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plutoswritingplanet · 7 days

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Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up.

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors. He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again.

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board.

There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently.

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one.

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail.

You have to be alive and in good condition.

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected.

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol.

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in.

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after.

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage.

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting.

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really.

It started with Old Lady Sal.

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen.

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf.

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland.

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over.

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can.

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion.

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly.

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck.

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero.

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame.

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid.

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake.

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door.

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother.

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise.

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words.

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain.

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer.

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul.

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together.

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you.

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers.

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth.

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later.

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead.

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface. The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands.

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions.

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight.

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table.

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys.

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently.

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips.

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones.

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression.

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants.

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers.

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again.

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones.

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders.

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff.

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too.

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package.

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck.

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days.

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen.

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin.

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner.

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave.

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs.

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you.

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly.

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance.

- You serious?

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up.

- Wait.

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue.

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe.

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily.

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin.

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes. If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender.

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins.

#my writing #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #i walt on his goggins till we fallout

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quirksmith-13 · 2 years

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So as we know, there are 29 knuts to a sickle and 17 sickles to a galleon. Thats 493 knuts to a kalleon.

Now, if we go off of Rowling's conversion rate, A knut is about 1.27 cents- a galleon being about £5 or $6.29

BUT! If we go off of a better estimate based off of the wizarding world’s reaction to a galleon, a galleon is probably around £50

So, depending on if Rowling is right (and she never is), a knut is either 1.27 cents OR 12.7 cents.

And I have to wonder…

Why would she pick such random numbers for the conversion rates? Did she want it to look cool? We will never know…

#Seriously those numbers are WILDLY impractical #what about those poor shopkeepers.#not only do they have to keep the conversion rates in their head #but they have to use those numbers to calculate prices and change #and thats when the cash is AVAILABLE #WHAT ABOUT BUDGETS #Just. use round numbers. or at least like #seven and nine #those at least have times tables that are easy to memorize #but then again im american #maybe yall do memorize times tables up to twenty nine

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 month

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Hello I am going on a holiday to Eryri next month & I like to read up about an area before going there... do u have any reading or documentary or podcast recs? I'm particularly interested in the ecology & minority language activism & like. Peoples history & rural lives! I know this is stuff u know about in Wales but idk if north Wales is ur region! Míle buiochas ón Eireann!

Fáilte go dtí an Bhreatain Bheag! Or croeso i Gymru. Exciting! Keep an eye on the notes for others chiming in with good recs for documentaries and the like, I'm going to just give a super quick guide

Okay, pronunciation guide for place names and that is here in written form and here in video form. I cannot recommend strongly enough that you try to use the Welsh place names rather than the English translations. Duolingo is flawed but serviceable if you want to hear and learn some basic phrases. If you can at least throw out a 'bore da' to people you pass/shopkeepers, you'll be very well liked. You don't need to be fluent by any means, but Making An Effort is seen as, like, the nicest and politest and most wonderful thing in Wales, and particularly in regions like Eryri.

Because! It's one of the biggest remaining Welsh language strongholds. If you look at language maps over time in Wales, a pattern emerges:

And the current (2021) figures show this:

And you are going to this bit:

So you're heading into the Welshest bit in all of Wales! And the bit with the strongest and longest history of Welsh, too.

Which also means there's a lot of activism-related stuff in that area. It's probably worth you reading up on the history of Tryweryn (which was a bit further east, but sets the scene well); there was also a BIG thing a couple of decades ago where activists would burn down English-owned holiday homes (while they were empty in winter, not, like, with the English in them). This is because, in addition to the usual issues with the social impacts of holiday homes (driving up prices meaning locals can't live there, eroding communities, etc), holiday homes in Welsh language heartlands are a significant and tangible threat to the language. Even today, the issue of holiday homes is an extremely touchy subject, as is the issue of (mostly-English) people moving into the area because "It's so pretty!!!" and then not learning the language.

