#the love was always there and yet it was too inarticulate and there were too many forces against it

[rosalinesurvived]

Alicent saying: "All I wanted was for someone to say they were sorry for what happened to me" and Rhaenyra saying: "For that she has my gratitude... and my apology"

Rhaenyra saying: "Nobody supports me" and Alicent saying: "You will be a good queen"

#im screaming and crying and throwing up #the love was always there and yet it was too inarticulate and there were too many forces against it #but it was still there always there #very much a love story indeed #rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon

[grandhotelabyss]

Thoughts on the recent Sam Kriss S*bstack (lol) piece on poetry and second orality and plagiarism?

Both Kriss and Smith-Ruiu always make the Borgesian gesture of opening with an exotic historical anecdote-exemplum ("In 1437, the Aztec Empire's emissary to the Great Ming composed a Nahuatl aubade for the most beautiful of the court eunuchs" etc., that was a parody). The effect is sometimes too precious, but the first-paragraph portrait of Dede Korkut in his most recent essay does merit serious comparison to the Argentine master. Maybe I found it especially charming because I was assigned to read parts of the Penguin Classics Book of Dede Korkut in a college class (Introduction to Islamic Civilization).

Anyway, Kriss's is a well-rehearsed argument, and Ong and McLuhan and Derrida, whom he duly cites, were already making it over 50 years ago for the age of radio, cinema, and television. This is why I'm not persuaded when it's made almost word-for-word about the internet, too.

Kriss's analysis of Gay and Oxman and the perennial medievalism of the university is entirely persuasive, but the rest of the essay is the usual culture-apocalypse narrative, scarcely updated since The Waste Land, here blessed as our deliverance from liberal individualism, since Kriss is nominally a communist and not a conservative. An honest communist, in this case, one whose avowed mission is to dissolve us back into primal hordes in the night of time. I appreciate that he doesn't waste our time denying it.

As longtime readers of this site have learned from Staloff, communism's secret desire is to return us to the womb-comfortable dyad of peasant and priest, never mind the horseback warrior with the onion-rope of decollated heads dangling from his saddle who cantered in from Nietzsche as a misleadingly strenuous Marlboro advertisement for the whole situation. See also Judith Butler's musings on "communist ontology," at which even Cornel West, who understands himself in part as the heir to Emerson, seems to recoil. (The true dialectical understanding of Marx is that he began as Prometheus and ended as the vulture.)

Meanwhile, a million girls, gays, and theys on BookTok may not be as original as they think they are, given that they're all telling us to read The Secret History, but I promise you they're individuals to their parents and siblings and friends and lovers, and this turns out to be message of their favorite book:

How can I make you see it, this strange harsh light which pervades Homer’s landscapes and illumines the dialogues of Plato, an alien light, inarticulable in our common tongue? Our shared language is a language of the intricate, the peculiar, the home of pumpkins and ragamuffins and bodkins and beer, the tongue of Ahab and Falstaff and Mrs Gamp; and while I find it entirely suitable for reflections such as these, it fails me utterly when I attempt to describe in it what I love about Greek, that language innocent of all quirks and cranks; a language obsessed with action, and with the joy of seeing action multiply from action, action marching relentlessly ahead and with yet more actions filing in from either side to fall into neat step at the rear, in a long straight rank of cause and effect toward what will be inevitable, the only possible end.

Yet the irony here is that any novelist reading the Iliad and the Odyssey can detect, without having to be a philologist, that their folkloric and formulaic substratum was assembled by a novelistic sensibility—the tension between tradition and the individual talent always pertains; the existence of the former does not disprove the existence of the latter—since you don't arrive at a narrative as intricate and braided as Lord Jim, which the Odyssey is, simply through the formularies of orature, majestic as these may be in their own right.

And a further irony: the birth of individual consciousness out of the steppe-horde is exactly the tale the Iliad has to tell, as it narrates Achilles's initiation into humane selfhood through first his murder and then through his mourning of the beautifully civilized Hector, an initiation recapitulated in the dialogic form of the epic itself, which almost seems to side with Trojan over Achaean despite its Greek provenance, surely as so many of Dostoevsky's own sympathies are vested in Ivan. Unless we begin by understanding that Homer was a novelist, we won't get anywhere at all.

As for the relevance of the novelistic today, I would argue, very much against Kriss, that it takes a Balzac, not a steppe-singer, to even begin to explain what's going on with the jostle and scrum of the politicos on X or the influencers on Instagram. Even a figure as superficially ludicrous as Ian Miles Cheong belongs, in the sheer social and psychological density of what he represents, in Lost Illusions, not in the Lais of Marie de France.

I won't go as far as Saul Bellow, who once compared those insisting the novel was dead to Nazis and Stalinists, insofar as each group slated whole peoples, classes, and ways of life (the novelistic being a way of life) for destruction, but there's something to it—and even something important to notice in the fact that Bellow was saying this decades and decades before we all had phones or went online, was saying it before Kriss or I were even born.

For a certain kind of person, the world is always ending. In the spirit of the steppe and its cultural cognates, I can accept that this is their dharma or their astral destiny, but in the spirit of the city and its cognates, the novel chief among them, I mistrust their influence. Here is a reply to Kriss's essay on Substack:

Agreed, but a step too short.  More pretense needs to be dropped.  Ideally, most  also need to explicitly admit that they are really the (socially awkward) heirs of steppe bullshit artists, whose life’s work is tediously rearranging fragments of other’s ideas in the service of crafting mythic justifications for the narrow values of their social class.

It's a dishonest reply, and I'm glad it is, because if its author believed it, he would surely kill himself. There is something obscurely evil in Kriss's kind of writing: it signs off on the immolation of whole worlds with the excuse that it only describes what it actually seeks to enact. I fear it—and I fear it all the more because its description-enactment is so beautiful—so sirenic—a song.

#sam kriss

[napkinscrawls]

.Day at the beach/lake. .Bathtime.

#mushy may | 751 words | technically an insert for this fic

Aether throws Sunshine in the lake. AO3

Aether had promised himself Sunshine was going for a dive before they even returned to the church. She'd been buzzing in his ear the entire tour, chirping away about his infatuation with 'his' roadie. Aether would normally let it slide, he's the first one up for fun after all, but Sunny had progressed from good old banter to 'coaching'. Unsolicited & honestly horrific sounding; the new ghoul was not used to the surface yet & was suggesting things that were either impossible topside or already vetoed by the church's administration centuries ago. Cute as she was, Sunny needed to cool off.

"Aeth! Aeth! Andea would love-"

To the lake with her.

Aether stepped from the tour bus running his hand over his short hair followed by the excited multi-ghoul. Correction- multi-ghouls. Swiss had fallen in step with Sunshine, & was encouraging her 'romance advice'. He just enjoyed chaos.

The quintessence ghoul could only get out a syllable before one- if not both multi-ghouls would interrupt him. So he grunted noncommitedly so the duo did not notice the direction Aether was heading. They crossed under the covered path archway & into the gardens. Swiss only broke in his step to greet the garden ghoul, who was busy lifting a sapling out of its pot. She grinned at the mischief approaching, the older ghoul was eccentric to the point of inarticulation. Aether had no hope.

"How goes?" Muck called out, accent thick as ever. With her raised voice Primo's head lifts from behind his garden beds, a subtle scrunch on his nose in recognition before returning to his own business. The man had long since given up on the new era of ghouls.

"Oh! Oh!" Sunshine flaps her hand "Any tips for a coward in love?" voice too loud for the distance.

Aether smiled tightly, confident in knowing Sunshine's destiny but still uncomfortable in the current public hazing.

Tilting her head, Muck's eyes dart between the three band ghouls to locate the specific coward in question. Locking onto Aether's tension, a cackle launches out of her.

"You do know what today is?" She offers.

Swiss made a noise of confusion, shrugging at her. The innocent fool.

From behind his fuchsias Primo answered "First of may." His gravelly voice had a subtle rhythm to it Muck immediately followed up on.

"-First of may, first of may~" She sways side to side, the young yew tree still in her arms, "Outdoor fucking starts today!~"

"What?" Swiss incredulous laughter lifts his voice an octave. It had not been May for months.

"Is that a real thing?" Sunshine hoots, shaking Aether's shoulders. "You should do it! A human thing!"

Muck continues to hum the song the group didn't know as she returns to planting the hedges, content the conversation was over. Offering only a shrug to Swiss, as if the song was universal truth & not an injoke between her & the old Papa.

Swiss craned his head as they passed the retired lovebirds by, trying to catch more of the ridiculous song or at least a smirk on the old Emeritus' face. The old coot was always pretending to be dour when they all knew better.

"That's not a thing, Sunny." Aether caves.

"Sure it is-"

"You've fucked in 4 feet of snow, Swiss. The time of year is irrelevant."

"Oooo~" Swiss mimes scandalisation.

"Sounds like someone needs to try before they knock it~" Sunshine cobbles together.

Aether groans, putting all his effort into not speeding up & revealing his destination early.

He doesn't suffer for long, the private lake comes into view, & just as Swiss begins to question this Aether takes a sharp step back, coming in line with his tormentor. He swipes his arm around her waist & lifts her off of her feet. Sunshine barely has the time to screech as they rapidly approach the shore. She tries to babble out a plea of mercy but is unheard over the rising rumble of Aether's excited giggles.

The water is still & serene, unlike the ghoul being arched into the air towards it. In slow motion: Sunshine jettisons across the sky, in honour of her namesake, Swiss races to catch up as his hands raise to cup his mouth in a cheer, & Aether revels in the months long awaited satisfaction. The tension in his body falling off him in time with the resounding splash.

Next the lake surface is racing towards Aether as Swiss tips him in too. That's ok, he'll get him back when he surfaces.

#the band ghost #Mushy May #Nameless ghouls #Aether ghoul #sunshine ghoulette #Swiss ghoul #Primo x OC (briefly) #I wrote this on 2 hrs of sleep yesterday & just fixed typos today. Enjoy.

[thatgracelessheart]

The value of Greek prose composition, he said, was not that it gave one any particular facility in the language that could not be gained as easily by other methods but that if done properly, off the top of one's head, it taught one to think in Greek. One's thought patterns become different, he said, when forced into the confines of a rigid and unfamiliar tongue. Certain common ideas become inexpressible; other, previously undreamt-of ones spring to life, finding miraculous new articulation. By necessity, I suppose, it is difficult for me to explain in English exactly what I mean. I can only say that an incendium is in its nature entirely different from the feu with which a Frenchman lights his cigarette, and both are very different from the stark, inhuman pur that the Greeks knew, the pur that roared from the towers of Ilion or leapt and screamed on that desolate, windy beach, from the funeral pyre of Patroklos.

Pur: that one word contains for me the secret, the bright, terrible clarity of ancient Greek. How can I make you see it, this strange harsh light which pervades Homer's landscapes and illumines the dialogues of Plato, an alien light, inarticulable in our common tongue? Our shared language is a language of the intricate, the peculiar, the home of pumpkins and ragamuffins and bodkins and beer, the tongue of Ahab and Falstaff and Mrs. Gamp; and while I find it entirely suitable for reflections such as these, it fails me utterly when I attempt to describe in it what I love about Greek, that language innocent of all quirks and cranks; a language obsessed with action, and with the joy of seeing action multiply from action, action marching relentlessly ahead and with yet more actions filing in from either side to fall into neat step at the rear, in a long straight rank of cause and effect toward what will be inevitable, the only possible end.

In a certain sense, this was why I felt so close to the other in the Greek class. They, too, knew this beautiful and harrowing landscape, centuries dead; they'd had the same experience of looking up from their books with fifth-century eyes and finding the world disconcertingly sluggish and alien, as if it were not their home. It was why I admired Julian, and Henry in particular. Their reason, their very eyes and ears were fixed irrevocably in the confines of those stern and ancient rhythms – the world, in fact, was not their home, at least the world as I knew it – and far from being occasional visitors to this land which I myself knew only as an admiring tourist, they were pretty much its permanent residents, as permanent as I suppose it was possible for them to be. Ancient Greek is a difficult language, a very difficult language indeed, and it is eminently possible to study it all one's life and never be able to speak a word; but it makes me smile, even today, to think of Henry's calculated, formal English, the English of a well-educated foreigner, as compared with the marvelous fluency and self-assurance of his Greek – quick, eloquent, remarkably witty. It was always a wonder to me when I happened to hear him and Julian conversing in Greek, arguing and joking, as I never once heard either of them do in English; many times, I've seen Henry pick up the telephone with an irritable, cautious 'Hello,' and may I never forget the harsh and irresistible delight of his 'Khairei!' when Julian happened to be at the other end.

(donna tartt, the secret history)

#words #donna tartt #tsh #on translation

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 108: Ideal (Happy Birthday, Harry Potter)

Harry hadn’t had very many good birthdays.

Somehow, in spite of that fact, he’d imagined that his 19th birthday would be different. Last year, on his 18th birthday, when they’d spent the day rebuilding Hogwarts, Harry had reflected on his many terrible birthdays and told himself that 18 would be the last bad one. He’d told himself that on his 19th birthday there would be a party, he’d have his friends around him, and maybe just for that one day, they could forget everything bad and just have fun.

But now he was single, living in muggle London, without any friends nearby, and without any happy plans in place. He decided that he had to do something today, there must be something that could make his birthday not quite so glum.

He set off toward a coffee shop a few blocks from his house and ran smack into a door as a woman was coming out. She apologized but Harry was too distracted by what he saw inside of the store. From where he stood he could see reptiles, and birds, and he thought he could make out cats in the corner, and somewhere there was the faint sound of puppies yipping.

Waving the woman off he entered the animal shelter, feeling like might have found something good after all. He wandered in; first past the birds, then the reptiles, then to the kittens and full-grown cats. He paused with the cats for a little while, trailing his fingers along their cages and talking to them softly. Then he moved past them to the dogs and puppies.

There had to be about 10 altogether, different breeds and types, some sleeping, some playing together, some just wandering about sniffing. Several came charging over to the edge of their pen when they saw him, wagging their tails eagerly and he just knew. He looked up and waved to a sales associate who was straightening some pet supplies. “Sorry, I just wonder if I could meet some of the dogs?”

