried, tried to sign this new future away for a friend, a brother, a man who deserved better - last words indignant and irritated - and he could not. He could not fix it. Faced with the loss and the death and the mourning and finally, finally, finally finding time to grieve and heal and grow. And he can put away his weapons and make clocks to tell time and watch it advance and not worry for what it brings. How his family tree was so neatly pruned - so many names - but two. And three when she said yes. And now four, then six, seven, eight, nine, perhaps?
And.
Her.
she's his sister and her mother and only one middle name, starting off simple, her daughter is super cute, his daughter is adorable, their daughter is the future that almost slipped through their fingers or bled out or was left unsaid a hundred times over. And she was carried (because morning sickness was after the end of the world and an adventure and not much time at all) through death and through the Feywild and through the belly of a dragon and a bird in her father's pocket and she survived, against the odds she survived and she thrived and she's loved so completely by hearts that never thought they could. Selfish and cruel, tal'doreis terrible tinkerer, and they made this, and there has to be more good to them than they thought. They have to have made it out (when he didnt when he didn't at his expense even) for a reason.
(And somehow the vampires did not find her, the last de rolos they said, saying nothing of his sister of their baby and she Knew and she kept quiet and she died hoping he would get help and their baby would be safe and perhaps seeing her mother, her mother, gone too soon, and knowing she could not do that to her daughter)
Yes im listening to dalens closet and had to pause and tear up 5 minutes in why you ask
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dreamaze · 3 months
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.⟡. 2023 Year in Review .⟡.
cc year in review — every month in 2023 : link your favorite and/or most popular post from each month this year
tagged by: @shorelinnes, @xiaojuun, & @gnanii, thank you lovelies! ♡ tagging (no pressure, & the gifs were extra!): @ye-xiu, @eggheons, @nervousnotion, @honeyimissjoo (if you’ve already done this, feel free to drop the link! ♡)
Hello!! A brief(ish) recap before the actual list. It’s been a pretty wild year in wingsland, mostly thanks to finishing up my second master’s degree in December (finally, BYE!). Looking back, I’m surprised at how much content I actually created, but this has been a refuge and source of comfort for me while running on fumes between work and school and general adulting. 2023 also marked some changes in my listening and sources of inspiration. I fell more out of interest with txt (apologies to all followers who were here for them… this is the second time this has happened, oops?) but fell even more in love with Monsta X while discovering some other new or new-to-me artists (more on that in another post). Reason was my first official comeback with them, and it really lit a fire in my brain. I have a few ongoing series that I intend to continue, whether they’re gifs or audio compilations. I giffed a LOT of besties (minhyuk + hyungwon, the soulmates of soulmate besties). It brings me so so much joy to work on those sets and the various audio edits or just being excited about musical details in my music box tag. I also managed to squeeze in a few angsty mv sets along the way, because tbh I feel like I am thriving most as a creator when something is pulling at the heartstrings. I know mbbblr has been quiet lately (and must seem exceedingly so to those who were around years ago), but I will keep being noisy about them until mx6 is reunited and beyond. Thank you for sticking around with me ♡
(P.S. I am calling these my favorites and audience favorites because what even is popularity on tumblr, and also I am horribly indecisive and can rarely stick to one. Please enjoy the occasionally unserious post descriptions!)
January ⟡ My favorite(s out of an unusually prolific month): ‘Beautiful Liar’ lyrics + reflected shots, control imagery, & Minhyuk/Changkyun choreo; besties livestreams ft. minhyuk about to get his ass kicked by an indignant noodle & besties again not fighting ⟡ Audience favorite: Reason concept ver.3 (where did all those notes come from) followed by Hyungwon in Love Killa/Gambler/Beautiful Liar
February ⟡ My favorite: Besties Lone Ranger recording, Honey PD ’괜찮아’ Recording (ft. bonus honey threatening offering to kiss minhyuk on the lips), Hyungwon ‘Beautiful Liar’ mv + photoshoot behinds, & the following ⟡ Audience favorite: Unofficial art director Lee Minhyuk
March ⟡ The (only) favorite: Hyungwon FRED x Marie Claire (my favorite photoshoot coloring of the year)
April ⟡ My favorite: Minhyuk in Reason era & besties ft. not-very-tsundere hyungwon ⟡ Audience favorite: Hyungwon John Varvatos x GQ
May ⟡ My favorite: Besties All In mv + filming (for the 7th anniversary of All In) & the following ⟡ Audience favorite: Lights album preview
June ⟡ My favorite: Overdrive & “always you and me” besties ⟡ Audience favorite: Minhyuk x Singles
July ⟡ My favorite: Hyungwon x MV water imagery ⟡ Audience favorite: 1/2 of besties enlists (sobwail)
August ⟡ My favorite: Fighter performance video (…ft. besties), besties massage (fail), & the following ⟡ Audience favorite: Changkyun x Marie Claire
September ⟡ My favorite: Jaechan ‘Time’ ⟡ Audience favorite: Minhyuk vs the prop pear
October ⟡ My favorite: Besties with or without mx ⟡ Audience favorite: A pretty Joohoney
November ⟡ The (only) favorite: Minhyuk x Floun
December ⟡ My favorite: Giuk 'My Blue' & the consequences of putting besties next to each other in dance relays ⟡ Audience favorite: Hyungwon Givenchy Beauty x Singles
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lizzie-is-here · 1 year
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like the dawn
part xx- until the end of the line
“i knew i did from that first moment we met. it was… not love at first sight exactly, but familiarity. like: oh, hello, it’s you. it’s going to be you.” - mhairi mcfarlane
summary: 78 years later, you, steve, and bucky get your fairytail ending
wordcount: 1k
warnings: slight angst, cussing
taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @itsprashimusic @yourfavunsub
a/n: i’m so so sad to see this series go 😭 but i’ve really loved it fr and i’m excited to see where to go next. i’m not sure if i want to start another series or kinda just do some one shots or re-open requests, but ig we’ll see where it goes. love you all so, so much, and thank you for reading. i hope you enjoy 🫶
previous part | series masterlist
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“Is that everything?”
Steve nods as he sets the last box on the counter.
It’s only been a few months since everyone came back, but you all decided to move back to New York to be closer to everyone. Back to Brooklyn, precisely.
Natasha’s funeral was small. Quiet and personal on the lake at Tony’s cabin. A statue for her was being made, and would eventually sit a block or two from the tower.
Her absence was always noticeable, but everyone was slowly coming to grips with it. She would hate to see anyone wallowing.
You’d given your Romanian cottage to Wanda, who’d been intent on working on the grief of losing Vision. She called every now and then, showing you your healthy chickens and garden that thrived under her care.
Now, with Steve’s recent retirement and a bit of cash from the government as compensation, you all bought a large apartment back home.
Two arms, one metal and one skin, wrap around your waist. Bucky rests his head in between your wings and sighs.
“Don’t wanna unpack yet,” he mumbles. You laugh, turning around to kiss him before grabbing a box.
“C’mon. The faster we get done, the faster you can see your surprise.”
Both of your boys’ heads perked up at that. You had been hinting at it for weeks, but refused to tell them.
It had been a guessing game for a while now. A pet, another road trip, a shitty musical on Steve’s life? (That last one was true, much to your disdain.)
The one thing they hadn’t guessed was the small box tucked in the flowerbed full of phlox on your balcony.
“You never keep secrets,” Steve says as he starts hanging up clothes in the large closet. “Shocked you managed to keep this one.”
You gasp in fake indignation. “Steven Grant Rogers! How could you?”
“Yeah, Stevie,” Buck chimes in. “So inconsiderate.”
The blond rolls his eyes and kisses your forehead before grabbing a new box of clothes.
“I’m sorry, you are so very good at keeping secrets,” he grins.
Unpacking moves quickly from there, the three of you working efficiently as the sun starts sinking in the sky.
By the time you’re done, it’s 6:00. Stark’s throwing a party at 6:30, and he’ll throw a fit if you’re late.
He still bitches a bit when you make it at 6:15.