(Yet another reason they will love you if you Make An Effort)

Historically speaking, you'll be in a chunk of the country that was the ancestral seat of the last kings of Wales (Gwynedd). The final one, Llywelyn ein Llyw Olaf, was ambushed and murdered in 1282, which was the beginning of the end for fighting off English rule. In fact, Owain Glyndŵr later crowned himself king of Wales for about two years, but weirdly, no one acknowledges this as real kingship for some reason - if you google his name, he's always listed as a soldier or military commander, which really opens up a whole "Who gets to say when someone is royalty" debate, but he did actually claim descent from the House of Aberffraw anyway, so ultimately it still links back to Llywelyn.

Ecology! Temperate alpine. There actually isn't a global scientific distinction between hill and mountain, but most countries set an arbitrary height standard. This means it varies from country to country depending on how tall their topology is. Wales, however, bucks this trend, and instead decides based on what is formally referred to as 'land use' and colloquially referred to as 'Vibes'. If it's a hill, it's tamed - if it's a mountain, it's wild. This means Eryri is fairly short by the standards of tedious foreigners who regard mountains as a sort of geological dick waving competition, but it's in fact a whole mountain range; it's also older than Saturn's rings. And, crucially, it's very much sufficiently above sea level to have an alpine ecosystem.

There are three endemic (i.e. not occurring anywhere else in the world) species in Eryri, to whit:

The Snowdon lily. A small and delicate flower growing in protected and inaccessible spots on yr Wyddfa (formally known as Snowdon). Excessively vulnerable to trampling, so the national park keeps sections where it grows fenced off.

The Snowdon beetle. RAINBOW BEETLE.

The gwyniad. A sub-species of whitefish until recently exclusively found in Llyn Tegid (Bala Lake), trapped there after the ice age and now developing its own genetic profile distinct from other whitefish. Some dickhead in the 80s introduced the ruffe to the lake for fishing, and the ruffe eats the gwyniad's eggs, so they've now transplanted eggs to Llyn Arenig Fawr nearby as a conservation measure.

There's also feral goats. And Welsh mountain ponies. Ooh, and, red kites - in the UK red kites were so heavily persecuted they eventually fell to just 7 breeding pairs in Wales. We established a protected zone and hired Nepalese Gurkhas to guard the nests and thus saved it from extirpation so successfully they later translocated Welsh birds to other spots in the UK. It's a big conservation success story, and now red kites are considered to be the national bird of Wales. They have a very distinctive silhouette, too, look for the forked tail.

Oh, and, we have a unique habitat type called ffridd, which you see a lot of in Eryri.

Final wildlife pictures to close:

Anyway - have a great time! Enjoy muchly.

#asks #wales!#closed for cleaning on mondays #long post

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mynameis-noe-body · 6 months

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Can you do a marquis one shot where the reader works as a tailor/assistant/spy for the marquis but they’re also really innocent/upbeat . As he gets to know the reader, he finds himself going from confused that they’re so cheery to loving them as they are to corruption kink?

Thank you for your patient, anon. 🖤 I hope you'll love this.

This add to a second request I recieved.

➡️ Also cause I saw you mentioned a corruption kink, one with the marquis de framing would be fantastic 🥹❤️❤️❤️❤️

I didn't quite understand, but here is corruption kink fo you. I hope you'll love this as well.

Little dove

Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you (F)

Rating: Explicit

Status: Complete (one shot)

“Oh, Marquis De Gramont — what a pleasure to have you here!” you exclaimed, seeing him enter your shop. You walked towards him, holding the door open and showing him your best smile. “I just got an absolutely cheeky outfit that you will love, exactly your size.”

Vincent smiled. By now he had gotten into the habit of frequenting your shop at least once a week. He didn't lack money, nor time; he loved spending a few hours on a Saturday afternoon exploring the embellished and sumptuous dresses in your shop. And most of all, he loved spending time with you.

So joyful, friendly, sweet — a little macaron. Such a lovely pastry. You were an extraordinary creature, in his eyes. He, who had seen so much death, who had held so much power—he looked at you and found such innocence in your gaze. It was a part of you that was impossible not to love.