“Oh, sure!” she replied brightly. “Draco is on the dogs today, I’ll call him over. Just a mo.”

That was an odd name, Harry thought, it must be a coincidence. Surely Draco Malfoy wouldn’t be working in a Muggle Animal Shelter of all places. It was preposterous. Yet a moment later he heard a voice he’d recognize anywhere, “Sir, is there something I can help you with?”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he turned to look at the boy who had been his nemesis for several years, “Malfoy?” he asked incredulously, yet somehow he couldn't find it in himself to be surprised. It was his birthday after all.

(Read more below the cut)

“Potter? What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

“Oh, you boys know each other?” Annie asked with a wide smile.

“Uh,” Harry said inarticulately even as Malfoy said, “Yes, we went to school together.”

“Oh, it’s always nice to run into old friends!” she exclaimed. “Well, I’ll just leave you two to catch up and to find this young man a puppy!”

“You’re here to adopt a puppy?” Malfoy asked incredulously.

“Or a grown-up dog,” Harry replied defensively, feeling like this sort of luck was quite typical of his birthdays.

“And you just happened to show up at the one shelter in all of London that I work at?”

“Well, it’s not like I knew you worked here. It’s my birthday and I just wanted one happy thing-”

“A dog is a big commitment. It’s not just something you decide you want one day then discard the next.”

“I know that!” he protested. “And I want a commitment. I want something to love and take care of, something that loves me in return. I want something that is there all the time.”

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment. “Alright. What kind of dog are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe I could meet them and then I’d know which one was the right one.”

“Trust me, Potter, if you do it that way you’ll take home 5 dogs.”

“Maybe I want five dogs,” Harry said stubbornly. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else on at the moment.”

Malfoy snorted, “Have you ever owned a dog, Potter?”

“No,” Harry replied. “Have you?”

“No,” Malfoy said. “For one thing I’m not allowed to have them in my flat and for another, I don’t have the time and energy for a dog. Dogs are a lot of work and I’m not saying you can’t do it,” he said, as Harry opened his mouth to protest. “I’m just saying, maybe you should start with one dog.”

Harry frowned but it did make sense, he supposed.

“Come on, Potter, tell me about your ideal dog and I’ll still let you meet all of them,” he said as he started toward the back. When Harry didn’t follow he said, “Come on, you can’t meet them out there.”

Harry followed him through a door that led behind the glass.

“So, when you imagine your perfect dog, do you think you want a dog with a lot of energy or that’s a little more lowkey?”

“Umm,” Harry said, imagining that he’d like a dog who wanted to play but also thinking of how hard some days were. “Maybe a little lower energy, but one that would still like taking walks and want to play a little bit each day.”

“Well, most of our dogs will want to play at least a little bit here and there,” he replied. “So meet Artemis first,” he said, as he went into the area all of the dogs were in and led one dog out. “She is not for you,” he said as the dog bounded over to Harry and Harry knelt down to pet her. She licked his face and put her paws up on his shoulders to sniff his hair.

“Why isn’t she for me?” he asked, tipping his head up to avoid being licked in the mouth. “Hi Artemis,” he said. “Hello, beautiful girl,” he said as he stroked her sides, combing through her soft fur. “You’re a lovie, aren’t you?”

“She is,” Malfoy confirmed, rubbing her head between her ears. “But our Artemis is part Australian Cattle Dog which means she is very high energy. She needs to run every day regardless of the weather and she needs a lot of stimulation. She is a very smart girl and there will be a perfect home for her, but you aren’t it.”

“But I like her,” Harry said, wrestling with her a little bit.

“You’ll like lots of them,” he said. “I promise.” Then he added, “And if she is your favorite, there’s nothing saying she can’t come back out so you can have her.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed reluctantly.

“Alright,” Malfoy repeated. “So that’s Artemis, you can meet Pontus next,” he said, before calling Artemis back to the playroom where the other dogs were. “Pontus isn’t completely trained yet, we’re still working with him on basic commands, so I’ll just have to go in and get him.”

Harry nodded and sat back on his heels to wait, a moment later a huge dog came out, panting and dragging Malfoy behind him.

“Pontus,” Malfoy said reprovingly.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as the dog barreled into him and knocked him off his feet with a couple of raucous barks. He pinned Harry’s shoulders to the floor and licked his face quite thoroughly, butting his glasses completely off his face. “Hey, boy,” Harry managed, pushing at his broad chest so he could sit up.

Malfoy was tugging at the dog’s collar, seemingly to no avail. Finally, between the two of them, they got him enough off of Harry that he could sit up.

“Well, hello to you, too, handsome,” Harry said with a chuckle as he scratched behind his ears and Pontus tried to sit in his lap.

“Pontus is very sweet but he is an oaf,” Malfoy said as he brushed his hair back out of his face. “He is part American Pitbull and part something huge and dumb. We can’t quite figure him out.”

“He’s a nice boy,” Harry said as Pontus tried to chew on a bit of Harry’s fringe.

“No,” Malfoy reprimanded the dog, tugging him back from Harry. “Yes, he is, but he needs a firm hand, Potter, and you are too soft. Once he’s trained a little bit he’ll be a very good boy but you just let him eat your hair so you’re definitely not his.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, patting the dog’s side. “I think you’re probably right.”

“Did you hit your head on the floor when he knocked you over?”

“Not really,” Harry said as he reached back to rub the back of his head and Pontus butted him to get him to keep petting him, “Yes, alright, you demanding thing,” he said with a chuckle. “Why do you ask?”

“Well because you admitted I was right and it didn’t seem to hurt you even a little bit.”

Harry laughed, “You’re a git. I’ll have you know it didn’t hurt me one bit.”

“My, my,” Malfoy said with a small smile, “Is this what we call character development?”

“Yes, I see you,” Harry said as Pontus flopped over onto his back on top of Harry’s legs so he could rub his belly.

“He likes you,” Malfoy said with a grin.

Harry looked up at him, “He seems pretty friendly, Malfoy. I bet he likes everyone.”

Malfoy shrugged one annoyingly elegant shoulder, “Not really. He’s usually not too keen on men, in fact.”

“And you let him all but attack me?” Harry asked in mock offense. “I mean, I know you don’t like me, Malfoy, but killing me seems a little much.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, “He doesn’t attack people. It’s a common misconception about his breed. It’s all about how they are raised and trained, just like it is with every dog. Except possibly chihuahuas.”

Harry laughed, “I don’t know anything about his breed,” he said honestly. “I just meant that he tackled me to the floor pretty quickly.”

“Yes,” he said, “But when Pontus doesn’t like someone he cowers from them, he doesn’t attack them. He will do whatever he can to put as much distance and as many obstacles as he can between him and the person he’s afraid of.”

“Well, I think he’s sweet,” Harry said, his heart in his throat at the thought of this poor dog being so afraid. “Maybe I could adopt him-” he started.

“Oh no you don’t,” Malfoy said and he leaned down and grasped Pontus’ collar once more. “His person will come and in the meantime, he will have us to look after him. He is not the dog for you; he will wreck your entire house and you’ll let him. He deserves a family who will train him and teach him to be a good boy because he wants to be a good boy.”

Pontus stood up and wagged his tail at Malfoy, slapping Harry across the face. “Ow!” Harry said, shoving at Pontus’ rear end, “Stop hitting me with your tail. That hurts!”

“His tail is very strong,” Malfoy said with a chuckle, “Come on you,” he said to Pontus, “You can go back and play.”

A moment later he came back in, carrying a squirmy puppy in his arms. Harry reached out for it immediately, “Hello,” he cooed at it as the pup started to sniff him.

“This is Caerus,” he said. “He’s a beagle mix, which is quite obvious by his love of sniffing and by his sweet floppy ears.”

“Hi Caerus,” Harry said, holding him up so they were nose to nose, “You are very cute. Yes, you are.”

“He’s just going up for adoption,” Malfoy said. “He was a little touch-and-go for a while, his brother and sisters all died. He was in a very unsafe situation when we found him and we really didn’t know if he’d make it or not, but he’s a fighter.”

He squirmed to get down and Harry set him on the floor and he took off sniffing around the room they were in, following his nose.

“He will have no trouble being adopted. He is young and adorable, and people love puppies.”

“He is really cute,” Harry said as he watched him run around. “But he’s not for me.”

“I agree,” he replied.

“Why?”

“Oh, you’re looking for someone who’s a real rescue.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry asked.

Malfoy watched the little dog walking around the room, investigating and sniffing as he said, “It means that you have a hero complex, Potter, which I can’t even blame you for because you were raised to have one. But you want to rescue a dog who’s come from a rough life and knows it. You want a dog that will love you unconditionally and whose sun rises and sets with you.”

“Well-” Harry started, feeling a little defensive.

“That wasn’t a criticism,” Malfoy said quickly. “It’s a good thing. It means that you want to really bond with your dog and vice versa. Frankly, you’ll be a great pet parent.”

“Err,” Harry said inarticulately. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said with another one of those shrugs. “Besides, you’re not cut out to train a puppy.”

Harry laughed, “I could learn.”

“You could,” he conceded. “Maybe. You don’t like to be the bad guy and sometimes when you’re training a dog you have to be able to say a firm no. Especially with puppies.” Before Harry could respond, Malfoy was bending over and scooping up Caerus, “Alright, Mister. Back to the puppy room with you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

When he came back he brought two puppies with him, both with curly, white hair. “Meet Castor and Pollux,” he said.

“Hello,” Harry replied, petting both of them as they squirmed on the floor and started to tousle with one another, both yipping happily as they played.

“We are hoping someone will adopt them as a set. They’ve never been apart a day in their lives and they basically only socialize with one another, no matter what we do with them. They both cry inconsolably when they are separated.” He crouched down beside Harry and stroked one of their backs, “They are also definitely not for you, but I told you that you could meet all of them.”

“Thanks,” Harry said with a smile as Malfoy scooped them back up and carried them back to the other room.

A moment later he came in, walking slowly and leading a dog who limped along behind him. “This is Molly,” he said as he led her over to Harry. She wagged her tail happily at him and plopped down next to him. “She is the sweetest, gentlest dog you’ve ever met.”

Harry stroked her head and she laid her head on his lap.

“She’s a black lab mix and she is a love,” he said as he crouched next to Harry once more, “She has had a hard life and she would love you until the day she died, but she is also not for you.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking up at Malfoy, “Why not?”

“Well first because she is special needs, she’s blind, her liver is pretty much shot, she’s all but deaf, she can’t manage stairs, and she is on a variety of medications.”

“I could learn how to deal with all of those things!” Harry protested. “Poor girl, she just needs a home.”

“That’s the second reason you can’t have her,” he said. “She’s already been adopted. She’s the owner’s dog. He just brings her along because he can’t leave her alone at home all day.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“Yes, oh,” Malfoy replied. “She’s a good old girl.”

“Why doesn’t her name match all the others?”

Malfoy flushed slightly and Harry couldn’t help but find it a little charming, “I named all of the others,” he confessed. “We just need something to call them while they’re here and I like to give them new names if they’ve come from somewhere else to help distance them from their pasts. People can change their names when they leave.”

“That’s sweet,” Harry said.

“Shut up,” Malfoy replied.

Harry laughed, “What? It is.”

He rolled his eyes, “Alright, Miss Molly, let’s go. We have to find this prat a dog and you can’t be it,” he told her as he gave her a gentle tap and started leading her out. “No, you cannot. Your dad would never give you up. No,” he said as the door closed behind him.

Next, he came in carrying a tiny dog who was yipping at him, “Yes, yes, Hermes. We all hear you.”

He set the dog down and he immediately ran over to Harry, still barking at him. Harry held out a hand to the dog to sniff, “Hello there.”

Hermes yipped at him and then ran over to Malfoy yipping before returning to Harry once more.

“Hermes thinks it’s his job to tell everyone everything. He basically never stops barking.”

“Aptly named then,” Harry said as he reached out and stroked a hand down his back.

“He’s part chihuahua, we’re certain,” Malfoy continued. “And he is trained and housebroken, his only problem is that he doesn’t stop barking.”

“Will a dog like this find a home?” Harry asked, even though he knew it couldn’t be with him.

“Oh, certainly,” he replied. “He’s young and healthy and has his basic training. There are people out there who will not mind his barking one bit.”

“I’m not one of them,” Harry said as he handed Hermes back to Malfoy.

“No,” he replied. “There are two more,” he said. “And while I think either of them could be right for you, I’m saving the one I think is perfect for last.”

“Alright.”

“I only say this so that you don’t fall completely head over heels for the next one before meeting Penelope.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry assured him.

A few minutes later he returned with a giant black dog ambling along behind him, “This is Gaia,” he said.

Harry’s heart melted as the dog walked straight over to him and flopped down on his feet. “Hello beautiful girl,” he said as he stroked through her thick fur.

“Gaia is a six-year-old Newfoundland mix. She is house trained already, she’s a very low energy dog but she’ll go on walks and play with you. She is a very sweet girl.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, he brushed his thumb along her cheek and she stared at him with her big brown eyes. “Hi,” he said softly.

“She would love you unconditionally,” Malfoy said as he knelt beside Harry.

“Why do you think she isn’t perfect for me?”

“More than half of her life is already over,” Malfoy said. “Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.” He glanced down at the dog and stroked her side.

“But...” Harry prompted.

“But,” Malfoy said before taking a deep breath. “You’ve seen a lot of death,” he looked up at Harry then, his eyes so clear and sincere that they seemed to pierce into Harry’s very soul. “Newfies typically live 8-10 years.” He raised one shoulder, “She would be great for you, but she is going to leave you far too soon.”

Harry’s eyes stung and he looked away from Draco and down at Gaia who had fallen asleep. “Will she get adopted?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said without even a moment’s hesitation. “She is a sweet, sweet girl and people love big dogs. I give her two weeks in here tops.”

Harry stroked her ear between his fingers, “If I tell you to bring in the last one but decide I like her better?”

“You can still adopt her,” he said quickly. “Sending her back now doesn’t hurt a thing.”