Most everyone’s there, smiling and filling each other in on the past months’ events.
Tony’s little girl is running around, Peter trailing close after her to make sure she doesn’t trip. Shuri and Bruce are in a heated yet friendly debate over AI, exchanging words that you don’t recognize, and from the look of T’Challa, who stands nearby, he doesn’t either.
Sam’s standing with your boys, annoying Bucky as Steve mediates. The new group, the “Guardians of the Galaxy” has huddled around Stephen Strange as the grumbling doctor creates various portals.
Everyone else is scattered about, drinking and enjoying each others’ company.
“Stark,” you greet at the presence behind you.
“Can’t get anything past you, can I?” he asks. You hum, glancing over at his new prosthetic. “How’s it been with the grandpas?”
“It’s been nice,” you admit. “Finished getting everything moved in today.” He nods, pretending to think for a moment before launching the question that brought him over in the first place.
“Soooo… Any upcoming fancy events we need to know about?”
You raise an eyebrow, not taking the bait. “Like what?”
“Oh, you know.” Stark waves a dismissive hand. “Two suits for them, a nice dress for you. White is really your color by the way. Plus, maybe it could have a nice cake at it. A few dances, nothing special.”
When you only deadpan at him, he continues.
“It could start with ‘W’ and end in ‘edding’-“
“Alright, maybe!” you finally say. “I haven’t given them the rings yet.”
Tony balks. “Seriously? Of all the people I expected to be nervous about proposing, it wouldn’t be you.”
You frown. “Why?”
“Listen, the three of you are madly in love. Anyone who’s anyone could tell you that, if any of us were made for each other, it’s you three.” He silently gags at his words, as if disgusted by the sappiness. “I hate it, but I’m right.”
He sips his (Morgan’s) sparkling grape juice. “Speak of the devils.”
You look up as your boys approach.
“Hey doll,” Bucky smiles before pressing a kiss to your hand. “Miss us?”
“Please,” Tony holds up a hand. “Spare me.”
He whisks away after his daughter, but not before nodding to you with a very obvious wink.
Maybe he’s right.
———————————————————————
That night, as soon as you get home, your boys are pestering you for the surprise.
“Fine, fine,” you concede, opening the doors to the balcony. “Go sit down on the couch.”
When you present the small box, you can hear both of their heart rates quicken.
“Um, the last five years, I had a lot of time to think,” you begin. “It was horrible, being alone. Sure, not everyone was gone, but you two were, and every morning I’d wake up and-“ You pause to swallow the tears.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky whispers. “You don’t have to talk about it right now, doll.”
You sit in between them, wings getting squished a bit on the plush couch.
You give a firm nod, pressing forward. “Anyways, when we were going back in time for the Stones, they had me do a test run.”
“Where’d you go?” Steve asks.
A pause. “I went back to our apartment. Before the war. And I grabbed this.”
You open the box, where three gold bands lie.
“They’re…“
“My parents’,” you cut the brunet off. “My dad always promised my mom he’d resize and put a diamond on her wedding band when he had enough money, but… he never got around to it.”
Steve and Bucky each lift a band, with you doing the same.
“D’you want a traditional proposal?” Steve jokes. You chuckle, shaking your head.
“Nothing about us is traditional,” you reply.
All three of you wordlessly slip on the rings, before Bucky pipes up from your left with both pinkies extended.
“‘Til the end of the line?”
You and Steve respond in kind.
“Until the end of the line.”
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evita-shelby · 1 year
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Of Gods and Witches
Chapter 7
Taglist: @v3d3rl1cht @thegreatdragonfruta
Gif by @wiha-jun
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He finds her packing things.
He feels stupid, holding the strange parchment paper in which Itza wrote the spell on and knowing that she will unravel the paper to find his mother’s bracelet there.
K’uk’ulkan comes bearing gifts and she is leaving.
“Where are you going?” He asks as she hums along to some song in Spanish in a long black skirt and flowery lilac blouse.
Every time he comes to see her Eva is wearing more clothes than the previous time.
They dress so oddly, he thinks. She would look better in Talokanil clothes, no strange undergarments, no rows of buttons or clasps to get past of.
Her hair is braided and tied with a black ribbon. Ch'ah prefers it loose, to see her dark brown hair fall down her back, to brush it aside as he kissed the freckles on her neck and shoulders.
“If I get my way, Yucatan, a certain hacienda by the sea under a false name. If my family overrides my wishes, England in a landlocked city where I only know three people and will be married off to a man I've never met.” His witch answered and carefully put books in a box.
The mention of anyone else having her displeased him.
He was a selfish man when it came to love; he could admit to it.
He didn’t love her, and yet the idea of another man touching her and loving her angered him.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Ch’ah.” His witch, his woman says bemused as she pauses and takes out a book from the box and setting it back on the table.
It was her favorite, a novel she knew by heart.
There is a file on the table by her. The information of the man they want her to marry.
A white man, a white man who is a proven warrior and would provide her with a home and security.
The man who will live life knowing he will be second best.
Or the man who will make her forget you, a voice said as he tossed the file back in its place.
“In Talokan it is treason to take the king’s property.” He is possessive of her, not jealous. No why would he be jealous of surface-dwelling mortal man across the sea.
“Am I your property now, oh great K’uk’ulkan?” She turns to face him, not indignant of the word he used, but teasing him about his sudden possessiveness of her, a woman he has only known for six or seven days.
“You aren’t, Eva. I would never reduce you to chattel.” He answered honestly.
No, Eva could never be that. For a surface dweller, she was almost equal to him.
A soldier, a witch, a spy.
She thrived no matter how impossible her circumstances became as they changed because of the revolution.
Had she been Talokanil she would be one of his advisors, perhaps he will make her an advisor, her skills could be put to good use.
And you would get to be with her in the open with no one to stop the two of you, he can hear Itza say.
“I know,” the witch assured him she wasn’t insulted by his words. “Besides, if you ever do consider me property, I will demand that I would be able to say the same.”
K’uk’ulkan, God King of Talokan and maker of the sun, is left stunned by her words.
-----
Oh shit.
She made it weird.
Eva could laugh and say it’s a joke, but she knows she won’t get away with it.
No, how can you take back coming onto a man you truly like knowing your relationship is based on her being shamelessly vulnerable with him and earth-shattering sex.
“I have a gift for you.” He says, nothing except a slight flash of surprise in his eyes betraying his reaction to her words.
She takes it with great care, unfurling the roll and barely catching the ancient bracelet as it falls to the ground.
It is his mother’s bracelet, made with the fibers of the plant that made him and his people the way they were. She wore it until she breathed her last, removing it from her own wrist and giving it to her only child.
This is more serious than her coming on to him.
He may as well be proposing marriage to her.
“It is beautiful, Ch’ah. I can feel the love your mother had for you and your people in every bead, every stone. Your name is carved here, isn’t it?” she lovingly studied the bracelet, loving every detail of it. Whoever made it had known his mother very well.
“Ch’ah Toh Almehen.” The witch pronounced his name just as he taught her as she read the carvings and the tips of his ears turned red.
Eva wouldn’t mind marrying Ch’ah, she thinks.
Handsome, thoughtful, better than any man she’s ever known.
“May I?” he asks and she nods, extending her wrist so he may fasten it.
The gesture is intimate, more so than the nights they have spent together in a tangle of limbs.
He is gentle, so gentle and sweet with her that the young witch knows she will love this man till her last breath.
And he knows it too, she can tell as they stand there just breathing the same air, his warm hands tenderly holding her wrist and leaning in as if to kiss her.
And just like that first night, she takes the initiative and kissed him like she might die if she doesn’t.
-----
K’uk’ulkan knows for sure that Itza never intended for Eva to try this spell wearing only her strange undergarments, the bracelet and his pearls.
She has a tub, a porcelain thing big enough for two. He sits beside it and stands by in case the spell fails.
And it has, four times. Eva tweaks the runes and casts them on her skin again before submerging herself completely in the ocean thinking it was the water.
Just like the four times before it only works until the runes fall apart from the water.