He cleared his throat, with a wave of his hand he ordered his second to leave the shop, closing the door behind him and leaving the two of you alone. That was his moment of pleasure.

The first time he entered your shop, fascinated by the silk garments and elegant suits, the shiny patent leather shoes and the cashmere coats, Vincent believed that he would find the usual snooty shopkeeper who would try to raise the prices by realizing his status. But no, you were there. So excited to be able to show off your best suits and dress him up like a fucking prince. Vincent had to call two of his men and a second car to be able to load everything he had purchased and take it home. You had shaken his hand, you had thanked him, you had given him a discount (even!) and you had suggested that he come back soon; you would have been happy to have such a passionate customer in your shop. Vincent might have believed it was a matter of money... but upon returning, noticing the way your gaze lit up when it met his, he changed his mind. You had fun with him. You loved your job. You were excited, happy… innocent. So pure. A sweet, little pastry, in fact.

Once, arranging the collar of his shirt while he was looking at himself in the mirror, you had asked him with a certain veiled embarrassment: “Monsieur De Gramont, forgive my impudence, but I really want to ask. What is your occupation?”

He had laughed. “Are you asking me about my job?” You had blushed, you had apologized stepping back but he had turned around, taking your hand before you could move away. "No need to be embarrassed, cheri. I find your curiosity quite... charming." Your cheeks were colored the sweetest red. He had lifted your hand to his lips, leaving the ghost of a kiss on your fingers. "I am a businessman. Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont, at your service."

He had been absolutely lovely. And he, from that moment on, had wanted in the most perverse, craziest, most intense way, to ruin you completely.

Vincent had noticed the way you watched him, so constantly attentive to every curve of his body, the way his muscles filled your clothes, stretching the fabric, wrapping it in the most attractive way. Your intoxicating gaze devoured him, and he was dying to have your hands on him, your desperate eyes, your mouth praying for his benevolence. So submissive, and desperate. Corrupted by your own will, by the desire and pleasure that only he could have brought you.

That day, without exception, you stood behind him while he looked at himself in the mirror and admired himself. But soon, his blue eyes met yours in the reflection. He smiled.

“What do you think, my dear?”

You nodded, your face bright. “That shade of red is definitely your color.”

His eyebrow rose in mock surprise. He caressed the fabric of the jacket with his fingertips, but secretly watched the way your gaze only followed his touch. Bewitching, indeed.

“I like the jacket. I love it. This scarlet is... fiery. Don't you think?” Your eyes flickered up again, and you nodded without adding anything, attempting a shy smile. "And the pants? Do I wear them well?" It was impossible not to notice the way you blushed and swallowed slowly. He bit back a satisfied grin. With his hands on the belt, he gripped it, lifting it a little. “Look at me.”

He nodded. “Maybe I should sit down, and try to feel them.”

And you looked at him. He had them so tight — you could see everything. All of it. You had to fight against your instincts and force yourself to seek his eyes again. You smiled. “I think they are perfect, monsieur.”

Vincent sat gracefully in the armchair next to him, and sighed. There was nothing innocent about his smile. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he spread his legs. His right hand, on his thigh, went up his leg, stopped right there, so close to his —

“Sweetheart” he interrupted you, laughing loudly. You turned your eyes, deeply embarrassed and red in the face, but he seemed almost happy with your obvious reaction. “Oh, don't get all shy now, my dear.” He made himself more comfortable in the armchair, spreading his legs in an almost vulgar, cheeky way. God, he loved that game. “Come on, look at me. I know you like it. I see you — the way you look at me — and I bet you're not as fragile and innocent as you want me to think, are you?”

Now you looked at him, with your mouth slightly open and your eyes large, wide and full of bewilderment, your cheeks scarlet, your voice trembling as you stammered an apology.

He shook his head, and his face darkened. “No. I will not accept your apology” he hissed. He raised his finger and motioned for you to come closer. “Come here, little dove.”

He wanted you to stand between his open legs, and immediately his left hand grabbed your hip, while with his right he was already unbuttoning his trousers. He licked his lips like a lion at his delicious meal, hungry, ravenous. “Keep looking at me, don't look away, I know you like it” he said.