He nodded once, “Alright.”

Malfoy nodded back, “Come on, Miss Gaia,” he said. “Up you get, you sleepy girl.”

She stood up, turning to look at Harry for a moment and wagging her bushy tail at him, before lumbering after Malfoy once more.

When he returned he was leading a small tan dog behind him. “This,” he said as he scooped her up, “Is Penelope.”

As Malfoy started to hand her to Harry she started wagging her tail so hard that her entire body wiggled with the movement. Harry laughed as he took her into his arms, “Well hello little one,” he said. She bumped her nose against his before licking his cheek. “Hi,” he said again.

She squirmed a bit, so he set her down, thinking this is where any that had gone wrong went wrong but she didn’t walk away, she stood up on her hind legs and pressed her front paws against his chest so she could lick under his chin.

He laughed and stroked down her sides, she was super soft and he said as much to Malfoy.

He nodded, “Yeah, our best guess for breed is a chihuahua-frenchie or chihuahua-pug mix. The pug or frenchie would account for the wrinkles that she gets in her forehead, how soft she is, her barrel chest, and the way her little ears look. Chihuahua would account for the long legs and slender build in spite of her barrel chest.”

She took her feet off Harry’s chest and Harry held his breath to see what she would do. She turned away and he thought that his mind was made up but then she turned in a circle in between his legs, then another, then a third before laying down pressed against his body as close as she could get.

Something made Harry feel like he was choking as he watched her settle against him.

“She likes you,” Malfoy said softly. “Miss Penelope is almost two. She is potty and kennel trained already but will need a little help learning basic commands, she’s relatively young so it shouldn’t be too hard. She doesn’t like going on walks when it’s too hot or too cold, but when the weather is nice she enjoys them. She likes to play fetch and she really likes to chew things. But her favorite thing is a lap to curl up on under a blanket.”

“She’s so small,” Harry said softly.

“Fifteen pounds,” Malfoy affirmed.

“Would she want to sleep in a kennel at night?” Harry asked.

“If you wanted her to,” he said.

“And if I didn’t?”

“She loves to get up on furniture with people. I’m sure she’d be glad to sleep in bed with you if that’s what you’re asking.”

She lifted her head up from where it was tucked against her chest and plopped it on Harry’s thigh, gazing up at him with warm caramel eyes.

“She would adore you,” Malfoy said softly. “I named her Penelope because I knew that whoever she chose as her person she would be unendingly faithful to.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, stroking her head before running her ear between his fingers.

Over the earpiece Malfoy was wearing, Harry could hear Annie requesting back up on the sales floor.

“Why don’t you two take a little more time together,” Malfoy said. “I’ll go check in with Annie and then when I come back you can tell me what you’ve decided.”

Penelope lifted her head as Malfoy left the room watching him until the door closed before turning to look at Harry.

“It’s alright,” Harry said, stroking his fingers down her side. “He’ll be back.” He picked her up, holding her in his arms like an infant, and she huffed a little breath before settling her head on his shoulder, tucking her nose into his neck.

“It’s alright,” he said again, even though she didn’t seem perturbed in the least. “What do you think, then?” he asked her. “Hmm?”

She pressed her nose against his neck and gave him a tiny lick.

“Do you want to come live with me?” he asked her.

Her tail twitched back and forth a few times.

“Is that a yes?” he asked as he turned his head to press his face into the fur on her shoulder. “Hmm? You want to come home with me?”

More waggles and Harry couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Do you like the name Penelope?” he asked her, shifting her so that he could see her face, he brushed his thumb over her black whiskers and she turned her head away, “Well you don’t like that, do you?” he asked and he brushed his thumb under her eye to clear a little gunk. “Sorry, little one.”

She let out a little huff at him and he couldn’t help but chuckle at her.

He held her and pet her, talking to her softly. He fell completely in love with her in a matter of minutes.

When the door opened and Malfoy stepped back in, Harry said, “Can I take her home today?”

“Yeah,” Malfoy said with a smile. “There’s a whole bunch of paperwork for you to fill out first but wait until you get a load of their quills. There’s no inkpot or anything.”

Harry laughed, “They’re pens, not quills.”

“You know about them?” Malfoy asked incredulously.

“I lived with muggles after my parents died until I was 11. Yes, I know what pens are.”

Malfoy huffed, “Why wouldn’t you have brought them to Hogwarts? Why didn’t you use them there? It would have been so much smarter.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with pens,” Harry replied with a laugh.

“Well, that's probably true. But I was an idiot.”

Before Harry could say anything in response or even process that remark fully, Malfoy was reaching for Penelope, “Let me put her with the others while we get you squared away.”

“No!” Harry said quickly, clutching her tighter against him.

“I’ll give her back, I promise,” Malfoy said.

“Can’t she just stay with me?” Harry pleaded.

Malfoy looked at him for a moment, “Yes, alright, but don’t let her distract you from the work you have to do.”

“I won’t.”

“Here,” he said, holding out a contraption to Harry. “Put this on her, she can’t be loose out on the sales floor.”

“Err,” Harry said as he reached for it. “How do I?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Merlin, Potter. It’s a harness,” he said. “Here, set her on the floor and I’ll show you how to put it on her. It’s so you can walk her on a leash.”

“Can’t I just use a collar?” he asked.

“No,” Malfoy said as he lifted one of her front legs through a hole, then the other. “Small dogs, in general, do better with harnesses than collars. Unlike larger dogs, she has a more fragile trachea so we put a harness on her instead.”

“Is she okay, though?”

“Oh, yes,” he said quickly as he snapped the harness over her back. “Right,” Malfoy said, passing him the end of her leash. “This way, I’ll take you in to see Jeff and get her paperwork filled out.”

“Great, thanks,” Harry said, “Alright, Penelope,” he said, “let’s go.” She wagged her tail and stared up at him.

“Do you have the things you’ll need for your home?”

Harry shook his head, “Can I get those things here?”

“Yes. After you fill out her adoption paperwork.”

“Will you help me make sure I get everything she needs?” Harry asked quickly, afraid he’d miss something essential.

Malfoy gave him a smile and a small nod.

When they went to the office, Malfoy knocked on the door and someone, Jeff, Harry presumed, called for him to enter.

“Hi Jeff, this is Harry Potter,” Malfoy said, gesturing for Harry to enter the room. “He’s here to adopt Penelope.”

The man at the desk looked up over the top of his glasses and gave Harry a warm smile. “That is wonderful news! Come in.”

“I’ll just leave you to it, then,” Malfoy replied.

“Draco, you should stay. I’ve been meaning for you to learn more about the actual adoption process,” Jeff said.

It took a while to fill out all of the paperwork, but once they did, Jeff said, “perfect. Now there’s just the home visit and you’ll be all set.”

Harry looked over at Malfoy and Malfoy looked at him, both realizing at the same time what a bad idea it was to have a muggle come to his house.

“I’ll do it,” Malfoy volunteered quickly.

“Your shift is almost over,” Jeff said, looking at the clock on the wall. “I can take care of it.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “I don’t mind. We’re old,” he broke off, glancing at Harry, “friends,” he finished a bit awkwardly. “I’m helping him make sure he has everything he needs anyway.”

The other man nodded, "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," he said, nudging Harry out of the office.

Malfoy helped him to buy supplies for her, laughing as Harry picked out far more toys and treats for her than he thought was necessary. The sales associate helped them to box everything up and Malfoy helped him carry everything out of the store. "How far do we have to walk?" Malfoy asked.

"Just a couple of blocks," Harry said. "Do you want me to take that?" he asked, offering him Penelope's leash in exchange.

He shook his head, "It's fine." He hoisted the box a little higher in his arms.

"Do you live near here, too?" he asked, watching Penelope trot along tail wagging as she sniffed.

"About twenty minutes by bus."

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Draco Malfoy riding a muggle bus, who would have thought it?"

But the other man didn't seem to find that amusing, he frowned, "I'm not the person you remember."

"No," Harry said quickly, "I know," he added. "I wasn't trying to say anything unkind."

"Sorry," Malfoy replied, shaking his head slightly, "It's been a while since I've seen anyone from the wizarding world." He paused then added, "People from the past don't generally say kind things."

Harry hummed, "The wizarding world is full of hypocrites and people unwilling to see the wrong they themselves have done." He shook his head, "It's a lot. It's why I left."

He nodded to the door ahead of them, "This is my house," he added.

"It's nice," Draco said.

"Thanks," he grinned as he opened the door. "Sorry, I didn't realize that I would be having company or I would have cleaned up a little more," he added as he let Malfoy inside.

He took the harness off of her and let her investigate her surroundings.

"Did you say that you aren't expecting company?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, keeping one eye on the dog as he started setting up her little bed and basket of toys.

"But it's your birthday," he said.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment before clearing his throat, "Do you have a back yard?"

"Yes," he said, glad for the change of subject, "This way," he added, nodding toward the back door. "It's fenced in but it's not very big, I'll take her on walks," he hastened to add as he opened the door. Penelope wandered out and started sniffing around and something warm unfurled in Harry's chest just watching her.

The other boy glanced out the door and nodded, "This is fine, it passes the inspection."

"Good," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Come on, Penny," he called and the little dog perked her head up and came dashing across the yard and back into the house."

"Penny, huh?" Malfoy asked with an amused little smile.

"For short," Harry nodded.

"I like it," he said as they turned and headed inside. "Well, I'll get out of your hair-"

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Harry asked without really thinking about why.

Malfoy's brow furrowed, "Do you want me to?"

He shrugged one shoulder, "Only if you want to." When Malfoy didn't reply immediately he shook his head, "Never mind, it's silly. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm lonely, ignore me."

"No. I'd," he swallowed, "I'd like to stay for dinner, if you wanted. I just couldn't imagine that you'd want..." he trailed off.

"We're not the boys we were," Harry said, holding out a hand, "Harry Potter."

After a heartbeat Draco reached out and clasped his hand, "Draco Malfoy."

"Do you like pizza?" Harry asked.

He nodded, "As long as you don't put peppers on it."

"Done," he replied as Penny came over and put her paws up on his leg. He scooped her up and smiled, thinking for the first time in a long time that maybe everything was going to turn out alright.

------------

Sorry friends, this one really got away from me. It's super long. I hope that you still enjoy it! <3 Lots of love, -c

Day 107: Charge | Day 109: Coffee Shop

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #adopting a dog #happy birthday harry potter #<3 #blossoming friendship #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlet #this one really got away from me #sorry friends! #Day 108

[alicanta77]

[7:13am]

You felt the throbbing ache in your head before you had even properly registered that you were awake. Every part of your body was slow, it felt as if you were constantly moving through tar, and after the simple act of opening your eyes made you question whether you’d need to do an emergency run to the bathroom, you abandoned all idea of sitting up.

Hazy memories of the night before flashed through your mind, some of them making you screw your eyes shut in hopes that that would make them disappear. If you hadn’t felt so worn down, you would have groaned, but the thought of making any noise at all made you feel more nauseous than you were willing to admit.

However, you were definitely not the only one in that state, because the stuttering gurgles emitting from your boyfriend’s chest as he lay beside you, proved that he was dealing with just as bad of a hangover as you were. You rolled your head slowly to the side, ignoring the way your brain seemed to roll around your head as you did. Hyuck did the same thing and one look into his tired, regret filled eyes made you burst out into a chuckle.

Hyuck immediately laughed at the state of you, making you know immediately that you looked like a trainwreck, but he wasn’t looking that fresh either so you weren’t fussed. It wasn’t a joyful laugh by any means, it was a quiet messy laugh, one where you can’t really believe what you’re looking at. Hyuck forced himself to sit up, and you followed, the two of you pausing when you caught your reflections in the floor length mirror opposite his bed.

If your head hadn’t felt as though it was about to implode, you would have died laughing. Your hair was a mess, a complete lack of control to the way it was hanging over parts of your face and bending in weird directions. Your makeup was smudged, half of it being left on your pillow. You were missing an earring, still had one shoe on and wearing some else’s trousers, which confused you since you came in a skirt.

Hyuck looked just as bad. His hair was sticking up in all directions, the same way a cartoon character’s does when they’re electrocuted. He had dark bags under his eyes, a lipstick mark on his neck that you vaguely remembered being your doing. His shirt was inside out, and, at some point in the night, he had found some neon leg warmers and put them on his arms, meaning the bright yellow was blinding against the black of his shirt.

Neither of you said anything, just halfheartedly laughing at your appearances, until Hyuck just picked up his phone and pointed it at the mirror, snapping a few pictures. You turned to look at him, squinting your eyes as you croaked out a threat.

“If that goes anywhere, I will end you.”

“Yes ma’am.” Hyuck replied, attempting a mock salute but instead just flopping back down on the bed.

The sudden movement seemed to be a very bad decision as Hyuck groaned at the way his stomach was thrown around in its current sensitive state. You rolled your eyes at him, lowering yourself back down a lot slower.

The two of you lay in silence for the next few hours as you tried to get the courage to get out of bed. While the silence was comfortable, your physical states were decidedly not.

Gradually over the time you had pulled yourself into a sitting position and by now you were ready to get up. You hadn’t slept much over the last night, knowing that the few hours you had slept was nowhere near the amount that you needed. You pushed yourself up to standing, stretching slightly before beginning to slowly shuffle out of the door, moving remarkably similarly to a zombie.

You registered the sound of shuffles behind you and assumed that Hyuck had decided to follow you. Somewhere on your way to the kitchen you paused to take off the one shoe that was left on your foot, carefully stepping over a sleeping Chenle to find Jaemin and Jeno in the kitchen.

As the two of you entered, Jaemin’s laughter disrupted the previously silent and healing atmosphere. Since Jaemin doesn’t like alcohol, he never has to deal with the next day effects of drinking too much, leading to him almost always making fun of those of you in a slightly more fragile state than he was. While Jaemin was casually wandering around in his mint green hoodie, making a cup of coffee without a care in the world, Jeno seemed to resemble the two of you.