“You’re going to kill yourself.” He points out the obvious as she resurfaced and held onto him for dear life.
“I’m going to die anyways, Ch’ah. This is my only chance.” She says stubbornly. “Tell me about Itza, are her runes on her skin or over something else?”
“Jade necklace around her gills.” He answered as both king and witch came to the same conclusion.
The sixth try is unsuccessful when cast the spell on his pearl necklace and he refuses to let her try again.
“Would you let me cast the runes on your mother’s bracelet?” Eva asks once they get back to the beach and tries to convince him to let her try one more time.
Sure enough, on the seventh try Itza’s spell works and once again the bracelet saves the life of its wearer.
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deathfavor · 6 months
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@kyukicho said: [ SIT ] - Bajitora
soft action prompts [ SIT ] sender straddles receiver while in bed and runs their fingers along their body while they talk.
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   This tiger was all too happy to lay caged on the bed beneath Baji, his eyes aflame in the sunset hues that paint the room in hazy, vivid colors. What was there not to like? For Baji, Kazutora would happily roll on his back and expose his belly instead of claws and teeth that he gave the rest of the world. He was also just as happy to climb into his lap and demand his attention, and Baji could almost never say no to him no matter how he might grumble or complain. This was new when there wasn’t some sort of roughhousing involved and instead just them chattering, but that was fine with Kazutora. 
   A squeak breaks Kazutora’s story as he feels Baji’s hand trail over his skin. Goosebumps break out over his skin and a bright shade of red covers his cheeks – whether from indignation or embarrassment was debatable. There’s an attempt to stumble on through what he was saying, but he’s all but forgotten what he intended to say while he stares up at Baji’s fanged grin. Bastard knew exactly what he was doing. It makes his chest feel swell with a warm sensation to see Baji looking at him. 
   “  Baji!  “  Kazutora whines, abandoning all pretense of trying to continue the conversation. “ Stop that. You know my skin is sensitive! “ He pouts, but it doesn’t last more than a couple seconds as he squirms beneath Baji. “ You’re distracting me! ” Even if he was thriving under the attention. 
   It was true, enough so that Kazutora often sat down and cut off the clothing tags so they wouldn’t irritate him. This wasn’t irritating though. This he purred for, except for the fact that it was very distracting to him. His muscles twitch and tremble under the light touch tracing over his body and all Kazutora can do is try to furrow his brow and pay attention to whatever Baji is saying. Except he can’t. 
   He squirms again, shivering under the gentle touch. “ How am I suppose to focus on what you’re saying, Baji? “ But god if he didn’t love that smile and being the center of his attention. 
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OC Kiss Week Day 5: Night
WIP: Darkspace Portent series Pairing: Thrive x Warren Timeline: Honestly? No idea. CW: none? Rating: T Words: 1,136
***
Warren sat down on the edge of the cliff next to Thrive, resting his feet on top of the stairs carved into the rock face leading down to the beach. The chilled Tournaltis breeze ruffled through their hair, and Warren hugged himself to ward off the initial intensity of the nightly temperature drop.
"How is it that we almost always find ourselves alone during Skywaste concerts?"
Thrive looked at him, amused. "I've often wondered the same thing. There may be something subliminally aphrodisiacal about their music."
"Oh, shit, comin' in hot with the big, sexy words." Warren sighed, his breath escaping in a fog that carried itself away into the deep ink of the sky. "You doing okay?"
"I am." Thrive turned his attention back to the desert lights surfing against the wind over the shore, their glowing reflections causing glitter on the choppy ocean. Skywaste's music from the stage farther inland behind him and Warren echoed across the void, braided with the sounds of their enthusiastic audience. "I'm enjoying myself, but I needed space."
"I get it. Am I intruding?"
Thrive smiled warmly at him. "Never, th'saiya. I do worry that you're anxious about being so close to the edge of the cliff, however."
Warren shook his head. "It's terrifying, but…honestly, I never feel safer than when I'm with you."
Thrive watched him for a few seconds, then reached over to push some of Warren's hair away from his forehead, finishing the gesture with a sweep of his knuckle across his cheekbone.
Warren slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I ever tell you how much I love you?"
"Not a single moment of your life."
"Yeah?" Warren tipped his head back. "That's cool. Why start now?"
Thrive's smile turned mischievous.
"I will say, though," Warren continued, "that they just started playing our song. And I think I'm feeling some type of way about it."
"Does this feeling call for an abrupt departure from the festivities? I seem to recall that being the course of events the first time we heard this song."
Warren shifted so he sat closer to Thrive and delighted in the body heat radiating off of him. "I'd settle for an abridged version."
"Would you?"
"I think if I put in a lot of effort, I can suffer just once the indignity of having to make out with you, you son of a bitch."
"Romantic." Thrive leaned into him, and the contentment in his face could've lit the entire beach with its brilliance. "If you don't mind, however…I'd like to keep things light. While I'm delighted to spend time with you, I also don't want to step away from this. The air is fresh and there's something very pensive about the Sky tonight."
"Hey." Warren grinned at him. "Hearing that you're feeling good is like a fucking drug, man. I'd love to just sit out here with you."
Thrive grasped Warren's hand and pulled it toward himself, interlocking their fingers together as he cast his gaze out to the ocean, where three moons peeked out from the hidden horizon.
"…How light is 'light,' though?"
"There it is," Thrive muttered.
Warren laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm just messing, we don't have to do anything, I swear."
To his pleasant surprise, Thrive moved even closer and tilted his face up with a knuckle under the chin. "I am insanely, tragically in love with you."
"Mm." Butterflies thrashed about in Warren's stomach, as they almost always did in moments like this with no one but Thrive. "Write your own material."
"Why would I do that when your words were succinct and very relatable?"
Thrive finally closed the distance between them, sinking the tips of his fingers into the back of Warren's neck to draw him as close as he physically could. Warren contented in sitting halfway across Thrive's lap for the duration of several songs, blissfully engaged in syncing their minds and running his hands over his chest and shoulders. He coiled his arms around him, so engrossed in Thrive's lips and the warm home of their connection that he would, on occasion, forget they were technically in complete view of everyone for no other hazard than possibly carrying on exactly like that until the sun rose.
By the time either of them had the wherewithal to surface for breathable air, the concert was still in full swing. As Warren crested his amorous fog, he seemed to just then realize with a start that he and Thrive were, in fact, two separate entities.
"Whoa," Warren exhaled.
"Whoa indeed," Thrive murmured, and he regarded Warren with so much affection it almost physically hurt.
After humming and pressing a prolonged kiss to the corner of Thrive's mouth, Warren drooped into his arms. Breathed on his throat, brushed his lips over his pulse point.
"I appreciate your restraint," Thrive said sincerely.
"It's the hardest thing I think I've ever done…pretty literally, as you'll notice." Warren winced. "Sometimes I think I wanna, like…crawl under your skin and live with a Thrive suit on for a while."
Thrive was silent for a beat. "What?"
Warren, overcome with sudden giggles, pulled back to inspect Thrive's bewildered face. "I don't know. I'm a little punchy—that was really fucking weird. I never said that."
"Perhaps bed is a good idea after all for the purpose of sleep."
"Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe I'm allergic to your happiness. God." Warren combed his hand through Thrive's hair. "You're so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?"
"As flattered as I am, this body is not mine."
"So you keep telling me." Warren cocked his head. "Here's the kicker, though—your natural form is just as beautiful. At least…it is to me."
A rapid flash of melancholy appeared on Thrive's face before he masked it with another albeit genuine smile. "Perhaps I'm the lucky one."
"It's definitely me, but I'm not here to argue the point. You're right about one thing, and that's the fact that I need to sleep off whatever alien high I'm on right now. If you wanna stay here, that's great."
"Would you mind if I rested with you?"
Warren recoiled in offense and rattled off a response in a tone that sounded as if he were reading blandly from a script. "No, Thrive. You're not welcome anywhere near me. Ew no, stinky boy."
Thrive laughed, rolling his eyes. "Sarcasm unneeded, but I see my error."