And look at you, completely disarmed, dominated by that crazy and irrational desire that he wasn't offering to satisfy, on the contrary, it was fomenting your obsession. He was a fascinating man. And a very passionate one, from what you could see. Without any shame he pulled his hard length out of his trousers, stroking himself slowly, showing you all his virility, his silky skin, his intense hardness. He was perfect.

“And I thought you were so pure, innocent” he whispered, with a certain satisfaction. "But now I see how wrong I was, you little pervert. You like watching me, don't you? Ma petite voyeur."

But his hand suddenly slipped between your legs, he lifted your skirt without shame, found your panties already so wet for him and smiled — he smiled, the bastard.

“I — oh, Marquis, I'm mortified. I didn't mean to —”

“Don't you dare apologize again. I want to hear other sounds from your mouth.”

And his fingertips pressed against the little knot of nerves, right there, causing a vibration of pleasure throughout your body. If you were honest, that exposure and embarrassment only inflated your excitement.

“You're already shaking for me.” His voice was deep, controlled. “Tell me anything you want. I want to hear you pray. I know you can. Tell me, and I will satisfy your every curiosity.”

You breathed, your sigh became labored, panting. “Please, Marquis, I...”

He laughed. His hand continued to touch his member, so hard, up and down, and you could do nothing but watch as your intimacy became wet and your hunger grew without rest. "You what, my dear? Do you want me? Is that it? Do you want my hand, my mouth?"

You nodded.

“No — no, love. Tell me.”

You swallowed, searching for a small voice in your chest. "I want you."

“What do you want?”

"All of you!" his fingers moved the panties, you finally felt his touch on you. And, hungrily, they sought the little wet hole between your soft lips. You could hear the sticky sound of your arousal on his fingers.

“Again, tell me more.”

“Your fingers, they're so — oh, oh please. Inside!”

He licked his lips. “What a good girl. You know your manners. But I don't want you so innocent darling, we know how dirty you really are, don't we?”

You shook your head, but you couldn't deny the truth to yourself.

“Tell me you're mine, tell me how much you want me.”

On the verge of tears, humiliated and excited, you nodded. “I'm yours, all yours. I — I want you so bad.”

His fingers slipped inside you, sweet and intense, touching all those perfect spots that made you moan all your pleasure. And you closed your eyes, for a moment. He stopped.

“Nu-uh, eyes on me. You like to watch. Tell me you like it.”

Yes, yes. “I love it. You are...”

“What? Don't be afraid. I want to hear everything.”

“Perfect. Your body, your...”

Oh, you were still so embarrassed. No, he wanted more. Vincent stood up suddenly, mistreated you hard, pushing you onto the chair. So, still dressed, he knelt over you, tickling your pussy lips with the head of his hard cock. You were dying of pleasure, and you looked at him excited and scared at the same time.

“I know you want it — say it. Tell me you're my little slut, tell me you want my hard cock inside you. Say it!”

And you cried, pleading. “I'm everything you want! Your whore, your tight cunt, your little slut — just give it to me, fuck me hard, now!”

And Vincent finally obeyed.

He fucked you, hard and deep, with an unprecedented ardor, grabbing your hair, your neck, biting your lips, spitting on your tongue.

“More, use me!” you begged. "Yours, only yours! I love it! Fuck my cunt — my ass. Yes, spit on my tongue, and fuck me like you mean it!”

“Dirty, dirty girl” he growled. His fingers dug into your thighs. "I knew you were a slut underneath, all mine. My little voyeur, my bad, dirty girl. That's it, take it, take it all!”

The contractions of your orgasm milked his cock, every drop of his come inside you. And you panted his name, and every dirty thing, now corrupted by that pleasure and prey to a will stronger than you. Your every word was honey. He came inside you, on top of you, making you dirty inside and out.

And looking at you like this, ruined for him, Vincent understood that you were no longer the innocent, sweet girl he thought he had met the first time.

#marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #vincent bisset de gramont #vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont x reader #smut

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ghouljams · 1 month

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Price and Witch flirt with each other at the bar. Very minor descriptions of Ms. Witch.