Like Hyuck, his hair was a catastrophic mess and his eyes were almost fully shut as he leant on his hand to keep himself upright. Every so often he slipped down slightly, startling him into sitting back up again. He gave you a groan of some kind in greeting, one that you both returned just as inarticulate.

“Well, aren’t you a cheerful bunch today.” Jaemin grinned, sitting across from the three of you and taking another photo.

You sighed at the knowledge that yet another person has proof of your sorry state. Hyuck pulled out his phone, immediately selecting a food delivery service and you rested your head on his shoulder in silent thanks. He moved slightly to place a soft kiss to your forehead, never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him.

You watched him add your favourite order, before adding food for himself and then sliding the phone over to Jeno. Jaemin then took over, adding some stuff for the other boys who hadn’t even appeared yet, and a small something for himself.

You kept your head in Hyuck’s neck, his natural scent covering your senses and bringing you an indescribable feeling of comfort. For the first time that morning, you didn’t feel your hangover at all. You didn’t feel your pounding head, or your stomach that was both excited and nervous at the thought of putting food in it. You didn’t feel embarrassed by any of the memories you have from last night. 

You just felt Hyuck.

His hand reached out, grabbing yours and pulling it onto his lap and he allowed his head to land on top of yours. His thumb rubbed gentle circles into the back of your palm, a silent reassurance that he was here and he had you.

But you knew that. You knew that, no matter where you were, what you looked like, how hungover or unresponsive you were, Hyuck would have your back. He would be there for you, ready to catch you if you fall. He didn’t just bring comfort, he brought comfort, safety, security all within a gentle touch. Hyuck had always been a physical being, but you’d just assumed that it was because touch brought him comfort. You soon learnt that it was also the way he gave it.

Whenever you had a bad day, you never felt better until you’d had a hug from Hyuck, and Hyuck never felt okay until he’d given it to you. You were the person he wanted to cuddle, annoy, love for the rest of his life. You were the person that understood him better than anyone else had ever done. You were the person that could wake up with him, look like death itself and look at him like he put the stars in the sky. You were the person that made him become the person he was today. You were the person he wouldn’t exist without. You were the person that completed him.

You were his person.

#neoculturecafe #nct-writers #dreamwritersnet #haechan imagines #donghyuck imagines #haechan timestamp #donghyuck timestamp #haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #lee donghyuck x reader #haechan fluff #donghyuck fluff #nct 127 imagines #nct dream fluff #nct dream timestamp #nct 127 fluff #haechan imagine #donghyuck imagine #nct dream imagine #nct 127 imagine

[karekarelime]

Bad Ending

Is what Cyrano had and that's why I didn't like it. I am the type to like good endings but bad ones need just cause and an explanation of which I felt the movie had none. Spoilers below.

Both Roxane's and Cyrano's characters were fleshed out in the film right at the beginning. Roxane is a pretentious pretty girl who pines for romance while also helping herself to the gifts men give her, leading them on to gain gowns, theater tickets and the like. She's probably used to men giving her everything and never giving in return. Cyrano feeds into this and grants her every wish knowing who she is, he did grow up with her after all. And Cyrano is a loyal perfectionist. He expects perfection from his play, hating the actor desecrating the art making it fake and full of fluff. He won't betray his soldiers despite being offered safety, more money, and better ranking. He also wants love to be perfect and his love for Roxanne is imperfect by the fact that despite being a poet and a fighter, he's a dwarf and his Roxanne needs a lover who is perfection which is not him. Last is Christian and not a lot can be said besides what is shown in the movie and that is that he's an inarticulate lover. He don't got the words but he got the passion. The triangle has commenced.

As triangles go the two guys are head over heels in love with Roxanne with Roxanne just feeling for Christian when she's actually falling in love with Cyrano's words. The romance pauses with a war and this is where the movie rushes and confuses. Christian finally finds out Cyrano loves Roxanne right as they are literally being sent to their deaths and Christian tells Cyrano to tell Roxanne the truth. She needs to have a choice. You know, despite already being married to Christian and it's like he knows he'll die but Cyrano is main protag so he'll be able to make it out alive. And he does. Christian's last dying words were to tell her the truth and what does Cyrano do??? Not tell her. For 3 years. And he keeps visiting her and she always waits on him like he's delivering someone to her. I didn't really get that part. Christian's dead. Was Cyrano still delivering letters? But how? Anyway Cyrano bout to die and let's Roxanne know at the end who actually wrote the letters and by then it's too late. Despite accepting him and his love he dies saying he loves his pride. What?! His pride. Does that mean he couldn't accept her love for him? That his idea of her loving him was gone and he always wanted her to love someone better, someone perfect? It's perplexing. It was heading to a bad end but I'm confused. Christian's death felt like an excuse to let the remaining 2 get together but they never did. Maybe Cyrano couldn't since he was loyal to the pure love Roxanne held for Christian and didn't want to ruin it with his ugliness. It wasn't explained why and there was a timeskip. Potentially it could've been a good movie and that's probably why I'm upset about it. Longer run time would have solved the problem but then that would've been too long a movie. Maybe cut the singing? The story spoke more. I'm sad cause the aesthetics were so nice. And a movie about words yet never really saying what happened?! I'm confused.

#Cyrano #movie #Cyrano spoilers #bad endings #love story #love triangles #watched it for Peter Dinklage

[kuroopaisen]

inarticulate. (iwaizumi hajime)

➵ iwaizumi’s never been good at talking about his feelings. so instead, he keeps them to himself. 

wc: 2.4k

warnings: cursing

“He’s kind of cute.”

There they were. The words Iwaizumi had been dreading for so long.

It was only the second week of university, and it had finally happened. You’d met Oikawa.

He knew you were bound to meet eventually. And he wasn’t actively trying to stop it. He’d just hoped that he could stay in this limbo, for a little while. But, you’d wanted to come along to practice to support him.

And of course, the person who caught your eye just had to be Oikawa.

“He’s a piece of shit,” he mumbled, looking down.

You turned to him with one eyebrow raised. “I thought you two were close.”

“He’s still a piece of shit.”

You laughed, reaching up to sling your arm across his shoulders. “Do you speak about me like this when I’m not around?”

Of course not, he thought to himself. Frankly, he barely spoke about you at all. Not because he didn’t want to – but because he was afraid to. Afraid that, if he made your existence known, Oikawa would want to meet you. Afraid that, if you met, your attention would all go towards his best friend. Like it usually did.

And then that small flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way about him would finally die out.

Today was that day, apparently.

“I thought you two were close,” you laughed, tilting your head at him.

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw at that.

“Or is this a ‘I’ll never tell him how I really feel because I’ll simply die for embarrassment’ kind of thing?” You grinned, putting on your best Iwaizumi impression.

“I don’t sound like that,” he grunted, rolling his eyes. But annoyingly enough, you’d managed to capture his voice pretty well.

“Whatever,” you sighed, stretching your arms above your head. “Enjoy the rest of practice.”

------

“So, are they single?”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders tensed up. Oikawa’s face was covered with a towel. Iwaizumi took the moment to compose himself.

“Iwa?”

“As far as I know,” Iwaizumi grunted, throwing his own towel over his shoulder.

“I thought you would’ve been more up-to-date on your best friend’s personal life, Iwa,” Oikawa hummed, tilting his head at him.

“They’re single,” Iwaizumi conceded, turning around in an attempt to hide his face. No way he was going to let Oikawa catch whiff of what was going inside his head.

“Think they’re into me?” Oikawa chuckled. Iwaizumi’s jaw clenched. “I caught them staring at me during practice. I have to say, they’re pretty cute.”

“Whatever, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi mumbled, wishing that he could be literally anywhere else at that moment.

“No need to be so gloomy,” Oikawa sighed, picking up his own bag. “What’s your problem?”

“You better treat them with respect, okay?” He wasn’t quite sure why he’d said that. It sounded like an admission. But God, he didn’t want the two of you getting involved.

Not that he could stop it.

“Iwa, I wouldn’t dream of—”

“I’m serious.” He turned to look Oikawa directly in the eyes at that. God, if Oikawa hurt you… well, Iwaizumi knew he’d feel partly responsible for it. He was the reason you’d met, after all. And, he wasn’t sure if he could handle that conflict of interests.

Something close to a smile touched Oikawa’s lips. “I know you are.”

------

Nothing happened.

Two years of university, and nothing happened.

Oikawa flirted with you all the time, sure. You even flirted back, should the mood take you. But nothing of any real consequence had happened; no dates, no relationship, no hook-ups.

And it was driving Iwaizumi insane.

The only real positive was that you’d stopped talking about Oikawa so much. And, when you did, there was a distinctly platonic edge to it. No mention of how handsome he was, no mention of how nervous you’d get around him. Just little anecdotes of what you got up to that you’d share with Iwaizumi because you thought they were funny.

And they were. But hearing about the two of you spending time together alone just made him feel a whole host of complicated feelings.

And he hated himself for it.

Why couldn’t he just be happy for the two of you? Maybe that’s why he was so frustrated. The whole ‘will-they-won’t-they’ dance just prolonged his suffering. Because for as long as you and Oikawa weren’t dating, he could still harbour that little flicker of hope.

And he had. Despite his best efforts to let bygones be bygones, it had persisted.

He’d tried dating, of course. That was what you did once you made it to university. But he was never able to just… let himself go. Instead, he did what he’d always done: he focused on volleyball.

Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to keep playing with Oikawa after high school – not after that promise to beat him. But, by some stroke of serendipity – although Iwaizumi would’ve preferred the term ‘bad luck’ – they’d ended up at the same university.

It felt like nothing had changed.

But you were there, now.

And to both equal parts his delight and chagrin, you’d become something of a trio. The rational part of him felt relieved that his best friends got along so well. And he’d likely feel that way with some consistency, if you didn’t get along too well. It was bad enough that you and Oikawa seemed to have a thing for one another. But it might’ve been bearable, if it wasn’t forced in his face near every day.

He’d never seen you laugh as much as you did when Oikawa was around, either. He always seemed to think of something that made you light up. And every time he did, Iwaizumi wishes it had been him. That he was the person who could make you smile that that.

And, you always seemed to be together before Iwaizumi joined you, casting him furtive glances whenever he arrived. You always seemed to whisper things to one another; things he wasn’t supposed to hear. He wouldn’t let himself wonder what those might be.

But you were his best friends. Distancing himself from the two of you just wasn’t an option. And despite it all, he couldn’t imagine being apart from the two of you. You were both part of him, now. You both brought him more comfort than he could say.

Oikawa kept asking about you. Little questions, little goads followed up by that aggravating little smile of his. Sometimes it felt like he was testing him. His only response was the tried-and-tested method of being a bit too terse. Sometimes Oikawa would press a little further, sometimes he conceded early.

Fuck, he really should’ve just told Oikawa about it back in high school. The teasing would’ve been worth it.

He usually never had an issue speaking his mind. Especially with Oikawa. But with you… it was different. There was a quiet fear, quiet yet pervasive; a fear of crushing something so delicate, so precious. A fear of rejection. A fear of confronting something he’d ran from for so long.

It was too late, anyway. Two years had passed.

And he wouldn’t think about it now. Not when you’re on the couch next to him, your annual Godzilla marathon well underway.

Your phone dinged. You cursed to yourself quietly, going to check it. Iwaizumi’s eyes flick down absent-mindedly, but you’d quickly turned the phone away from him. He frowned. Was that intentional?

His eyes flicked to your face. A slightly furrowed brow, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You turned to him suddenly, eyes slightly round. “Oh, yeah,” you paused. “Just Oikawa being an idiot.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. Or course.

“I told him I was busy today,” you mumbled, locking your phone.

“He just can’t stop bothering you, huh?” Iwaizumi sighed, trying to shift the annoyance in his stomach.

“You’ve got that right,” you sighed, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder.

Iwaizumi froze. God, he’d never get used to this, would he? You’d been more casually affectionate with him since university had started. Little, thoughtless touches that he couldn’t get out of his head. It shouldn’t have been all that strange, close as you were.

But whenever he felt you pressed against him like that, it’s like he’s fourteen again. He doesn’t know what to do, and the last thing he wants to make you feel is uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with how distant he is. Uncomfortable about the fact he’s quietly in love with you.

Your phone pinged again. Oikawa?

“Oh,” you mumbled, reaching for your phone but not getting off him. “I should put that on silent.”

“I thought he would’ve asked you out by now,” Iwaizumi grumbled. He hadn’t thought about the words that deeply before saying them. It was just a thought that had been stewing in the back of his mind for far too long. But even during the moments when it was supposed to be the two of you, he was still there.

You scoffed. “Gross.”

Iwaizumi bit the inside of his cheek. This performance, huh? The playful disgust, the endless teasing that made him feel like his lifespan was getting shorter and shorter. It was the dance of teenagers, not people who’d been through two years of university.

If you like someone, just tell them. He’d said those words to Oikawa, once, all gruff and confident and exhausted. What a hypocrite, he thought, his brow furrowing.

“You alright, Iwa?”

You were looking at him. He couldn’t deal with that right now. Not when you looked so bright, so happy. God, he felt like an asshole.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, turning away from you.

“Please don’t keep things from me.” Your voice was so soft, so fractured.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clenching his fists.

He had always told you everything. Every fear at three in the morning, when sleep was just out of reach and the only thing he could think to do was call you. Every quiet hope, every small dream he’d nurtured in the dark, so delicate that he’d never shared them with anyone but you. Every true feeling that he hid behind the barbs; how much he loved Oikawa, how scared he was of the future, how he so desperately wished he knew how to be gentle, to be soft.

The only thing he’d never told you was how he felt about you.

Was that unfair of him?

“What’s really going on with you and Oikawa?” It’s a question he should’ve asked years ago. And maybe it wasn’t the most opportune moment to ask. But the words had already left his mouth.

“What do you mean?” You were frowning at him, head titled slightly. Were you playing dumb?

“You know,” he shrugged. “Do you… have feelings for him?” God, had he really just said do you have feelings for him? That was how he decided to phrase it?

You laughed. Any other day, any other time, he would’ve enjoyed the sound.

“I love him,” you said. The words were a jolt to his stomach, anticipated but not prepared for.