"Sarcasm unneeded, says you. C'mon. Can't get up to sleepy morning shenanigans if we don't go to sleep first."
Thrive watched him stand and move toward the capital house, and Warren basked in the ethereal glow of his smile. "A fair point."
They retired for the night with their arms around each other and the muffled soundtrack of the concert permeating the walls of Warren's room.
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kittttycakes · 6 months
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Thank you so much for indulging me and for all the details about these wonderful beings and their relationship!
Can I be suuuuper greedy though, and officially beg of you to maybe, one day, if you have time AND want to, pretty please write something with for the gladiator fantasy or Morpheus hosting a tournament?
I need imperious and aloof (on the outside at least) Emperor!Morpheus and Empress!Grace draped in silks and gold, watching on while Hob fights bare chested (yes to that chest hair!) on the sand below them.
What will Hob’s reward be if he is the last gladiator standing I wonder? Would the Emperor and Empress wish to test his prowess elsewhere?
Or (equally delicious and needed)….
Tournament in the Dreaming, with nobles and notables from all the realms in attendance. King Morpheus’ champion Hob competes against a bold knight from Faerie who tries to seek the favour of their consort, the fair lady Grace, before the tourney begins.
Is Morpheus indulgent of this knight’s flattery of their beautiful Grace? Or is he indignant and savouring every hit that Hob eagerly lands on the impudent fae?
I do feel incredibly selfish and hypocritical begging any kind of writing off someone when I am notoriously slow and hopeless at writing for anything.
So please don’t feel any obligation and do feel free to tell me to bugger off!
Please never feel bad for making a request!! I am always open to taking prompts of any kind and this has absolutely been added to my smut pile list along with a couple others that languish in my inbox for some Promptober fills.
I love the fantasy of the relationship happening in reverse: Morpheus and Grace together, and Hob being pulled into it. It’s very reassuring for both of them, to know that they would still choose each other, independent of Hob. And on a less serious note, it allows them to gang up on Hob, which is one of their favorite things to do.
They both want the best, and Hob is the best! That kind of stamina in a fight surely translates elsewhere, and how could he possibly refuse the emperor anything? The material gain is negligible to him, the gold and leather and weaponry pales in comparison to what he can find in the emperor and empress’s private rooms…
Grace would lose her mind over a tournament, she gets to live out her lovely romanticized medieval fantasy with her two favorite people, and she’d be absolutely fascinated by the faeries as a nice added bonus. Hob gets the chance to show off just how skilled he is in front of both Morpheus and Grace, and Morpheus gets the chance to show just how much the Dreaming thrives…and how well defended it is.
Morpheus would be a little jealous, not because he doubts Grace, but because he always will be, just a touch, not enough to be harmful but enough to have a bit of a good time with after. She’s already given her favor to Hob, but that doesn’t stop the other champion from asking, and politeness does dictate that she give him something, which is how he ends up with one of the ribbons from her hair.
Hob, naturally, treats the ribbon as a target, and does absolutely everything in his power to win it back, with the express intention of gifting it to Morpheus in return. He has to get it back, Grace’s honor is at stake here (it really isn’t, but don’t tell Hob that, he won’t listen anyway).
Oh, big same, I feel like I write very slowly (especially when it comes to this next chapter but progress continues to be made, bit by bit)! But seriously, don’t ever feel bad for asking, the chances are very, very high that it’ll be added to the ideas pile for all of my eventual one shots (maybe some two shots. an occasional three shot, if you will) that I’m very much looking forward to for both Promptober and just general low stakes fun once the main WIP is done!
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n0spins · 1 year
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   *  @obituaried​​​​  sacrificed  an  offering     :       he’d worked tirelessly to make this cake. Was the fruits of his labor bountiful? No. The small cake was lopsided, with a poorly iced drawing of two cats on it ( to represent him and his leader. ) And you better believe he was unsure as he’s handing it to Minjun, “happy birthday Hyung… haha… this isn’t really my best work. But thank you for being born!” It’s not until intrusive thoughts take over to try and mask the fact that this cake was atrocious ( and remembering how he’d seen JJ do this exact same thing earlier …. ) so he lifts the cake to press it against Minjun’s cheek with a playful laugh. “And happy Valentine’s Day!!”
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               luckily  for  minjun’s  sweet  tooth,  his  birthday  usually  entails  more  cake  and  pastries  than  he  can  physically  handle,  but  it  surely  doesn’t  stop  him  from  trying.  a  day  full  of  love,  not  just  for  him,  but  in  general  —  and  minjun  loves  it.  minjun  would  be  a  straight  up  liar  if  he  said  he  didn’t  thrive  off  of  the  attention,  no  matter  how  much  he  brushed  them  all  off,  minjun  simply  adored  it.  he  adored  them.
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               curled  up  on  the  couch  at  the  request  of  jaesung  and  jj,  to  keep  his  nose  out  of  the  kitchen  for  the  time  being,  minjun  lights  up  when  yejun  steps  out  with  something  in  his  hands.  heart  soars  at  the  sight  of  a  cruedly  home - made  bento  cake,  taking  it  into  his  grasp  and  cradling  it  close  to  his  chest.  ❝  no,  don’t  be  silly  !  i  love  it,  yejun - ah,  it  looks  good.  ❞
               he  should’ve  saw  this  coming,  really.  he’d  seen  right  through  jj,  but  he  didn’t  think  yejun  would  follow  so  closely  in  his  footsteps.  an  indignant  squawk  leaves  his  lips,  glaring  at  the  younger  —  though  minjun  is  sure  he  doesn’t  look  very  intimidating  covered  in  chocolate  cake.  trying  to  mask  his  disappointment  at  the  cake  being  ruined,  minjun  shakes  his  head  and  reaches  out  to  smear  chocolate  icing  on  yejun’s  cheek  before  he  can  get  away.  ❝  i  take  it  back  actually.  i  don’t  love  you  or  this  cake.  i’m  going  to  sell  you.  ❞
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sunnydice · 2 years
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fr the ask game you already know im gonna say tubo
first impression:
thought he was a funny and eloquent little guy!! a bit of a pushover . distinctly remember looking at him and going something is gunna snap in here one day (NOT IN A MEAN WAY BTW I'M A TUBBO APOLOGIST !! he deserves to kill)
impression now:
tubbo ohmy God i need to get you Out of there . he's one of my favorites he is SUCH a complicated and consistent character and him constantly being hyped up !!! completely deserved !!!
favorite moment:
him shutting down quackity's execution plan for ranboo, (which is one of the only times i can remember him TRULY allowing himself to be angry . and it was on behalf of someone else . Lord) "NUKES!", and who could fucking forget "yourself ."
idea for a story:
tubbo NEEDS catharsis and he needs a fucking Win . he can't keep swallowing his teeth like this i think he needs to scream and shout and get goddamn pissed !! get upset at what the world did to him and his loved ones be indignant know he doesn't and didn't deserve it !!!!
unpopular opinion:
idk . similarly to techno, most of my tubbo opinions are shared consistently by the circles i've seen and partaken in so !! but off the top of my head uhh . maybe shut the fuck up when you people blame him about ANYTHING in new l'manberg lol . he did the best he could w the situation and it wasn't his fault he was strong armed into the worst positions imaginable + he isn't to blame for exile + butcher army was right + the country was doomed from the start anyways /bitter + ratio
favorite relationship:
BENCHTRIO RIDE OR DIE !!!! in my head they all live together and raise michael together and are safe and happy in snowchester the thriving country :']
favorite headcanon:
i like the adaptational shapeshifter tubbo hc a LOT it feels like a shot in the gut . kid who's forced into every role having that reflected on how he looks too . idk . i think about it a lot
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mappedriver · 3 years
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genuinely believe that people think I’m an idiot. that is what I get about joking that I’m dumb all the time but when I get vibes that someone thinks I’m actually stupid ooooo it makes me so mad
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I loved the complete and utter outrage Isabela expresses at the idea of being called selfish. It's such a subtle but meaningful moment.