You like going to Price's bar. Despite the hungry stares and the sexually oppressive atmosphere, it's upscale and well kept, and John is there. You try not to let that last part slip into your compliments of his establishment, a purchase you're sure did not coincide with your formation of a shopkeepers union/gossip circle, but it's true. You enjoy going simply because it's another moment you get to spend with the man you love. A word you're still getting used to using for him.

His chill creeps up your spine as you perch on your stool at the bar, his fingers following close behind. "Whiskey, neat," he tells the bartender, his fingers splaying wide and possessive over your back as he presses his hand flat against your dress. "Are you drinking tonight?" He asks with a tip of his head towards you.

"If it's not too much trouble," you smile, leaning your elbows against the bar and threading your fingers together. You rest your cheek against your hands to watch your man, the way his lips quirk ever so slightly, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the bar, you like knowing he's happy to see you too, happy to treat you.

You don't feel apprehensive taking his kindness, not anymore.

"Taylor Fladgate for my-" he glances at you, and you shrug, "fiancé." The bartender barely looks at you, turning to fix the drinks with an air of disinterest that you only find in people trying to look like they aren't paying attention.

"Fiancé," you roll the word off your tongue, "when did that happen?"

"I like this dress," Price drags his fingers over the buttons lining your spine, tiny pearl things you'd never be able to do up without magic. He's changing the subject, poorly too. His fingernail slices one of the pearly buttons off, palming it as he trails his fingers to the next one. You shiver, feel the movement of it open the dress where your button was stolen. The bite of cold air may as well be from Price's own mouth the way it caresses your skin.

"Then stop ruining it," You hum, feeling another button open under his fingers. One of the sleeves starts to slip from your shoulder, and you lean a little more heavily against the bar.

"Now why would I do that?" His fingers tease the next pearl in the chain, his thumb swiping against the newly exposed skin of your back. You shiver, feel goosebumps rush over your skin. You bite your cheek, your eyes half lidded as you look at him. Price's smile is always tight, controlled, holding back from revealing any true emotion. You like the way it crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles for you. Something warm and genuine behind his facade. Or rather, hot and heavy.

You have to press one of your hands to the front of your dress as he cuts off a third and fourth button, keeping the fabric held up over your breasts as Price drags his knuckles along your spine. Your sleeve falls from your shoulder, the fabric starting to pool at your elbow just as the bartender settles two glasses on the dark lacquered wood in front of you. Price deposits the buttons on the bar as payment, and you watch the bartender inspect them with interest. You other sleeve slips as you reach for the long stemmed glass of blood red liquor.

Price's fingers find the rim of his whiskey glass, frost running over the glass as he lifts it. You suppose there's no point asking for anything iced with him. You sip your drink, it's sweet, heady and rich. It reminds you of plums left in the sun too long, it makes your blood start to run just a touch warmer. You lick the lingering drops of port off your lips, tipping your head as Price tugs one of your curls free of your updo. He twists it around his finger before letting it fall back against your neck.

You think he only pulled it free to brush it back, his fingers ghosting over your skin as he moves your curl out of the way and replaces it with his lips. Warm, for all his ice.

"What's a witch like you doing in my bar?" He asks, his voice rough against your neck. You feel your eyes drift closed, blinking far too slowly as his calloused hand slides over your back, pushing your sleeves down further.

"Waiting for my fiancé, apparently," You hum. Price chuckles, his beard a scratchy sort of tickle against your neck as he kisses your jaw.

"Fiancé, eh?" You can feel the teeth of his smile, "Lucky man."

"Terribly," You smile, grabbing your glass as he turns your stool to face him. You take another sip of the sweet liquor as Price traces his fingers over your exposed skin. He tips his whiskey glass this way and that, the amber liquid swirling in the frozen glass as he blazes heat over your collar. He stops at the swell of your breasts, his eyes darkly following his fingers path only to linger on your cleavage.