“But not like that.”

And everything froze. Those words were so small, so innocuous. You likely hadn’t thought about them that much.

But they changed everything.

You wrapped your arms around his, and Iwaizumi wondered if this might be too much for him.

He could feel the tips of your fingers digging into his bicep, your entire body taut against him. Were you… okay? Iwaizumi frowned, opening his mouth to ask.

Your phone pinged again.

“It’s always been you, Hajime,” you murmured, your head against his shoulder.

He stopped breathing. Did you… did you really just say that? Your voice was so quiet, so soft that he wasn’t quite sure if you’d meant to say it. But the grip on his arm told him otherwise.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” He asked, the words rushing out before he’d really thought about them. Fuck, he thought, now I sound like a real asshole.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” you mumbled, lowering your face. “I didn’t want to drive you away.”

The world was frozen in a crystalline moment he’s afraid of shattering. What he does next would change everything. The way things were had been blown away, like dust on an old book.

What were you thinking?

In that moment, far too much. You hadn’t wanted to tell him – at least, not like this. You’d tried to ignore Oikawa’s suggestion, but he’d been persistent. He’d told you that the two of you couldn’t keep going like this; that you’d drive each other insane if you weren’t careful.

And he was right. You weren’t sure how long you could hold out in this limbo; wanting to be closer to him, but always feeling like there was a glass wall between the two of you.

Maybe a couple of words in an inopportune moment was enough to change that.

But Iwaizumi wasn’t good with words. Not when it came to his feelings.

Calloused fingers grazed your cheek. You looked up at him, startled.

And he kissed you.

It’s a moment so delicate, so fragile you feel like the smallest movement will make it break. And yet, there’s such a grounded confidence to it – no, to him -- that it makes you shiver.

You’d never expected kissing him would be like… this. It’s rough around the edges, somehow too tentative and too hasty. His hand was so soft against your cheek that it almost felt like a ghost. But you were all too aware of it. Aware that you wanted more.

And you feel like a right fool. You should’ve done something sooner; you’d known him so long, wanted this for so long. How much time had you lost?

He drew away, and you remembered that this was just a kiss. Nothing more than that.

And it scares you. You felt all of that for a mere kiss?

But that had always been it, hadn’t it? That’s what it was like with Iwaizumi.

It was just that he’d finally been able to speak fluently, in a language he felt comfortable with.

And with what he’d just told you, the last thing you should be is scared.

He smiled at you. And it’s the most beautiful thing you could think of. Iwaizumi, his eyes so tender, his face free from its usual tension. And you realise, in that moment, this is him without any kind of mask. This is the Iwaizumi you’d been reaching for all these years. And that, more than anything, might be the most wonderful thing.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbled.

#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuuwritersnet #friends-to-lovers week #i love him so much i'm gonna try and write for him more #i feel bad this one's shorter than the others (sorry iwa) but i think it ended where it needs to

[lxpinwrites]

Excerpt from an AU from my partner’s story

(for @gingerly-writing‘s craving asdfasfadsf)

--

He should have died.

The thought rang clear in his otherwise fuzzy mind the moment he awoke in the cold cell, his entire body aching as if struck with a fever. 

As if he had lost a crucial battle, one that he never meant to walk out of anyways.

He sat up slowly, stretching his weary muscles and growing worried when his prosthetic didn’t move, momentarily thinking that it was malfunctioning until he saw the mangled arm lying limply against his side, the product of yet another one of Dante’s monstrosities.

He removed the useless arm with a pang, trying to ignore how unnatural he always felt without it. The crystal once used to power it fell to the ground with a clatter, now glowing with a bright green magic that he remembered all too well. Dante had corrupted it, then, just to render him useless enough to be unable to work his crossbow.

Quentin had been right. He would have never won. 

A heavy door screeched in protest from somewhere within the dungeon, casting the room in a strange light as boots clattered towards him slowly, confidently. Momentarily he considered ripping part of the prosthetic into a shard, to end his imprisonment before it could worsen, but all he could think of was Quentin, of Maria, of how he would never get to see them again.

“A fine prisoner you make, Flemming.” 

The voice, once clear and smooth, scratched through a ripped out throat, harsh in Aleksander’s ears. He didn’t want to look up at the speaker. He didn’t want to see what his - what Dante had become. He didn’t want to know the lich who had changed his name to reflect his monstrosities.

The caged door flew open and green magic was surrounding him, forcing his head back until he could see Xakras, looking down at him as if he were a mere insect on the ground to be stomped. 

“Quiet for once, are you? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Sorian in their place before. Or is it perhaps too painful to speak to me?”

Aleksander’s brow furrowed in confusion, momentarily wondering if Xakras was speaking of perhaps grief. That is, until he opened his mouth to speak, the words inarticulate as his tongue throbbed in pain. “You’re a monster.” 

Xakras laughed, a cruel sound that made his heart ache. Dante’s laugh had always been so warm, a fireplace in the winter. Aleksander bitterly thought of the feelings he had long ago held for him, naively thinking that making Dante laugh would make him fall in love. That had been a foolish thought, for Aleksander only ever fell deeper whenever Dante laughed. 

How idiotic he had been. 

“It would be unwise to reopen an already infected wound, Flemming,” Xakras remarked, releasing him of his magic. “I believe we both know that your constitution is rather... unsuitable for infection, is it not? Though, it wouldn’t pain me to see your tongue removed.”

Aleksander looked down at the scepter he held, his stomach flipping uneasily when he saw dried blood on the blade, wishing that it was only his own blood, that Alyssa wasn’t dead. 

“I’ll die anyways,” Aleksander said, irritated that he couldn’t even speak like normal. It seemed that Xakras had taken away both his body and spirit. He wished he could hate him. “The best doctors in Soria couldn’t cure the infection.”

“The best doctors in Soria didn’t use magic.” Xakras spoke easily, as if stating a simple fact and not caring for the hope it brought him. He leaned against the caged door, looking down at him and for once, almost seeming like Dante again. “And I didn’t give you permission to die.”

A sudden anger overcame Aleksander, his fevered cheeks red. “I won’t become what you are. I - I won’t. Even if you force your curse on me, I’ll - I’ll find a way to die.”

“I wasn’t offering you lichdom,” Xakras said, rolling his eye. “Spending five minutes with you is long enough. I am, however, choosing to heal you.”

Magic paralyzed Aleksander yet again, and before he was able to process what was happening, Xakras was approaching him, pointing his scepter at him until the pain was only a memory. He released him roughly, not caring that Aleksander didn’t have two arms to catch himself. 

He must have noticed how Aleksander was looking at the prosthetic like he had missed an opportunity, because he scoffed. “Please. I was a weakling when you lost your arm. It would have taken ten of me to heal the sickness you had.”

Aleksander thought that for a moment, Xakras sounded regretful, though the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Xakras turned towards the exit, his ripped cloak swaying in the wind. He watched as, before his eyes, a strange magic surrounded Xakras until - to his surprise - he looked like Dante again.

In his shock, he didn’t even react when the prison door was left open. Nor did he react when Xakras said, “You’ll find your old study repurposed for your new life. Don’t try to escape - you’ll find yourself stuck between myself and my guards. Pray that the guards happen to find you first.”

With that, he left, leaving Aleksander with a hopeless exit to inevitable enslavement, wondering only what purpose he could possibly have for Xakras, wondering if Quentin would think to come find him. 

—

Aleksander had wondered if it was pity that made Xakras spare him, though the study that had been transformed into a workshop told him otherwise. He barely remembered the dusty old room, having used it when he lived in Sipara. Now, it so closely resembled his workspace in Soria that, for only a moment, he feared that Xakras had already infiltrated his home. 

There were several differences, however, that never allowed him to feel quite at home. 

Aleksander had stolen one of the guest bedrooms at his estate, turning it into the very place where he had built the first prototypes for his prosthetic. He remembered how Maria would catch him awake late at night, working through the last kinks of his most recent idea. She had always scolded him for sleeping so terribly, and yet she had always left a steaming cup of his favorite coffee on his desk, kissing his forehead before going back to bed. 

She had made the entire room warm, despite the constant draft it had.

He sat down at the workbench roughly, still exhausted from the fight. He wanted to do nothing more than sleep, yet he was too terrified to dare close his eyes in Xakras’s palace, fearing that at any moment, someone would come to kill him. 

Instead, he scavenged the room for metal, having memorized the blueprint for his prosthetic in case he ever lost it. Building was harder than before, and Aleksander realized that he had grown spoiled by having two arms again. Now, he was practically useless, and he occasionally considered asking one of the guards nearby for help.

He didn’t realize that time had passed until the sun was low in the sky, casting his desk in a red light that, strangely, made him long for his little knight. Gods, he could only imagine what Quentin would have done if he had been imprisoned. The poor bastard had panicked enough when the elves had captured them. 

Aleksander stood with a shaky breath, frustrated at the slow pace of which he was building. He wasn’t surprised to find that the only window in the room was barred, though it seemed like a useless precaution. The room was several stories in the air - and Aleksander was terribly afraid of heights. 

Dante would have remembered that about him, Aleksander thought. 

He stared at the horizon, watching the ocean from afar and wondering where Quentin and the others had sailed to - if they had even survived the chaos of Loria burning. The smoke of a burning village nearby still hung in the air. It had been a massacre, supposedly. He had been unconscious during it, stuck in the dungeon for who knew how long. 

Aleksander knew Xakras was near when the guards outside his door kneeled in unison, their heavy armor clanking about and echoing in the empty halls. He tried to prepare himself for whatever the tyrant was planning, though he didn’t think he would ever be able to face him without thinking of Dante, without wishing things had gone differently. 

He briefly wondered - only for a moment - what would have happened if he had refused Alyssa’s quest, if he had instead demanded a conversation with Dante instead of an assassination. 

He supposed it would have all ended the same, anyways. He wasn’t Oklena, so he supposed there was no use in trying to predict what was the best decision. 

“It’s not your best work, I’ll admit.”

Aleksander flinched, whipping around to see Xakras by the workbench, observing the barest mechanics of a prosthetic with a scrutinizing eye. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your abilities already.”

“It’s hard to build with one real arm and one hunk of mangled metal,” Aleksander remarked, his throat lumping bitterly. “The crystal in it is - it’s all beyond repair.”

Xakras snorted. “Did you think it would be easy, facing me? You built the original with a fever and a half-dead arm. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is I had a friend with me, last time.”

#Dante story #not my story #my writing #fantasy #writeblr #writblr #come get ur juice

[hiccstrxd]

Kisses from the moon

Hello! I wanted to write shameless fluff with lots of kisses and this is exactly what it is. I’d like to believe that for a first timer in the kissing department, I did it okay lmao

It's rated t btw. You can find it in ao3 as well. Enjoy!

Summary: She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

It hasn’t been that long since the battle of the Storm Spire and relationships among the neighboring kingdoms couldn’t be any more restrained — the shifting alliances have been slightly worrisome but the newly pledge between the Dragon Queen and the young King of Katolis compensate all the arising uncertainties, if just a little.

Rayla doesn’t know that much about politics but she supposes that last bit gave enough solace to the kingdom. A bright occurrence amidst the cataclysmic disputes and deadly wars.

And since this was now her home away from home, she was very well informed — rather unwillingly — in its state of affairs.

Both Callum and Ezran (and Bait too, apparently) had firmly made her know that if she was one hundred percent sure and at ease with the idea overall, she was more than welcome to stay in Katolis, no matter if it was merely a temporary arrangement. It took quite a lot of arguments and counterarguments from both parties and even further persuasion from the two brothers (and frog) for her to concede to the proposition with an underlying hesitation.

She was fairly certain that her residency in the kingdom — and in the castle no less — will not be as gladly received. She’ll have to withstand many scornful looks and insensitive judgments left and right, her presence won’t do any good there. Plus, she would feel so out of place and a little bit too conscience-stricken for her liking. But then again she didn’t have anywhere else to go, nowhere to call home.

It was all very confusing and frustrating, rightfully so.

Later that night, with the moonlight casting shadows over the two lovers that were basking in the company of one another and with no impending death hanging in the air, a five-fingered hand was tenderly holding her four-fingered one, a warm smile on each of their faces. Lazy strokes were traced on her wrist, going up to her palm and finally detouring to each of her fingers, making careless doodles with the tip of his forefinger. She let out a sigh of contempt.

A murmured ‘I love you’ was softly said to the wind followed by an imaginary heart being drawn on her palm.

She looked over at him. His eyes had softened a great deal and he now sported the gentlest of grins, he redrew the heart for emphasis. Rayla intertwined their fingers together and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

She’ll never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you, too.”

And maybe that was the little push that she needed to make up her mind.

That’s how she got here. In Katolis, she meant. Definitely not with her back pressed slightly against the wall and a pair of gentle hands that held onto her with urgency, if just a little shyly.

She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

They were both expected somewhere else, the kiss was just a farewell gesture, something to get them through the day until they could be close with each other again — which was most likely to be late at night or early morning for how tight their schedule was today.

Rayla needs to break it off. They need to get going. She doesn’t.

She felt his hands that were once placed safely on her waist, slowly trail down to rest on her hips with a lose grip. Hers started their journey upwards, tracing his neck with feather-light touches to finally cup each side of his jaw. Their lips moved against one another at a deliberately slow pace, their noses brushing every so often with each gentle pull.

They have kissed before, of course, but nothing like this.

A loving peck on the lips, a quick kiss on the forehead, even a small brush of lips against each knuckle. They had definitely had some kisses that had lasted more than they should have but even those seemed to be cut short. No, this is new.

The gap between them came to be nonexistent, their breaths mingling together in their shared space. She felt warmth blossom in her chest as he pulled her even closer, his thumb slowly drawing small circles on her hip and when she felt him smile against her lips she couldn’t help but let a small smile out too.

Kissing him has always felt quite exhilarating, a rush of feeling that made her heart soar and her mind numb. A tingling sensation that extended from the tip of her fingers up to her very lips, a warmth that consumed her and spread like a wildfire within. Rayla has never kissed anyone before — she hadn’t felt the need to, having little interest in that sort of matter before— but she had seen Runaan and Ethari display little shows of affections every so often, and as a kid, her inherent curiosity had led her to wonder how loving someone felt like.