"Selfish?!" She cries out, and at this point she could just be being huffy, denying it because who wouldn't deny such a loaded accusation (because even the most slovenly man feels offense when he's blatantly called lazy, doesn't he?), and yet...
Mirabel calls her entitled but most importantly selfish, and Isabela is livid. This isn't the overflowing irritation of a sister who just had an important moment dashed by her little sibling. This isn't even the typical ire between eldest and youngest siblings, ala elbows in each other's ribs. This doesn't even really have anything to do with Mirabel.
She's so indignant because Isabela just can't imagine how she, she, could possibly be selfish. 
Her, selfish? Her, Isabela, the one who's putting on a brave face, for her family, the one who's soldiering on, for her family, the one who's always been willing to put aside her own happiness, for the family, the one who grows perfectly manicured flowers and perfectly pretty posies and locks all the hurt away, the one who swallows down and hides every thorn so no one else gets pricked (tucks them away in the folds of her dress and ignores the sting)— her, she's selfish? When she's doing this, doing everything, for the family?
She hands Mirabel a rose free of thorns the night after her little sister fails to gain her gift. Mirabel fails to notice the scratches on Isabela's hand. Isabela hides the way it stings.
It's the most, the best, she can give.
Later, she will say Mirabel got it easy. Later, years later, she'll be jealous, something like envy smoldering in her chest. She'll remember the sting. How people smile at her, but only if she's willing to suffer through it- that sharp, incessant sting, too shallow to require healing and too deep not to ache. Because her powers are (and she is) too unpalatable otherwise. 
Much too far from perfect.
She'll remember her sister's vanishing door, steely eyes, little Mirabel sobbing in her arms, and remember that she has to be perfect.
Bruno spoke of grapes, thriving on the vine. 
He had not mentioned bitterness. Isolation. The pain of it all.
...Okay, so what I should really say is that I love Isabela, and that scene right before What Else Can I Do starts playing, that scene where we finally start to see that other side of her, that is the scene that cemented it for me.
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𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫
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✦; ꒰Dick Grayson ✗ Bleak!Reader꒱ ;;✦ ↴
✎ . . . Summary ⊹ ≫ Unlike your brother Klarion, you find beauty in the order of human life on earth, so you leave The Light to explore the world on your own, crossing your path with the Boy Wonder by coincidence.
➬ Word count ⸼ ೃ ⊹ 4,481 words.
;; "Warnings" ¡! ❞ . Slight mention of death.
⿻ – ❝ Notes〻*ೃ༄. I didn't want to put too much emphasis on the reader's familiar, so just imagine it's a small animal that you like.
ೃೀ꒲Ko-fi !¡ ⌇ ⁺ ◦ If you enjoy my writing and would like to support me feel free to leave me a tip on my Ko-fi. It's something I will always remember and be grateful for, I assure you.
(English is my second language, so if something sounds out of place or is misspelled, please let me know).
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Human life, something so insignificant and fragile, but at the same time so wonderful and intriguing, from its inception found a way to thrive with nothing but their ingenuity and survival instinct. Creating entire civilizations and communities, banding together to fight adversity, evolving through the years to become what they are today.
For you it was simply extraordinary, for hundreds of years you watched them closely, learning from them at the distance and occasionally protecting them from major adversities without leaving a trace. You were the complete opposite of your "brother" Klarion, you knew he would never understand your admiration for humans, just as you would never understand his uncontrollable desire to cause chaos. That was why you never fit in The Light, you didn't desire to cause chaos, but you had agreed to join at your brother's request, even so, your participations were minimal, almost nonexistent, and despite being on the side of the "villains", it was always wonderful for you to see how the heroes protected those who couldn't protect themselves.
So, after thinking about it for a long time you decided to leave The Light and explore the modern world, and as expected, Klarion was the first to disagree, for him it was impossible to assimilate that his little sister had so much interest in a species as inferior as humans. Although it was hard for him to accept it, eventually he respected your decision to explore the world as a human, even so, he always took care of watching you closely, regardless of whether you were a member of The Light or not.
— Where do you think you're going? — Your brother's voice echoed behind you taking you by surprise, even though you and Klarion rarely stayed in the same place for long, you both had taken over one of Gotham's many abandoned mansions, making sure to scare off anyone who tried to approach with magic. You could say you lived there, though most of the time it was just you.
— I'm going to the circus, Klarion. — You turned around to face your brother. — Do you want to come with me? I have an extra ticket for the show in Geneva. — A huge smile came across your face, you loved spending time with Klarion.
— Of course not, those things are for little kids, I have more important things to do like cause chaos. — An egomaniacal smile formed on Klarion's lips.
— However, I'm leaving. — You turned around again walking towards the door, ready to leave, but your brother appeared in front of you cutting you off.
— I didn't give you permission to leave. — Klarion's tone was authoritative, sometimes he took his role as your "brother" very seriously.
— Klarion, I'm hundreds of years old, I don't need your permission. — You crossed your arms over your chest in indignation.
The witch boy remained silent for a couple of seconds, finally, a sigh of resignation left his lips.
— Fine, I want you here before ten o'clock, don't talk to strangers and take a sweater with you.
A huge victorious smile came to your lips.
— I'll be back in a while. — You approached your brother and sweetly kissed his cheek as a farewell.
— Do you have your familiar with you? — Klarion asked as you stood just inches from the door.
— I do. — You pointed to the bag hanging from your shoulder, your familiar was small and most of the time was asleep, so it was easy for you to carry it that way.
Finally, you smiled one last time at your brother and left the mansion.
The witch boy remained in his place for a moment. — I have a bad feeling Teekl… — The feline simply answered with a meow that echoed through the walls of the empty mansion.
Despite his foreboding Klarion left the place behind disappearing into a portal ready to cause chaos.
[•••]
The night sky seemed darker than usual, but that only made the lights that adorned each of the tents shine more brightly, the laughter of happiness mixed with the soft circus music gave you a warm feeling in your chest, an atmosphere so cozy and yet so unfamiliar to you, you remained static while you watched all the families and children, seeing the innocence and emotion reflected in the eyes of each one of the kids was magical to you, no matter how many years you spent among humans they always were able to surprise you.
The number of people outside decreased quickly, apparently everyone was excited about the show, not wanting to be left behind you moved forward until you finally found yourself inside the tent, moving slowly through the darkness finding an empty seat for you, the view from there seemed to be just right, it wasn't too close to the ground, but it wasn't too high either, it was perfect.
The place remained in darkness for a couple more minutes, the only thing that could be heard were the whispers of excited children that were quickly interrupted by the rumble of a drum, in a matter of seconds the whole place was silent, the crowd was expectant of what was to come.
— Ladies and gentlemen. — Two spotlights illuminated the place, focusing on the center of the tent and revealing a man who appeared to be the master of ceremonies of the circus. — Welcome! To Haly's circus, the only circus where everything you think is possible gets overshadowed by the impossibilities you will see here. — Once said that a huge rumble echoed through the place accompanied by a huge smoke layer, the master of ceremony had disappeared and the lights went out again. A small gasp of surprise escaped from the lips of the entire audience, including you. It was ironic to think how being a "Lord of Chaos" who has lived millions of years you would be impressed by a smoke trick, if Klarion was there he would surely call you dumb for being impressed by something like that.
The show continued, and you were certainly enjoying it more than expected, clowns, music, jugglers, it was all a delight for you to watch, you could easily be mistaken for one of the many infants who watched the show with a unique excitement. And it was then that the master of ceremony interfered in the show again, the music had stopped and the lights had faded, which silenced the crowd.
— Ladies and gentlemen, the farewell performance of the Daring Dangers! — The excited cheers from the crowd were immediate, even though you didn't know them you joined in welcoming them with a round of applause, apparently, they were recognized artists in the industry, and that only made you feel more excited to see them perform.
The spotlights illuminated the place again, this time focusing on the upper part of the circus, making you notice the presence of two trapeze artists, and the show began. Despite the presence of the other four Dangers, you could not take your eyes off one of the trapeze artists, his movements were so elegant, so fluid, so hypnotizing, it was impossible to take your eyes off him, he had captivated you.