"Anythin' I could do to take you home?" He asks, his voice thick enough he has to wet his throat with whiskey. You watch the bob of his throat as he swallows with an open interest. You eyes flicking to meet his when he settles the glass on the bar behind you. It brings him so close, you throw caution to the wind and let go of your own dress to splay your fingers against his chest. The flex of muscle and raw physicality under your touch makes you want to purr, almost as much as the possessive dip of his fingers to catch the top of your dress do. Price would never let anyone else catch a peak of you.

"You could ask me to marry you."

"Would you?"

"Maybe," You smile, "if you asked me properly."

Price steps closer, caging you in against the bar. Your teeth catch the rim of your class, your smile too wide to make you feel anything less than giggly. You like the way he looks at you, like he would stop the earth from spinning if you just asked.

"Tell me you love me again, and I might." He doesn't smile, but there's something playful in his eyes. Your back and forth a game he refuses to lose. You twist your fingers between the buttons trailing down his shirt and pull him down to drag your lips against his ear.

"I love you John," You whisper, feeling the purr that rumbles in his ribs against your fingers. It feels good to say it, lights up golden in your chest, some unfamiliar magic that feels all too natural.

Price tilts his head into your touch, enjoying the way his name drips off your lips. You sound like everything he's ever wanted. Terribly lucky indeed to find the one witch he could never eat and fall in love with her.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #oc: witch #captain price mw2 #captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain johnathan price #captain price x female reader #captain price x oc #john price #fae!price #price x witch

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silverflqmes · 8 months

Text

໒⦂ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐐𝐈𝐍𝐆.

synopsis. the general of the xianzhou luofu is absolutely knocked out, nowhere to be found, and you’re left to look after his son retainer.

genre. fluff + crack

tw. secondhand embarrassment..

for @melukonova <3

jing yuan x gn!reader.

“i am not a child!” the blond haired swordsman whined out, sheathing his icy blade. “therefore i do not need babysitting!”

you let out a sigh, throwing your bow on your back as you caught up to the fuming teen. “i don’t wanna look after you anymore than you want me to. but your dad- i mean, mentor, ordered me to.” a chill ran down your spine. “and i don’t even want to know what would happen if i disobeyed and lost you.”

the dozing general, as your good friend sushang called him, was all lax and carefree until angered. you being you, the last thing you wanted was to see first hand what that anger looked like. after all, they did say the calmer ones are scarier when they snap.

yanqing eyed you for a moment before letting out a huff, unfazed by her reasoning. “what makes you think i would get lost? i’m perfectly capable of handling myself, i’ve been doing so for years now!” he argued before drawing out a hum. an idea. “but..” he dragged out, peering at you from the peripheral of his gaze. “if you want to waste your day chasing me around, i suppose you’ll have to keep up!”

and just like that, the boy was gone within a sprint.

your palm came in contact with your forehead as you let out an ( exasperated ) sigh. normally you would have left the kid to do his thing, but with the mara-struck soldiers around and all sorts of dangerous beings.. it wasn’t wise to leave him on his own, even if his skills rivaled or outnumbered your own.

“this kid is gonna be the death of me.” with that in mind, you bolted after him. “wait up!”

yanqing didn’t dare slow down as he maneuvered his way through the artisanship commission — a favored place of his. for awhile he’d been eyeing a sword there, but sadly.. he’d spent his entire paycheck upon receiving it.

which for reference, was last week..

however, two days ago yuan had provided him with the necessary credits to purchase the blade. hence his pursuit for the antique store.

when his peridot eyes found his destination, they sparked with relief when they caught sight of the sword. his prayers had been answered! no one bought it!

he took the antique meticulously into his hands, as though afraid it could shatter if handled incorrectly, as he brought it up to the counter.

“sir yanqing, you’ve returned!” the storekeeper greeted, smiling brightly. “the sword’s been waiting for you the entire week! since no one has come to purchase it, it seems it was meant to be with you after all!”

the ice user let out a chuckle, folding his arms proudly across his chest . “it seems so!” he grinned before reaching into his pocket. “same amount as before?”

a nod. “same amount!”

relieved to hear it hadn’t gone up in price, yanqing continued his search.. only to come out empty handed.

the boy blinked in surprise, reaching into another pocket.. and nothing again.