Ethari had said that it was like holding your whole heart in between your hands, so delicate and precious that the rest of the world blurs and fades away having no point of comparison with its beauty. Runaan, ever the pragmatic, said that it was a matter of sentiment — you feel everything more intensely.

She reckons that both are quite true, to some extent. Though, she might add her own contribution to the mix: it felt like a typhoon of emotions all at once; you feel weak yet strong, confused yet never more certain in your life, vulnerable yet empowered. It’s warm-hearted, a tender gesture. But then again, it’s something that she cannot fully put into words because the concept is so abstract and the action is so blissful that no notion will ever do justice to what she feels.

Soft kisses soon became frenzied presses of lips and their hands seemed to have a mind of their own, moving on their own accord and trying to frantically touch every patch of skin, clinging to the fabric of clothes in an attempt to be closer. His breath faintly tickled the skin beneath her nose, their heartbeats rhythmically pounding against their chests, and the almost inaudible sighs of delight, whenever their lips brushed against each other, was all she could hear in the secluded corner of the castle. Her senses were overflowed with his presence.

She couldn’t help the soft gasp she let out when he gently bit her bottom lip and pulled it in between his own. It was definitely something they haven’t done before and the action's intimacy promptly took her off guard.

And then he was frantically pulling away, eyes wide with horror and with eyebrows that seemed to reach his hairline, his lips the tiniest bit swollen from their whole encounter. His hands were still on her hips but if he was desperately trying to bring her forward before, he was now doing his best to hold her at arm’s length.

He was quite a sight and she would find it in herself to poke fun at his ridiculous countenance if she didn’t think he was on the verge of a mental collapse.

“I-I’m so sorry, that was not— and I just— I got carried away... Not that that excuses it! I — oh Gods,” Callum stumbled over his words, hand clasped over his eyes, and shifting uneasily on both feet. Rayla had trouble deciphering the inarticulate unfinished sentences that were being stuttered past his mouth but his body language could clue her in.

She raised a single eyebrow whilst fighting an amusing smile from breaking out.

With tentative fingers, she reached forward to lace their fingers together with the hand that was covering his face, his momentary flinch didn’t go unnoticed as she did so.

“Hey,” she softly said with a small smile on her face because leave it to him to straight-up freak out during one of the most intoxicating kisses they have shared so far in their relatively new courtship. She gently rubbed her thumb on the side of his hand as a silent way to reassure him that it was all good. He visibly relaxed a tiny bit, though still showing a little apprehension for his actions done in the spur of the moment. “I liked it.” She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes and she wanted to smack herself for the uncharacteristic demeanor.

She felt a coy smirk tug at the corners of her mouth, “I really liked it.” Rayla relished the way his face went from rueful to downright embarrassed, a deep flush spreading all over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. She couldn’t stop the heartening laugh this time.

“O-oh?” She heard him mumble. He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that was not holding hers, and she playfully rolled her eyes at her dorky human prince’s antics.

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind tryin’ it out again.” She said while mindlessly arranging the scarf on his neck that has become rumpled by her own doing. She looked at him solemnly, this being a little unfamiliar to both of them and the uncertainty of how to approach was slowly killing her. With a clear of his throat and his forest green eyes thoroughly searching hers to silently confirm what she had put into words, he shifted forward.

“Well, in that case,” He brought one hand to pull her closer while he raised the other one to caress her cheek lovingly. His eyes stared earnestly at her as if he could find all the wonders in the world by solely looking at her. It was wistful thinking, but she’d rather not dwell into that right now. Not when the only thing that matters was the blitheness from her heart and the prince that was the cause of it all.

He drew her toward him as the space between them once again diminished and with half-closed eyes, slightly pursed lips, and with the erratic thumps of the heart filling the air, they slowly leaned in again.

He nudged his nose against hers and placed a small kiss in the corner of her lips. Callum smiled, he went to do the same on the other side but she’d have none of it. She looped her forearms loosely at the back of his neck and lunged forward — she took delight in the muffled hum of surprise.

Their lips glided lazily but surely against each other, and this time — with the self-consciousness fading away and the overwhelming feelings of adoration rising in its place — the kiss quickly took a passionate turn. Fervent lips searched hers and she returned the gesture in equal measure.

When they came to this corner almost hidden from any prying eyes to share a light kiss, one which swiftly became so much more, Rayla had been concerned they would get caught. They never seemed to get any privacy in the heavily guarded walls of the castle and sneaking around resulted in their last resort, something that both thrilled her and troubled her; there was always a crown guard just around the corner, a handmaid that not so subtly eyed them from afar, or worse, the High Cleric that without fail appeared around inopportune instances.

The number of times she had wished the earth to open up and swallow her whole were unimaginable.

But now, as she now pulled his bottom lip in between her own, that thought was dismayed and stored in the back of her mind because kissing Callum made all of those seem as insignificant worries as every kiss felt like the very first one — she was sure there wasn’t a greater feeling than being in his arms. She could stay here forever.

That was until a nervous cough could be heard behind them, a few paces away from the darkened corner. They jumped apart.

“Prince Callum,” Corvus gave a slight bow, eyes not quite looking directly at the couple, “your presence is required in the throne room.” He cleared his throat, posture uptight as always but shifting from one leg to another rather uneasily.

Oh, sweet primals.

Rayla could already feel the burning sensation on her face and ears and quickly disentangled herself from his embrace in an attempt to put some proper distance between them. He was not expecting her briskly move and promptly stumbled over his own two feet, arms flailing to catch his balance before he fell somewhat unceremoniously on the ground below.

“Corvus, hi! Yeah, I was just on my way. I was just telling Rayla about the... uh,” He trailed off, unsure of what to say that would be credible enough to somehow cover up their real deed. Rayla was sure she was just about to die from embarrassment.

Corvus placed both his arms behind himself and with a deadpan expression affirmed, “I assure you, your highness, I do not need an explanation. It is all good. Nevertheless, let’s not keep the High Council and the King waiting, shall we?” Rayla could have guaranteed the corners of his mouth lifted in the slightest — almost imperceptible — in what she could only assume was amusement. “And Rayla, Soren is waiting in the courtyard for your daily training session.”

With that last bit, she nodded in acknowledgment and went straight to where she was initially supposed to be nearly fifteen minutes ago. And she almost gave Soren the triumph of his life since the only thing on her mind was how much she had enjoyed their little rendezvous and the excitement of its reprise was as annoying as it was enthralling.

#rayllum #my writing #rayllum fanfic #callum #rayla #the dragon prince #tdp #tdp callum #tdp rayla #tdp rayllum #fluff #things get a little carried away but nothing serious #I wanted to write something happy pre ttm #i'm sorry for any grammar mistakes #a hiccstrid fic is in the works too

[trikruismybitch]

@trikruismybitch

Dialgue Prompt List

“Oh this is nothing”

“I’ve had worse”

“Have you ever loved someone that didn’t love you back?”

“I wish I knew how to quit you.”

“I’m also just a girl standing in-front of you, asking you to love her.”

“And the last thing you will ever see will be me because I love you.”

“Because that’s what you are, that’s what you’ll always be.”

“You have to let me go. You have to let me, let you go. I need you to do that for me.”

“There’s all of this pressure to be all of these things to be fucking perfect but I’m not. I’m not fucking perfect.”

“I’ll always love you cus’ we grew up together and you helped make me who I am. I just wanted you to know there will be a piece of you in me always and I’m grateful for that.”

“I will not be the person you settle for just because you can’t have her.”

“I used to think you were the best thing that happened, but now I think you might maybe be the worst thing.”

“I told you my story and you judged me?”

“Most of the time, most days I feel nothing. I don’t feel anything. It is so boring, I wake up and I think, again? Really? I have to do this again?”

“I don’t know that I find myself anywhere.”

“You can rest now.”

“You have your mothers eyes.”

“Well I am fine, I will be fine, really.”

“(Name)? (Name) come on, you got to get up.”

“All I’ve ever wanted to be is loved.”

“Take her to the moon for me.”

“I would rather die tomorrow, then live a hundred years without you.”

“I don’t want to survive. I want to live.”

“I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.”

“I love her. She breaks my heart again and again, but I love her.”

“I love every broken bone in your body.”

“I miss you. I miss not touching each other. Not seeing each other, not breathing in each other. I want you all the time—no one else.”

“You never loved me. You just loved how much I loved you.”

“You don't have any idea what I have or haven't done to get to where I am.”

“I keep thinking about all the things I never said because I was so sure, there would be other days to say them.”

“What happened to us?”

“You abandoned me”

“I needed you”

“So that’s it then? Your writing me off?”

“I can’t wait around every time to pick up the pieces, every time you freak out!”

“Don’t this, ok? Don’t leave me again.”

“We are done, ok? No more surprises. No more excuses. No more chances, we’re done.”

“I think you should go. You see I love you so much I just want you to be happy, even if that happiness no longer includes me.”

“One day you’re going to have to stop pretending everything’s okay.”

“I don’t want to face my future without you.”

“All I needed was for you to tell me you felt something…and you didn’t.”

“You don’t know what I look like, when I’m not in love with you.”

“Truth is I’ve tried to stop thinking about you. But I can’t.”

“If you lay even a finger on her I swear I will make you suffer in ways even your evil mind can't imagine.”

“Deal with your jealousy. Deal with your shortcomings. Don’t put your crap on me.”

“I want so much for you. For both of us. So much more than this. More then being stuck with someone who feels stuck. I want you to feel free.”

“Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m damaged goods. I’m still me. I’m still here.”

“Tell me it isn’t true. Please. Tell me I heard wrong.”

“Please tell me your joking.”

“If you push me away I promise you, you won’t find me where you left me. My hearts big but not big enough to deal with people, who only decide to love me when it’s convenient.”

“My heart shattered in pieces when I see the way you look at them-the way you used to look at me.”

“Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

“My dream? My dream wouldn’t be complete without you in it.”

“Because I want you! All of you. forever.”

“I’ve realized that I don’t care if (name) is the most perfect (gender) in the world. Their not you.”

“Please don’t give up on me. Promise. Promise me you won’t.”

“When I had no one else you accepted me....and you showed me what it was like to be loved.”

“You’re my person”

“I didn’t fall in love with you because I was lost and lonely. I fell in love with you because when I bonded with you, I had finally found my home where I felt safe.”

“I love everything about you. Even the things I don’t like, I love. And I want you with me. I love you and I think you love me too. Do you?”

“You came back” “I always come back”

“If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you’re scared that it’s not the right thing. Even if you’re scared that’ll cause problems. Even if you’re scared that it will burn your life to the ground, you say it, and you say it out loud and you go from there.”

“You know I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. You’re just the most amazing beautiful girl I ever met, and I don’t know, somehow you chose me....but how I loved you then, it’s nothing compared to how I love you now. I love you with everything inside of me.”

“I don’t care where we are. I just care that we’re together, you’re my home.”

*“And honestly when I’m with her, I completely forget what I’ve done.”

“If you walk away, it’s for you because I know what I want. I want you (name), I love you.”

“I’m still mad at you because being around you drives me nuts and not being around you drives me nuts.”

“I believe that when you love someone and that person loves you in return, you’re uniquely vulnerable. They have a power to hurt you like nothing else.”

“Anybody capable of love is capable of being saved.”

“It’s not a crime to love what you cannot explain.”

“You were by my side when I needed a friend. You made me laugh. You made me dance. You told me that I would find love again… And, I understand if I have to wait for you, and I will. I’ll wait. And when you’re ready for me, I will be ready for you.”

“Love’s always going to require a huge leap of faith. A big, scary leap over a hot pit of lava. And, you might end up heartbroken, but you might be the happiest person on the face of the earth.”

“Through all of this, you’re the one thing that kept me from giving up.”

“I don’t pretend to be anything when I’m with (name), that’s the whole point. I get to be myself.”

“I would rather spend every moment in agony than erase the memory of you.”

“When it’s real you can’t walk away.”

“If it’d were my choice I’d be with you forever.”

“I’d tell you to have hope because sometimes that’s all that keeps me going.”

“They was your first love. I intend to be your last. However long it takes."

“I don't know who I am without you, but I know that as long as I'm with you, time will stand still."

“I’m not going anywhere. I’d rather burn alive than abandon you.”

“To me you’re the whole damn world.”

“You don't marry the person you can live with—you marry the person you can't live without."

"I swear I couldn’t love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow."

"A hundred hearts would be too few to carry all my love for you."

"My love for you is a journey, starting at forever and ending at never."

"You're something between a dream and a miracle."

"I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes."

“When I look at you, I see everything I've ever wanted."

“You are every lovely word I could think of."

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever."

"For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you."

"If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus one day, so I never have to live without you."

“You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones."

"You make me happier than I ever thought I could be and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way."

"I've come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours."

"What I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, I like you, very much. Just as you are."

“It's like in that moment the whole universe existed just to bring us together."

“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”

"You want the moon? Just say the word, and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. I’ll get you the moon.”

"I love you. You complete me."

"I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met."

“You make me want to be better.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I have terrible judgment.”

“I’m surrounded be idiots.”

“It’s not my fault you dated a bunch of losers till you met me.”

“Badges? We ain’t got no badges? We don’t need no badges! I don’t have to show you any stinking badges!”

“It’s just a flesh wound”

“Your bleeding out!”

"If I wasn't terrified of heights, I'd like this. But, I'm terrified of heights, so I don't like this."

“That's it, Dishonor! Dishonor on your whole family! Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow!"

“That’s like a big misconception. I’m not shy! I just don’t speak if I don’t have anything to say.”

“It’s not bragging if it’s true.”

“She is more like “girl with dragon tattoo" than “the girl next door”

“I will slap the taste out of your mouth.”

“Give me a mountain, I’ll climb it. Give me a Katy Perry song, I’ll sing it.”

“There is no such thing as bad ideas. Just poorly executed awesome ideas.”

“I was ambushed. I was shot. Now, I’m vengeful.”