The young trapeze artist twirled through the air gracefully earning a gasp of surprise from the audience, his eyes roamed the crowd with a smile, enjoying the feeling he had forgotten since the death of his parents, and then his beautiful blue eyes met yours. Dick's heart jumped in his chest, and not out of emotion or love, but out of fear, he knew who you were, it was easy for him to recognize you, he had encountered you before, you were (Y/N) Bleak, Klarion's sister and a "Lord of Chaos" according to Kent Nelson himself.
Your presence might mean an attack from the light, Dick was worried, there were hundreds of children and innocents in the audience, however, this was not the time to panic, Dick knew perfectly well that the slightest mistake in the air could be deadly, he decided it would be best to stay calm and keep your presence to himself, keeping an eye on you, the team already had enough that day.
[•••]
People were slowly starting to leave the tent, the show was over and everyone seemed more than satisfied, you got up from your seat and started walking towards the exit, the circus had been accompanied by a small carnival, so even though that had been the last show of the circus there were still lots of people enjoying the attractions of the carnival, you walked among the people, thinking if you should have fun for a while at the carnival or go back home. A distant voice called out behind you, you ignored it, too focused on your thoughts. One, two, three steps behind you until finally a soft tap on your shoulder stopped you, turning around, again, finding yourself face to face with those beautiful blue eyes.
You looked him up and down, your face softened when you saw his clothes, it was nothing more and nothing less than the acrobat who had been stealing your interest, this time, thanks to the absence of his mask you could appreciate his face, you couldn't lie, he was good looking.
— Oh, you're one of the Daring Dangers, aren't you? Can I help you with something? — Even though you knew he was the trapeze artist who had captivated you at the show you couldn't help but think he looked familiar from somewhere else.
— I… — Dick had gone blank when he had you in front of him. Remembering that time he had the "pleasure" of meeting you for the first time, the power emanated from you, your eyes burning bright red as you fired attack after attack, you were so powerful and imposing, but now, you looked so different, there seemed to be no evil in you, your eyes were a nice shade of (e/c) and the small smile on your face seemed genuine, you looked so... Human, and he didn't know if that made him feel more confident or more uneasy. — I just... I saw you in the crowd at the circus, and... And I wanted to know your opinion about the show! — A slight smile came to the acrobat's lips, he knew his excuse was lame, but he didn't show his insecurity.
— Oh, well… — You hesitated a bit about what to answer, after all, you didn't expect one of the circus acrobats to come and personally ask your opinion. — I really enjoyed it, I had never seen anything like that… — You thought some more about what to say, for a moment you contemplated telling him how much you were captivated by his performance, but that would be a little embarrassing. — It was... Beautiful, magical.
— I'm glad the show was to the liking of such a beautiful lady. — A shy smile graced your lips, compliments were something you weren't used to. — How rude of me, I didn't introduce myself, I'm Richard, Richard Grayson. — Dick decided to stick with his cover story, or at least for now. He held out his hand, waiting for you to take it.
You looked at it for a moment remembering that it was a human practice to shake hands after meeting someone. — I’m (Y/N) Bleak.
It was so impossible for Dick to take in that the beautiful girl in front of him was the same one he had fought months ago, the same one who had taken down his entire team in a matter of minutes, it's like you're a completely different person. For a moment he paused to think, since that time he fought you he hadn't seen you work with the light again, neither did you have any criminal activity on your own. But still, he wanted to be careful, he decided to continue his interaction with you to try to get some information.
— So (Y/N), you're not from around here, are you? — The boy wonder began to walk slowly through the crowd, you followed him closely keeping up with his conversation.
— No, not really. — As both of you moved forward you couldn't help but stare in amazement at each one of the rides, your eyes reflected the excitement and innocence that the eyes of a child being taken there for the first time would reflect, something that didn't go unnoticed by Dick.
— What, you've never been to a carnival before? — Even though he had said it as a joke he was surprised when he saw you shyly deny with your head. — Oh… — He was silent for a moment, an idea crossed his mind, he knew that if Batman were there he would be reprimanded for letting his guard down in front of a possible enemy, but... But for Richard Grayson, it was never a bad time for a date with a pretty girl. — Then, we have to make the first time unforgettable. — You were about to ask him what he meant by that, but before you knew it, his hand held yours, leading you quickly through the crowd to the line of one of the many rides. — I'm sure you will love the roller coaster, believe me, you will never forget the feeling of the first time.
Although the rides were supposed to be fun for humans, you still felt intrigued when you saw the horrified faces of most of the passengers on the "roller coaster". — Why do they look so scared? — You asked your companion.
— You'll see it soon. — A cute smile spread across Dick's face, you looked down, noticing that his hand was still holding yours, his hand radiated warmth and made you feel comfortable.
The line moved quickly, and soon it was your turn, you followed Dick's steps and got on the roller coaster (Not without first leaving your bag in the care of one of the carnival employees), the attendant made sure you had all the necessary safety measures, and then it began. A small gasp of surprise escaped your lips as you felt the movement, a smile came to your face, for the first time in a long time you felt excitement, slowly you were gaining altitude until you reached the highest point and stopped there for a couple of seconds.
Dick looked at you for a moment, a huge excited smile on your face, "What a beautiful smile" he thought, he was so distracted that he completely forgot where he was, his smile faded when he felt the quick descent of the roller coaster, his back crashed against the seat due to the force of the fall, the horrible screams of the passengers didn't wait, and you, unlike them, seemed totally excited by the adrenaline of the moment, something to be expected from a Lord of chaos.
[•••]
— It was amazing! — You said still excited about your roller coaster ride. — Can we try it again? — You cheerfully asked the acrobat who seemed a little dizzier than you.
— Why don't we walk around and see what else we can find? — Dick suggested. You looked around, and indeed, there were still many things that caught your attention.
This time it was you who took his hand to guide the way through the people, for you it was just a way to avoid losing him among all the people, but the feeling of his hand was comforting. You looked at everything around you with a certain wonder in your eyes, Richard couldn't help but look at you with softness, seeing you so amazed by things that for him were so ordinary touched him. You walked for a couple of minutes until something seemed to catch your attention, it was one of those little aiming attractions about shooting hoops, but that didn't seem to interest you, what had caught your attention was one of the big, colorful, fluffy stuffed animals that were given as prizes.
— Want to give it a try? — Dick asked, pointing toward the hoops.
— Oh no no, I've always been very bad at aiming. — You denied somewhat embarrassed, but Richard wouldn't take a no for an answer.
— Come on, it'll be fun. — The boy wonder gently dragged you over to the hoop stand, paid a dollar to the attendant at the attraction who handed you three hoops. You closed one of your eyes trying to aim to get it right, but just as you expected you missed all three. A snort left your lips earning a small chuckle from Dick. — Let me try. — He paid another dollar, he knew perfectly well that these games were designed to lose, but please, he was Robin. Without making a major effort to aim he threw all three hoops at the same time getting each of the shots right. A silent gasp of surprise came from your lips which brought a slight proud smirk to his face.
— Okay kid, you won, pick your prize. — The stand attendant pointed to the different gadgets and stuffed animals to choose from, but Dick already had it clear.
— I want that one. — He pointed to the huge stuffed animal that had caught your attention before, the employee handed him the stuffed animal, he looked at it for a moment and then held it out to you with a bright smile.
— For me? — You blinked for a second, stunned by Dick's cute gesture, he just nodded smiling, hesitantly you took the stuffed animal from his hands, your eyes wandered a couple of times between the stuffed animal and Richard's beautiful eyes, you had never received a gift from a human before. — Thank you... — You hugged the stuffed animal against your chest trying to hide the pink that was beginning to grow on your cheeks.
A strange feeling that you couldn't identify came to your stomach, it was similar to what you felt when you were on the roller coaster, but it was different.
— Come on, I'm sure there's still a lot you'd like to see. — He reached out his hand to you and without even thinking you took it, letting him guide your way.