“i must have left it at the estate!” he mentally scolded himself before looking up with a blush coating his cheeks. “i-i um.. left my wallet at home.. is there any chance you can hold onto the sword while i get it?” he asked, praying the shopkeeper would say yes, but his apologetic smile said otherwise.

“i’m sorry sir yanqing, it would go against the store policy since we’re an antique shop — you sort of find what you can get..”

the young prodigy paled, whispers entering his ears around him about the blade. if he left, someone was sure to take it!

“what to do, what to do..”

“yanqing, there you are! i’ve been looking everywhere for you.” you called out, glancing between the blond and the store clerk. “were you going to buy this?”

his eyes widened at your ability to have caught up so quickly. he thought he’d lost you amidst the twists, turns and teleportation! it seemed his methods in slipping away still needed work. he could only wonder how the general had perfected his so well.

parting his lips, yanqing felt the need to interrogate you on your abilities in finding him, but he closed them right after, his curiosity faltering. “it doesn’t matter, i left my credits at home so i can’t buy it.” he mumbled back, cheeks burning as the words left his mouth. how could he have made such a rookie mistake?!

a hum left your lips at his reasoning before you reached into your utility belt, pulling out a sum of credits you’d received just yesterday. “how much is the weapon?” you stepped forward, holding out the bills in your hand.

the blond nearly felt his jaw drop at your actions. were you going to pay for him?? he couldn’t allow that — it wasn’t right!

“w-wait, y/n! i can just get another one some other time!” he blurted, tugging on your wrist to pull you back.

however, you ignored him. “will this be enough or does it cost more?” you asked, refocusing your gaze on the shopkeeper — who looked almost dumbfounded. how much did cloud knights earn?!

“um- it will do, y-yes..” the owner answered quietly, popping the register open before grabbing a tote. “would you like a bag with that..?”

you looked towards your blond companion, nudging him out of his daze. “bag or no bag?”

“n-no bag..” yanqing answered quietly, taking the blade off the counter before sheathing it at his hip.

the walk to the estate was quiet, minus the rustling of the trees and gossiping of birds.

no wonder the general liked his naps so much, it was peaceful and much needed- considering his workload.

yanqing hadn’t spoken a word after saying he didn’t need a bag.

part of him was still disbelieved about it all. if it hadn’t been for you grabbing his wrist to guide him back home, he would’ve remained frozen in his place.

the silence didn’t matter to you though, your job of looking after yanqing was nearing its end. you could return to your post in about twenty minutes worry free.

“y/n, yanqing!” the general greeted at the gates, smiling that cat-like grin he always sported. “i was beginning to think something had happened that required me to save you both.” he teased, sliding his gaze over to his retainer’s hip before letting out a chuckle. “i see you went shopping. is that the one you’ve been eyeing?” he inquired gently, folding his arms comfortably over his chest.

the teen looked up at the albino haired male for a moment before lowering his eyes, shame overcoming him. “a-about that, i left my wallet here.. so y/n bought it for me.” he confessed, flushing like he did before. he felt bad to have you pay, after the way he behaved with you earlier.

and yuan had no issue picking up on this as he let out a hum. “really now?” he questioned softly, peering over at you for confirmation.

surprise crossed your features upon being addressed before you inclined your head. “he was worried someone would buy it if he left the store, so i paid. but it’s no issue at all! t-truly, general..”

the lightning user let out a hum. “i see. well i can’t let your kind actions go to waste.” he spoke up finally, raising a hand to his chin.

“that’s alright- consider it a gift.” you smiled awkwardly, waving your hands dismissively before flitting your eyes to the blond. “i hope the sword finds you well.”

yanqing felt his guilt creeping up on him as he watched you turn before he could say his thanks.

and then his voice found him. “w-wait..!” he blurted out, grabbing your hand, as you did previously to him. “you didn’t let me thank you properly..” the ice user spoke up, swallowing his embarrassment to look over at the golden eyed male beside him for permission. “can y/n stay over for dinner?”

“dinner?? with the general and his retainer?!” you shouted in your head, astonished that the boy was even asking such a thing when all he wanted was to get away from you.