“Kiss me or kill me. We both know you’re only capable of one.”

“I know I called you bro, but I lowkey wanna marry you.”

“If I was meant to be controlled I would’ve come with a remote.”

“I know looks aren’t everything but I have them just in case.”

“You think I’m crying about you? No I’m crying about all the time I wasted on you.”

“Do I regret it, yes. Would I do it again? Probably.”

“If you were my wife I’d put poison in your coffee.” “If you were my mine I’d drink it.”

“if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”

“No I checked my receipt, I didn’t buy any of your bullshit.”

“You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

#prompts #writing prompt #dialogue prompt #prompt list #quote prompt #fanfiction prompt #quotes #angst #sad #loving #heartbreaking #funny #serious #wise #deep

[theseshipsshallsail]

Oliver has developed a particular fondness for dinner drudgery over the past decade. At thirty-four, he felt a greater appreciation for the twinkle in Samuel’s eyes as he lured some unsuspecting academic into a debate he was destined to lose. The all-too-familiar smirk hidden behind a wine glass as Annella caught his gaze mid-rebuttal, the same mischief written over her features as that of her son’s. He even welcomed Mafalda’s regular fretting about his diminuito waistline as she cleared away what little remained of a feast fit for a king.

And then there was the man to his right. The man who held a cigarette in one hand, and his heart in the other. The man who slanted his head on Oliver’s shoulder as the evening wore on, allowing him to drop a kiss to the riotous curls that drew his fingers like a siren’s call. There were no more secrets between the four of them - though according to Annella there had never been any to begin with - and when Elio yawned twice in as many minutes Oliver found his own jaw cracking in sympathy. 

International flights never got any easier, and although they’d managed a short nap on the train in from Milan, they were both flagging fast.

The after-dinner conversation had revolved around his latest manuscript for the past half an hour, and slipping an arm around Elio’s side, Oliver tapped his ankle beneath the table. “You still with me?” he murmured softly, and Elio scoffed as he nestled closer.

“Seulement. One more limoncello and you’ll have to carry me to bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last,” Elio said, as Samuel raised a toast in their direction.

“Happiness resides not in possessions or gold, but in the soul. Wouldn’t you agree, our wayward Americano?” he asked, prompting Oliver to back up his argument as he stole the last arancini from Elio’s plate. 

“Big results require big ambitions, Sami.”

“And nothing endures but change.”

“Always with the Heraclitus...” Elio grumbled good-naturedly, leaning over to kiss Annella on the cheek. “Bonne nuit, maman. Remind me to show you that biography in the morning.” 

“The Piaf?” she asked, and Elio nodded as he rose to his feet. 

“There’s a new bookstore just opened in the Village.”

“Che magnifico!” Annella said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Tell me all about it when you’re not falling asleep in your tortelli.” Smiling, she took Elio’s face between her palms. “Dormi bene, piccino. Et toi, Cauboi.”

Oliver laughed as he finished shaking hands with the other two guests - stalwarts of the Bocconi Languages department he vaguely remembered from his brief stint at the university. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. The moment my head hits the pillow I’ll be dead to the world.” 

Elio raised an eyebrow. “The dead don’t snore like Anchise’s old generator,” he said with a wink as Samuel rounded the table to join them. “Papà, siamo stanchi. It’s been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Samuel said, hugging him tightly. “Go! Go! Don’t make me sprain anything by rolling you out of here.” Stepping back, he clasped Elio by the forearms. “I’ll ask Mafalda to save you something if you sleep through breakfast.”

“Molte grazie.”

“Anytime, figli miei,” Samuel said, embracing Oliver in turn. “Goodnight, the pair of you.” 

“Thanks, Pro.”

Enfolding Elio’s hand in his, Oliver led him towards the villa, taking the time to appreciate the sounds of nature after six months of city living. One day, he’d love to move here permanently - spend his golden years in the country that spurred his reinvention - but there was no rush. Not when the best part of Italy was a permanent fixture in his life, already.

The house was in shadows when they stepped over the threshold, but they each navigated the lofty hallways with ease as they headed upstairs. It was a journey they could do with their eyes closed, and avoiding the creaky top step out of habit they shut the door to Elio’s room behind them with a quiet click. Their room, technically, but in Oliver’s mind it would always be his. He may have usurped it for six weeks in the summer of ‘83, but the overstuffed bookcase and outdated cassette tapes were like a portal to the past, and it never failed to make him feel twenty-four again. 

Conflicting though those feelings might be.

The only obvious difference was the double bed now taking up space along the back wall - though Oliver quite missed the creaky single frames of yesteryear. The shutters were latched apart, letting out the stifling afternoon air, and the bathroom doors were pinned open, turning the space into the large suite that originally befitted Elio’s grandfather.

Toeing off his espadrilles, Oliver watched as Elio fell face first onto the bed. Dramatic as always, he groaned into the crisp, blue sheets, so Oliver hung his shirt up in the wardrobe then walked over to tug off his sneakers, placing them beneath the writing desk where he was unlikely to trip over them come morning. 

“I haven’t been this exhausted since I finished that three week stretch with the Philharmonic,” Elio said, words muffled, and Oliver chuckled as he sat down beside him.

“Fifteen hours by plane, and a ninety minute schlep on the Regionale? I think that’s to be expected.” Reaching over, he stroked a palm up Elio’s spine, bunching his t-shirt in its wake. “You can’t stay young and restless forever.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Elio shot him a sideways glance. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Over there, meaning beyond kissing range.

“I thought you were too tired?” Oliver asked, and Elio rolled his eyes like the precocious teenager he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with.

“Too tired for Democritus and his atomic theory,” he said, shifting onto his side. “Never too tired for you, tesoro.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Cradling Elio’s cheek in one hand, Oliver felt a hot lick of satisfaction as he brushed his thumb over the smooth skin, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, then nibbling gently. A soft whine fell between them, and Elio slung his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, legs banding around his waist like a tether.

“That’s better,” he said, half-hard in his jeans. “Just like old times.”

Oliver sniggered. “Someone better warn the peaches.”

“Connard.”

“And a fine one it is, too,” he teased, swatting Elio’s ass through the stiff denim. 

The resultant yelp was a thing of beauty as Oliver ran his nose along Elio’s collarbone, savouring his scent. Beneath the sour musk of travel were the sweet notes of juniper and cherry laurel, and sucking briefly at his pulse point, Oliver actually felt the yawn building before Elio was forced to pull away, sighing in frustration.

“This isn’t happening, is it?”

“Define this,” Oliver said, licking away his pout. 

They might not be about to set any records for horizontal gymnastics, but the needy whimper Elio pressed to Oliver’s throat was enough to spur him onwards as they quickly rid each other of their clothing. Silver light streamed in through the windows, casting shadows over their naked bodies, and finesse fell by the wayside when Oliver brought their erections together, stroking them both in tandem. Transfixed, he watched the pleasure flick across Elio’s features, treasuring the way his lashes fluttered if he twisted just so - the glazed expression as he kissed him like they had all the time in the world. Leisurely and indulgent.

“I’m going to come,” Elio whispered scant minutes later.

Like it was a secret. 

Like it was something precious. 

And it was, Oliver knew, as the other man rutted into his palm, shuddering against him. It was there in every touch. Every tender endearment. Elio might wear his heart on his sleeve, but none of his previous lovers had been privy to the true depths of his emotions, and as he threw his head back in release Oliver couldn’t help but chase him over the edge, inarticulate and inelegant in his abandon.

Pearly white covered his fist as liquid fire rushed through his veins, each movement growing slower and slower until they eventually ground to a stop, swallowing each other’s gasps between needy pulls of their mouths. Groggy with sensation, his lungs felt constricted by the memory of how to breathe, yet sweaty, sated - and in dire need of a shower - they lay there in the aftermath, neither of them willing to give in as their eyelids started to droop. 

He loved Elio like this. Loved him always of course, but especially like this. With his hair mussed - his face relaxed - his lips swollen as a result of his kisses, and Oliver sighed fondly as he brushed the curls from his forehead, only to receive an incoherent grumble for his efforts. It was his mind he’d fallen in love with first, though. The way he challenged him constantly. Pushed his boundaries day-by-day. Always striving for more. 

He’d been a fool to consider walking away. To give Elio up, however begrudgingly. He was a part of him - perfect in his imperfections - and as Elio drifted off between one blink and the next, Oliver banished such dismal thoughts to the shadows of the past, refusing to give them life when his future lay literally in his arms.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered, and grinning, hooked his toes in the underwear hanging from the bedpost - his, Elio’s, he couldn’t quite tell - wiped the worst of the mess from their painted stomachs, then followed him into a dreamless stupor.

 Something was tickling Oliver’s nose as he floated in the trance-like state between sleep and reality. It was a familiar experience, and forcing one eye open he smiled down at Elio’s crown where it rested upon his chest. Their legs were entangled beneath the sheets, the toes of Elio’s left foot twitching beside his calf, and Oliver tapped an idle rhythm along his spine as he squinted at the blessedly silent alarm clock. 

It was almost seven a.m, and with zero intentions of moving anytime soon, Oliver watched the dust motes dance in the pink strokes of dawn. He was still foggy, but with his recent promotion and the increased demands of Elio’s tour schedule, moments like these were few and far between in New York, so Oliver indulged himself by listening to Elio’s steady breaths, unwilling to disturb him prematurely. 

The villa was quiet and still as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and when Elio burrowed into his neck, Oliver felt the same dizzy thrill he always had, thanking his lucky stars for the man who’d turned his life upside down in the very best of ways. 

Sappho once wrote what cannot be said will be wept, and this room had seen it’s fair share of tears at the start of their relationship. Even now, it was hard to believe how close he’d come to losing it all. But like Odysseus, Oliver had returned to his love, and he had every intention of seeing this journey through to completion.

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion,” he whispered, continuing to smooth random patterns over Elio’s trapezius, and it was all he could do not to moan in response as an arm wrapped around his waist, skimming his burgeoning erection.

“Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear...”

Verbal and cognizant was more than Oliver would usually expect before Elio’s first cup of coffee, but taking a chance, he tilted his face up to see him properly. “Morning, sunshine. I thought you were asleep.” 

Elio yawned into the hand at his jaw. “Not with you scribbling Ancient Greek on my ribcage.”

“You caught that?”

“Ovviamente.” Humming, he dug his chin into Oliver’s sternum. “It felt like you were writing your name at first, but then you drew the symbol for pi, and I figured you were just hungry.”

Oliver snickered. “Did you not notice Mafalda’s continued attempts to fatten me up? Maybe I should tell her it’s your hip bones that leave bruises, instead.”

“You love it.”

“More than she’ll ever know,” he conceded, mourning the loss of skin on skin as he eased out from underneath him. “Alright, genius. Since you’re so good at this...” Pushing the covers out of the way, Oliver traced a treble clef from the middle of Elio’s back to his sacrum, finishing it off with a flourish. “What was that?”

Elio smacked his lips. “Too easy,” he murmured into his folded arms. “And a bit crooked. My old music tutor would plotz.”

“Brat.” Oliver smirked as he knelt between his thighs. “Are you challenging my artistry?”

“Might be.”

“Might be, he says.” Chuckling, he ran his thumb up from Elio’s tailbone, sure and certain. “How about my penmanship, then? What letter?”

A pink flush spread over Elio’s cheek. “D,” he decided, squirming slightly as Oliver’s huff stirred the loose curls beside his ear.

“How on earth do you confuse a P with a D?”

“Have you seen the state of your handwriting?” Elio protested, constantly offended by his messy scrawl. “Aren’t you professor types meant to set an example?” 

Oliver scoffed. ”Perish the thought,” he said, dropping a lingering kiss to his nape. Elio’s cock lay flushed with need, and though he had no intention of bringing him off quite yet, Oliver couldn’t resist brushing his palm over the underside. “Indulge me,” he continued, stroking from root to tip. “Let’s play a game.”

“What sort of game?”

“An easy one, apparently.” Fighting his own arousal, Oliver followed the thick vein up then back, tugging gently on Elio’s balls. “But guess right, and I promise I’ll take care of this for you when I’m done. How’s that for an example?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds...”

“Ready?”

“Che diavolo!” Elio turned towards him, and Oliver felt breathless as he looked him square in the eye. “Tell me you’re joking?”

“Just a little longer,” he promised, propping himself on one arm to walk his fingers over Elio’s scapula, leaving a thin trail of slickness when he curved it round to his lower back. “Letter?”

Elio settled down with a put-upon sigh. “An S?” 

“Correct.” Oliver pressed a fingertip to the freckle on his hip. “Next one,” he said, drawing a diagonal line up to his top vertebrae, then sweeping down to its twin. 

“A?” Elio asked, then went rigid as Oliver poked him between his ribs. “Smetilla! That tickles!”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Why?” Laughing, he batted him away. “Did I get it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Oliver said, splaying a proprietary hand over his right buttock. “But next time, let me finish first, yeah?”

“Never heard you say that before.”

“Don’t be jealous of my stamina, Perlman.”

“Stronzo.” Elio arched into his touch. “Another.”

“Eager, are we?”

Elio snorted into his forearm. “Eager. Horny. Non vedo differenza.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver angled his thumb and forefinger towards Elio’s spine, fluid and precise. “This one’s harder,” he said, pinching them together.

“V?” Elio asked before he could go any further, and Oliver tutted as he began a downwards line towards his tailbone.

“Au contraire, mon chéri,” he said with a playful growl. “Not till I’m finished, remember?”

It was the work of a moment to complete the action, and Elio shivered as he glanced back at him through heavy lashes. “Y,” he muttered, shoulders hitching with a snigger. “A few inches can make all the difference, sì?”

Oliver smiled. “So I’ve been told,” he said, the slight breeze from the window lifting the hair from his forehead. “And what can we derive from that?” 

Elio had a specific weakness for his public speaking voice. One which Oliver wasn’t above exploiting at every opportunity. 

“Fuck…”

“Nope.”

Slender fingers circled his wrist as Elio cursed him out in several languages. 

“Spell it for me,” Oliver encouraged, turning his lips to the salt-gleam dimple above his ass, before remembering to narrow it down. “In English, per favore.”