All the people who walked by and noticed the two of you thought you were a young and beautiful couple in love, although that was far from being real. You were just two souls brought together by the paths of fate, two souls that somehow fit together perfectly, chaos and order, although the word "chaos" had never described you well. You momentarily thought of Klarion's reaction if he saw you at this moment, sharing such close interaction with a human, he would probably squirm with anger and disappointment, just like the other Lords of Chaos who had surely witnessed it all from their place in the cosmos. Certainly, you sensed that none of them were happy with your job on earth, but you couldn't care less, you knew that no matter how hard you tried you weren't like them.
You would have been lost in a sea of your thoughts if not for a lovely scent reaching your nostrils. You stopped in your tracks, forcing the boy wonder to do the same. You closed your eyes and exhaled sharply making your “date” laugh.
— What's that smell? — Guided by the scent, you started walking, dragging Dick with you, who seemed both amused and moved by your behavior. You took a couple of steps until you found the source of the enchanting smell, a small cotton candy stand. You watched as the little clouds of sugar took shape, the gleam of excitement could be seen in your eyes. — Do you want one? It's on me. — You asked Richard as you searched through your purse until you found what you needed, a couple of dollars that Klarion had given you a long time ago in case you needed to make a purchase.
— Sure. — The boy wonder shrugged his shoulders not wanting to reject your proposal.
You paid for both cotton candy, taking a bite to your mouth as soon as you had it in your hands, you tasted the bite just like it was the most delicious food in the world, you concentrated so much on the taste that you didn't feel how a small sugar stain remained on the skin next to your lips.
— Wait, you have a... — Dick pointed to the side of his own lips, but driven by inertia he moved his hand and removed the small spot with his thumb leaving it there for a couple of seconds longer than necessary. — I'm sorry, you had sugar on your cheek.
— Oh, thank you. — Finally, he withdrew his hand, your face began to burn, and the unfamiliar sensation took hold of your chest once again, it was so strange to feel this way. As a Lord of Chaos who had lived for centuries on earth it was normal to see human emotions, but never to feel them, it made you feel vulnerable, but at the same time it excited you.
[•••]
The hours passed quickly, neither knew exactly how much time had passed, but both could feel how your time together was coming to its end, walking in silence, feeling the warmth your hands produced together, and enjoying each other's company.
— It's getting late… — Dick finally dared to end the comfortable silence that enveloped the two of you.
— Yeah… — You replied a little awkwardly.
You both knew it was time to leave, but neither of you wanted to say goodbye.
Richard stopped, forcing you to do the same, he stood in front of you and looked at you with some embarrassment, he didn't know exactly how to end your "date", he doubted that accompanying you home would be a good option. — I think we should…
— Wow… — The words left your lips like a whisper, even though Dick was in front of you your attention seemed to have been stolen by something behind him.
He turned around, realizing what it was, you moved forward, unable to take your eyes off what had so attracted you, Dick followed close behind you, his heart gave a little jump at seeing you so surprised.
— What's that? — You ask, pointing slightly to the machine in front of you.
— It's a carousel. — Just as you couldn't take your eyes off the carousel Dick couldn't take his eyes off you. The soft lights of the carousel illuminated you in a beautiful way, and the bright reflection in your eyes was simply lovely, a smile formed on his lips. A few hours ago he saw you as a threat, and now the idea of you being a Lord of Chaos was completely out of his mind.
He shook his head still smiling and started walking, his hands were still together, you followed his steps without even questioning where he was taking you, your eyes focused on the carousel. Without you even noticing, Dick had guided you to the entrance of the carousel so you could both get on together, you felt the warmth of his hand leaving yours, which made you come out of your trance and look for him, it was then that you noticed where he had guided you to. The machine had stopped spinning, all the people in had left the attraction so the others in line could have their turn, you saw his back in front of you, he walked up the stairs and then turned around extending his arm to help you up, with your heart beating fast you accepted his hand and went up.
Your lips turned into a small smile as soon as you climbed onto the plastic horse beautifully detailed with different colors that made it look vibrant, Dick was next to you riding a nice black plastic horse with red and blue details.
The music slowly began to play, you could feel the machine begin to move; the smile on your face only grew bigger with each movement, you turned to look at your companion only to see that he was smiling as much as you were, your eyes met once again, a feeling of warmth and joy invaded your chest, a feeling that had come over you multiple times in the night, you thought it was because of everything you had experienced at the carnival, but it was none of that, it was him, he was guilty of such a feeling, how bold of a simple human to cause such feelings in you, a Lord of Chaos, but the feeling was not unpleasant to you, and neither was he.
You lost yourself in his eyes, during your long existence you had been able to glimpse all kinds of blues, but without a doubt, the most beautiful so far was the blue of his eyes. For a moment you realized that today you had witnessed countless things that you would describe as beautiful, but you didn't realize that the most beautiful of all was him.
Your hand reached out in the air taking his, you exchanged a smile and continued enjoying the beautiful moment, it was so perfect, so magical, you could swear that at that moment it was just the two of you, but all good things came to an end and that moment was no exception; you both stepped off the carousel, your hands together as was now becoming habitual.
— It's late, I think I'd better go home. — Even though it was a farewell there was no sadness in your words, it was like you knew that fate would lead you to him again.
— Yeah, I think I should go too. — Dick was also peaceful, he had no doubt that you would meet again, after all, he had put a tracker on your bag, so as long as you didn't notice it he would be able to know your location, he just hoped, that the next time your paths crossed would be in this way, and not as enemies.
You remained silent for a second, your hand released his, and as soon as you did you began to miss the warmth of his skin, you remembered a weird human habit you had witnessed multiple times before. You moved your hand to his shoulder and drew him down gently pressing your lips on the skin of his cheek.
— Thank you for tonight Richard, it was wonderful. — The surprise on the boy wonder's face was replaced by a sweet smile.
— I promise next time will be even better. — His words only made you more certain that you would see him again. You smiled at him one last time and slowly walked away, losing yourself in the darkness of the night as Richard watched your silhouette fade away.
His smile never left his face, Batman would probably kill him and the team would blast him with questions when he returned, but it would be worth it. Without a doubt, this day had been a roller coaster of emotions for the two of you, your hearts longed with excitement for your next meeting.
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julek · 3 years
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my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)
read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3
The sun shines soft in Toussaint.
Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.
They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.
Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.
“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”
Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”
“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”
Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.
“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”
“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”
Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”
Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.
“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”
“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”
“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”
Roach looks unfazed.
“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”
Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.
“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”
+
The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.
It’s good.
Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.
They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.
“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”
Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.
“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”
“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”
Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.
Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.
“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.
“Two, please.”
He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.
“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.
Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”
“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”
“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”
“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.
“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”
“A compromise.”
Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”
Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.
The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.
He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.
Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.
There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.
But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.
Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.
He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.
When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.
Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.
It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.
It’s good.
+
The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.
Jaskier yawns.
“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”
He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.
“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”
“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”
Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”
“Your naps are never tiny.”
“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”
Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”
Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.
Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”
This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”
Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.
The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.
The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.
There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.
The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.
He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.
The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.
This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.
He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.
He thinks of Jaskier.
The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.
He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.
But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.
After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.
Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.
Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.
His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.
It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—
I’ll vouch for you, you know.
He knows.
+
It’s a beautiful night, in truth.
The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.
It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.
He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.
There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.
Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.
Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.
Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.
The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.
“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.
“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”
His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”
Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.
Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.
“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”
“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”
The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”
Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”
The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.
Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”
Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.
“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”
The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.
“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”
Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.
Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.
He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.
And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.
Everyone’s love as his own.
He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.
He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.
And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—
Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.
There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.
Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.
He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.
It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.
It doesn’t.
Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.
“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”
People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”
The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.
Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”
And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,
“Wise men say
Only fools rush in
But I can’t help
Falling in love with you…”
It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.
Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”
He would.
“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”
The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.
They all know.
Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.
“Hey,” he whispers.
Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.
Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”
“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”
“And here I am.”
The waves crash against the rocks.
“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”
“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.
Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.
He always does.