“a-ah, yanqing that’s okay- it was a gift! therefore no payment is required.. and i don’t want to intrude.” your voice quieted at the last sentence, suddenly feeling flushed yourself.

you had a post to get back to and later a box of leftover takeout waiting for you at home. having dinner with the general and his apprentice was completely unheard of!

however, the general in question thought otherwise. “hmm.. i think the kid is right.” jing yuan finally said, lowering his hand to the arm over his chest. “you’re relieved of your duties for tonight. yanqing, show them in while i get dinner started.”

with that, the general was already walking through the gates into his grand estate.

and once more.. you were left to look after his retainer — or in this case, he was left to look after you.

“um.. this way.” the blond brought you out of your trance when he dropped your hand, moving a few steps ahead of you.

the walk was awkward to say the least, he was truly hoping for yuan’s assistance on this, but alas.. he had other plans.

perhaps this was yanqing’s punishment for forgetting his wallet behind. “have you visited here before?” he sliced through the silence, though not as cleanly as his swords would.

you slid your eyes to him, surprised to hear him speak, though you recovered quickly. “a few times to deliver messages, but never beyond the gates.”

the blond nodded in understanding. jing yuan was keen on not mixing home life with work, he liked to preserve his relaxing environment. which made sense, people came home to relax and get away from their job.

he continued onward with you, stopping at the small nook he normally spent time off in to grab what looked to be.. digital checkers?

your brows rose a little. despite yanqing arguing that he was not a child, he sure favored his games.

his eyes met yours — a wordless invitation.

it’s not like there was much to do. anything to pass the time ( and embarrassment ) will do.

“alright, dinner is ready!” the snowy haired general called, walking out with a crockpot in hand — a culinary achievement of his. “who’s hungr-”

“HOW?!” yanqing’s voice tore through his question, causing him to blink. his retainer wasn’t one for losing his cool around others; had he missed something?

you surveyed yuan at the doorway for a second before lowering your eyes to the blond, lifting your shoulders at his outburst. “beginner’s luck?” you asked with an innocent smile.

only, he wasn’t buying it. “no way-! then i demand a rematch to test that statement!”

“how about you let our guest eat first.” the general chimed in, chuckling softly when the boy sharpened up instantaneously. worked every time. “i see you and y/n have been quite busy in my absence.. perhaps i’ll have to try my luck with them as well.” he mused, winking over at you.

your face heated up at the gesture, not having anticipated that of your superior, but you tried not to think too much of it.

sure he was a smooth talker and incredibly handsome. you’d even caught that foxian ambassador selling his pictures once!

however you knew better than to become romantically attached. least of all with your, quote on quote, boss.

even so, you couldn’t help those butterflies that crept into your gut at that wink. it was heart-stopping.

you took the vacant seat the boys had left you- across from yuan, ironically. once again, you tried not to think much of it.

but how could you do that after his fingers brushed yours so delicately when you reached for the ladle?

the way his golden eyes fell to yours and that dreamy look on his face with that lazy smile. no wonder you kept away from the general, you wouldn’t survive a day!

yanqing eyed the exchange, glancing between you and his caretaker. something felt strange in the atmosphere, and at this point, he was rethinking his choices on inviting you to eat. this was.. embarrassing to witness, and he’d had enough of his own share already.

still, it would be rude to send you home or question his guardian’s actions.

that, and he couldn’t help this weird, fuzziness in his chest. the little kid in him that yearned for that familial feeling.

granted, jing yuan on his own was a father figure enough — but right now, sitting at the table between you both.. he couldn’t help the rush of emotions he felt all at once.

he wondered if maybe, you would come again to dinner if he asked you to.

notes. hi queen i was trying so hard to get this out on your birthday but i fr blanked out and the creative juices went dryer than sumeru’s desert😐 anyway i hope this was what you wanted?? went from where’s waldo ( yanqing ) to very fluffy dinner??? first time writing jing yuan AND yanqing too, so i am um.. concerned for the portrayal. but i hope it satisfies you! and happy happy birthdayyy mami, mwah<3

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