“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”
He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.
“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.
“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”
Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”
Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.
“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”
“Am I wise, then?”
Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”
Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.
“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.
“I know.”
“You’re my best friend.”
Geralt looks at him. “I know.”
He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.
He looks down.
“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”
Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”
“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”
“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”
They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier��s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.
Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.
His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”
And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”
So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.
When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.
“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”
Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.
The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.
Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.
He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.
“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.
The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”
Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”
Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”
“Now, undying is—”
“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”
There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”
Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”
“And why’s that?”
Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”
Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”
Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”
It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.
“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”
“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.
They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.
“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.
“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”
“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”
He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.
He watches as he walks toward him.
He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.
He waits for him as he plays.
“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.
Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”
Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.
He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.
“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”
Geralt smiles.
It has.
188 notes · View notes
nevertheless-moving · 3 years
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oh. my. GOD.
HOW DID I NOT THINK OF THIS IT’S PERFECT
It would take a while to get there- Mace is really quite discreet and Anakin is working so hard to be discreet too as step one of his 312 step plan to make big, romantic Jedi weddings a thing. He’s motivated, okay? 
Anakin very gradually starts carpooling with Mace more and more often. They don’t tell anyone exactly where the bakery is and everyone’s so relieved that Master Windu finally found a way to get through to Skywalker that they don’t want to mess with a good thing thing by asking too many questions.
(Anakin is SO much more chill about a lot of things cause he’s not completely hopeless about the future and the possibility of being forced to choose between the people he loves. He’s also a lot less afraid for Padme’s safety while off world now that he know Master Windu is in the same building often. Whether or not his understanding of Windu’s relationship is completely accurate is questionable, but the effect it has on his mental health is real.)
(Anakin also starts over-sharing a little about his relationship with Padme to Mace, much to Master Windu’s consternation. VERY occasionally Mace will say something like “...Jar-Jar ended a pointless 3 hour senate commitee meeting by spilling something on Mas Amedda” and then they’ll rag on how phony ALMOST everyone in politics is.)
Obi-wan is going insane. Them bonding is...great. No one said Anakin couldn’t have other friends! Even if now they seem to have inside jokes that Obi-Wan doesn’t understand! He’s perfectly fine with that! He’s happy that Master Windu is taking some time to teach Anakin vaapad! Anakin’s clearly thriving, and Obi-Wan’s definitely not thinking that Anakin would have been so much better off if Mace had been his master instead! Obi-Wan's happy about all this!
But the fact that sometimes they’re disappearing together at midnight and coming back the next day in the same robes as the day before is driving him MAD. It takes him a really...really long to even consider the idea because OBVIOUSLY Anakin is infatuated with Padme but...he could have sworn Master Windu made a reference to Anakin’s tendency to toss around in his sleep (yay oversharing!) and WHY would Mace know that. Anakin is wincing to sit down and Obi-Wan just sort of assumed in the past that Padme was a little too rough (none of his business, he’d rather not speculate, and at least they can’t get pregnant that way) but now Mace Windu is smirking and in a good mood and looks exhausted.
Obi-Wan would get so protective. Eventually it all just becomes too much and he corners Mace after a council meeting:
“You’re a council Member! He’s barely even knighted! It’s an outrage! An abuse of power!” 
“...Master Kenobi, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your little affair with my barely-legal padawan!”
Mace’s soul briefly leaves his body but look he didn’t stay a council member this long or become master of the order in the first place without an innate tendency to thrive on drama. You can not succeed on ANY council if you don’t enjoy gossip and shit stirring just a little. And he’s also tired by this war and needs to take his joys where he can. And right now he’s finding joy in Obi-Wan’s misplaced but actually quite noble indignation. 
“He’s not your padawan anymore, he’s a knight perfectly capable of making his own choices.” And Mace sweeps out, leaving Obi-Wan fuming. 
“HE’S JUST A BOY!” Master Kenobi shouts down the hall desperately, but Windu just keeps power walking. He’s got shit to do, okay? Maybe this will make Anakin talk to Obi-Wan about Padme instead of blathering on about her hair to me.
Obi-Wan, freaking the fuck out, starts asking Anakin leading questions, window open on his datapad for ‘signs of child grooming.’ 
"Was there an adult who you felt gave you special attention when you were feeling isolated or neglected? Someone who maybe made a point to find out what you liked and made sure to get it for you? Who maybe you felt indebted to because of this? Maybe who gave you gifts, or money, or flattery? Or just more attention and affection? Perhaps after that they told you that ‘they were the only one truly understand you’? Who made a point to spend time with you alone, without other adults or kids?”
Anakin (defensive): “Why are you asking me all these weird questions about the Chancellor? Palpatine is a great man and a loyal friend!” *storms off*
Obi-Wan has a heart attack and dies, thus bringing this au to an abrupt and tragic end.
No I’m kidding, obviously this is a fix it. Obi-Wan does have several consecutive panic attacks and briefly kidnaps Anakin.
428 notes · View notes
yeojaa · 3 years
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stay gold.
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pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  blond!jk being a good boy?  idk.  that’s literally it.  wc. 3k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, ofc.  author note.  this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.
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Having a content creator boyfriend is fun.  Usually.
You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.  
Sure, there are the downsides.  All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone.  There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office;  the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.
You don’t mind it though.  He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.
But you’d never expected this.
This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes.  He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.
(You’re not often speechless.  Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you.  Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)
(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)
“Hey, baby.”  It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door.  Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.
He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch.  Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.  
You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.
“D’you like it?”  
Did you?  Well, obviously.
You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond.  He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair.  Brown, red, orange, blue.  You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely.  (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)
This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters.  It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.  
You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck.  He looks so good you want to devour him.  (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)
There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place.  Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused.  “That’s a yes?”  
An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap.  Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.
(Where had he put the apple?  You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug.  You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)
“You look like Barbie,”  you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth.  You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air. 
Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you.  Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair.  Who would’ve known that was your weakness?
(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue.  That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek.  This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)
“Don’t say that,”  he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine.  Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions. 
You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.
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The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on.  Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.
He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel.  (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)  
You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to.  (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)
He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them:  soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper.  He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.  
You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep;  you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips.  You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed. 
Knowing each other was easy;  loving each other was like breathing.
This, though, is different.  New.  Special.  
He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin.  Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal. 
“Baby,”  he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box.  (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)
You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips.  (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.)  It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz.  “Hi, baby.”
“Stop teasing.”  It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get.  It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek.  You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.
(He’s so, so handsome.  Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)
“You don’t like this?”
You know he does - that he loves being pampered.  That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.
“I do.  I just—”  The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit.  He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail.  The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants.  “Fuck, baby.”
“I’m trying,”  you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.
“Please.”  He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness.  Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops.  A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.
(He doesn’t push though.  Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)
“Please?”  An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat.  Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth.  There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.  
It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you.  You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king.  This is just fun, different and exciting. 
You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck.  “Slowly.”
He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful;  his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still.   As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much.  The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch.  He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine;  every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.
When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked.  Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.  
“Good?”  Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.  
(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico.  Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)
(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)
“Good boy,”  you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.
You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls.  So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.  
There’s something happening.  A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him.  It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional.  It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils.  It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.
(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much.  He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)
You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger.  When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.
When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.  
You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth.  Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love;  know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be.  Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.
He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him. 
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It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin.  It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth.  It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.
It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.
He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him.  It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.  
“Baby,”  he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock.  Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.  
He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?
“Don’t,”  you grumble, searing his insides with just one look.  (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)
“But—”  A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles.  He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now.  He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.
“Don’t dye it again.”  
Oh?
That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face.  It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him.  You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.
“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?”  It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.
Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.
“I won’t,”  he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch.  It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be.  The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant;  he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit. 
“R-really?”  Of course you don’t believe him.  He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks.  (He deserves that.) 
His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first.  The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck;  he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in.  “Really.”  
“Put it in then, Ken doll.”
He laughs - and then he does.  In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful.  In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips.  In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.
Maybe blonds did have more fun. 
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