“S-A-Y,” Elio answered obediently, already sounding flustered. “Say.”

“And you thought you’d never complete your Masters…”

“Attaccati a sto cazzo.”

“Rude.” Oliver licked a stripe across his earlobe. “Be a good boy, and I’ll cling to yours, though.”

“Santo Cielo…” Elio huffed in annoyance. “I really hate you right now.”

“No you don’t.” Oliver snuck an apologetic kiss to his temple. “Not even a little bit,” he told him, copying the exact same pattern from earlier. “Second word, if you please.”

“Another Y?”

“Another Y,” he confirmed, watching as Elio clutched the pillow in a white-knuckled grip. 

He remained perfectly still, however, so Oliver drew a deliberate line along his left flank before placing the pad of his thumb back at the beginning, then dragging it to the right. Once more, from the middle, then again from the bottom, and Elio was almost panting when he finally stopped.

“E,” he whispered, causing Oliver’s heart to skip a beat.

Because this was it. 

No turning back.

There was an urgent pressure in his throat, and when he tried to swallow it down, the emotions damn near choked him. “Last one,” he muttered, snaking his index finger in another winding curve, and Elio waited until he lifted it away completely before answering.

“That’s an S,” he said, then paused to string all three letters together. “Yes?” Freeing his wrist, Elio rolled over to face him. “Say yes?” he asked, sleep-rumpled and adorably confused, so Oliver hummed something vaguely agreeable as he mouthed at his jawline, needing the rough scratch of stubble to ground him. “I don’t understand.” Brows knit, Elio pushed up on his elbows. “Say yes to what? What is it that you want?”

Oliver had spent weeks trying to find the right words, but ultimately, only three would suffice. 

“To marry you,” he said, light-headed - and slightly concerned he was about to vomit. He hadn’t felt this terrified since he’d knocked on the adjoining door nine years ago, nothing but a broken heart and the vain hope of forgiveness to his name. “A piece of paper won’t change anything. I know that. But I told you once - out on that very balcony - that I loved you. All of you. Body, mind, and everything in between. You make me happier than I ever thought possible, Elio. This… you… you’re it for me.”

“Cuore mio…” Elio released a plaintive sigh. “I love you, too,” he whispered, taking Oliver’s cheeks in his hands as he sat up against the headboard. “But the courts... you know they won’t recognise -”

“Legally, no,” Oliver agreed, shifting to his knees. “Not yet. But we can do this our own way. Have a ceremony for us alone.”

“Not alone,” Elio corrected absently, hooking his heels behind him. “Together.” His lips pressed into a firm line, and the seconds in which he blinked back at him were the longest of Oliver’s existence. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, and instead of answering, Oliver reached for the small box he’d hidden in the bedside cabinet upon their arrival. 

“Open it?” he asked nervously, and Elio made a sound that was almost a laugh, high-pitched and fluttering.

“Only you...” he said, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale crack in his voice, Oliver might be worried. “Only you would wait until I’m jet-lagged and sporting a semi to ask me the second most important question of my life.”

“Just a semi?” Oliver slid a palm to the crease of his thigh. “Hang on. Second? What was the first?” he asked, and Elio smiled as he gently butted against him. 

“Does this make you happy?”

“Oh...” 

Elio held his gaze. “So important you asked me twice, in fact.”

“I did, didn’t I?” No doubt there would be a third time, too. He’d always admired the sight of Elio in a tux - slightly more so than the sight of him out of one - and Oliver resolved there and then to fit it into his vows. “Still, that was before your rejection of all things cliché. How’s a man supposed to plan a proposal around that?”

“Quelle question!”

“Such high maintenance,” Oliver murmured, tipping his chin. “But I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

It was a struggle to kiss whilst grinning inanely, but they gave it a good try nonetheless.

“Are you going to open this or what?” Oliver asked, bracing himself as Elio cracked upon the box to reveal the antique gold and onyx band.

“That’s my grandfather’s ring,” he whispered softly.

“It is.” Giddy, Oliver watched the sunlight glint off the heirloom’s polished surface. “Sami wanted you to have it. He’s had it cleaned and resized for the occasion.”

“My father?” Elio raised an eyebrow. “Plotting again, were you?”

“Not as such,” Oliver said, remembering the two word inscription on the inside. “I couldn’t care less about government approval, but I needed to know we have it from those whose opinion I actually value.” His heart tripped over itself as he chuckled apprehensively. “I think your mother’s already chosen a hat,” he confessed, and Elio groaned. 

“She’s going to invite everyone we’ve ever met.”

“She’ll not be inviting anyone if you don’t say yes,” Oliver teased, and the look he received could cut glass. 

“Idiota.” 

“Charming.”

“In what possible scenario would I ever say no to you?” Elio asked, reeling him in by the Star of David around his neck. “You’re a part of me. You are me.” Leaning in, he nuzzled into his hairline. “Oliver… you’re the best person I’ve ever met. Credimi. You’ve always been my forever.”

“Cor cordium.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even -” Oliver froze. “Wait. Did you just -”

“Yes,” Elio repeated, eyes bright. “Yes, Oliver!”

It didn’t matter that his own vision was blurred. That the full extent of his vulnerabilities were on display. That Elio saw just how lost in him he truly was. Relief purged his body, sparks detonated across his skin, and Oliver made a chorus of his name as he freed the ring from its velvet cushion. It was cool to the touch when he picked it up - the weight of it heavy with promise - yet with unsteady fingers he slid it onto Elio’s left hand, sealing his declaration with a heartfelt kiss to his knuckles. 

“Please tell me these are happy tears,” Oliver whispered, pulling him into his arms.

“Why? Afraid I’ll get a nosebleed?” 

“Way to spoil the mood, Casanova…”

“The sweetest pleasures are those which are hardest to be won,” Elio quoted, studying the black inlay almost reverentially. 

Oliver studied him instead. “You like it?”

“È perfetto.” Elio sniffed as he ducked his head. “I want to get you one, too. If you’ll wear it.”

“Wear it?” Oliver’s lungs were far too tight, but at least that meant he wasn’t dreaming. “Why would I ever take it off?”

“And change my name. Officially, this time.”

His smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” Oliver said, clutching Elio close, pressing his face into the hollow of his shoulder. This was their life, chosen and built together. Theirs to have, now and for always. “As long as I can call you mine… anything at all.” 

#cmbyn #fanfic #elio x oliver #sequel #fluff and smut

[red1culous]

Written Desires

Once in a while the team had to busy themselves with duties outside of saving the world. Today happened to be one of those days. In fact today was one of those days that seemed to bleed into a whole 2 weeks. That’s how long Fury scheduled the Avenger’s road trip for. Currently the star coach tooting down a lonely stretch of road in the pitch black out in the middle of nowhere was filled with the sound of snoring superheroes. Everyone was asleep except for you. You and Natasha. Sat side by side. And the sounds of little gasps and moans.

“So you going to tell her or shall I?” Sam winks at you as he plonks himself in the window seat beside you.

“Don’t you dare! I will kill you” you shoot him a hard glare, “plus she’s the Black Widow and I’m the newbie so shut it before anyone hears” you whisper out the last few words through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t you be sitting with the others?” you say as you chuck your rucksack into his lap and he grunts before saying, “you might have just joined the team but we’ve known each other forever so excuse me if I wanna make sure my friend settles in ok”.

He was right about that.

You and Sam had known each other for a long time. Well more like since Sam had fallen into your greenhouse when his Falcon wings malfunctioned. You ended up tending to his busted up lip and bruised ego. It was a good thing you were also starting out as an ER medic so you weren’t completely clueless about what to do when a large man falls from the sky literally into your lap. The night was spent patching Sam up and declining his advances towards you. It took him a few hours to realise why you weren’t interested but when the lightbulb came on he was thankful saying, “oh! You like the ladies! I can dig that!”

He was the one who rallied for you to start working in Shield. Without Sam you would never have become an official member of the Avengers. Even though you never actually qualified as a doctor you were smart and a fast learner. Even Dr Cho was impressed and when Sam approached Fury, Cho supported him wholeheartedly.

So here you were, joining the Avengers Roadshow. Part of Fury’s plan to get the support of the public. In his words, “show them the human side of the Avengers.” You were invited last minute because the appointed medical attendee came down with a nasty flu. Not that you were complaining. You were going to spend 2 whole weeks in close proximity to your crush, Natasha Romanoff.

Sam was the only one in the team who knew about your crush. He sensed something when he was showing you around the compound. He had brought you to the gym and there stood the infamous Black Widow, covered in sweat, her workout clothes drenched and clinging to every curve of her body. You swallowed hard and when Sam introduced you to her, you became a flustered stuttering mess. After the encounter Sam would not stop teasing you about it. He used every opportunity he could to get you to make a move on her but you were some kind of stubborn. Plus you were too shy for your own good.

“I’ll go if you promise to at least talk to her sometime during this trip” he bargains. “Jesus, fine Sam, I’ll say hi or something” you said. With that he was off your seat and joining the others at the front of the bus. You quickly busied yourself with your work completely missing the look Natasha was giving you and Sam.

There was nothing much for you to do during the road trip. You wondered why you were even here at all. So far all you had to deal with was a blister from Clint wearing sneakers a little too small for his feet. Other than that you felt kind of awkward so you started writing in your notebook when there was a lull in activities. Even when you joined the team for lunches in small diners along the road you would be more interested in jotting things down. You felt really out of place but you didn’t want to seem antisocial either.

It was almost 1.25am when you realised someone tapping you on the shoulder. You were writing in your notebook and the interruption startled you. It was even more startling when you noticed it was Natasha Romanoff standing there looking at you expectantly.

“Nata-I mean Ms. Romanoff are you ok?” you start to get up in a hurry dropping your notebook on the floor in the process. “I’m fine Y/N I just came over…” she trails off as she reaches for your book and manages to read a few lines before you quickly snatch it out of her hands. “I’m sorry Ms. Romanoff it’s just umm, personal stuff you really don’t wanna read that” you stutter after realising you just snatched something out of the Black Widow’s hands. She chuckles softly, “please call me Natasha.”

After staring at her dumbfounded for what feels like an eternity you croak out, your throat suddenly dry, “did you need some medical assistance? Are you hurt or something?” She makes to sit in the seat next to you and you let her.

“Or something…” she says softly, “I couldn’t sleep and noticed you were up too, so I decided to come see what you were doing” she considers you for a moment, “I hope that’s ok”. You smile brightly at her and relax a little into your seat, “yes! I mean yea sure that’s fine.”

The sky starts to glow a shade of crimson when you realise that you had been speaking to Natasha throughout the night. She’s trying to stifle her laughter with your blanket as you tell her something funny. When the laughter dies down she smiles at you, “so….you write poetry huh?”

You start to blush, “oh god you read it didn’t you? I should’ve known you’d be able to fast read faster than us mere mortals” you start to pull at the blanket to hide your face. Natasha finds this adorable, “sorry, I did read a few lines. Hey don’t be embarrassed they’re really good.” Your thank you is muffled as you speak from under the blanket. She reaches over the uncover your face, “I’d love to read more if you don’t mind?” she’s giving you puppy dog eyes and your last wall of resistance starts to crumble. You hand your notebook over to her and she takes it with a smile and starts reading from the very first page. “Crap you’re starting from the beginning?” you whine as you start to reenter your cave of shame. “Yes I am so you just keep quiet over there. I want to see what you’ve been so busy jotting down every day.”

By the time she’s reading the last page you’ve come out from under the covers and are looking at her. You notice every little twitch of her face and how her mouth moves slightly as she mouthes some words reading them to herself. She closes the notebook and lays it on her lap before looking at you resting her head on the head rest of her seat.

Under her intense stare you feel the heat rising to your face as you start to retrieve the book from her lap. She grabs your hand effectively stopping your movements.

She. Is. Holding. My. Hand.

She. Is. Holding. My. Hand.

Your brain seems to be on a death loop and you can’t think of anything else until she breaks you out of your stupor, “they’re beautiful, Y/N”

“Umm thanks…I just…you know…umm thanks” you sound like an idiot.

“Are you always this inarticulate or only around me?” she’s definitely teasing you now.

“Very funny, Romanoff” wtf is happening right now. You’re trying to play it cool but you’re almost certain your sweaty palms are giving you away.

“Who did you write them for?” she says, gently stroking your knuckles with her thumb.

“Just someone I used to know. She’s not…we’re not together anymore” your brain thankfully starts to work again.

“Would you write something like that for me?”

You blink at her a few times before saying, “you’d have to fall in love with me, break my heart and then leave me first”.

Did she just move closer to you?

“Well I can do the first part” she breathes, “but I don’t think I’m up to the second or third”.

Your heart has officially stopped beating and you can hear the blood pumping in your veins.

“Ok” you whisper.

“Ok? Or…ok” she definitely moved closer. She’s so close you can feel her hot breath on your face.

“Ok”

And with that she closes the gap between the both of you and gently kisses you. When she starts to deepen the kiss you move the hand she was once holding to the nape of her neck bringing her closer while she holds onto your waist squeezing slightly.

The both of you stop kissing when you hear Sam’s exaggerated cough. He’s wearing this toothy grin and if you weren’t so turned on by the women in front of you, you would’ve said something to him. Natasha pulls your attention back to her and smiles while throwing the blanket over both your heads. Clearly she wasn’t done with you yet.

Tagging: @natasharomanoffismywife

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #redfic #natasha romanoff x fem!reader

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.3 (BAON)

Summary:   Despite the title, things are not exactly so, not by a long shot.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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~~*~~

Certain Monsters possessed the skill of basic precognition, but Edge was not one of them. He was certain of it. It would have been a useful skill in Underfell so many years ago instead of relying on hard-earned experience or even as recently as a few months outside of the Chinese restaurant. There were many things in his life that might have veered down a different path with only a brief moment of insight into the future.

Of his many talents, the best he could offer in that direction was his intuition and perhaps that explained his vague restlessness that night as he sat on the sofa working on his laptop. As absorbed as he was in his work, Edge found himself shifting in his seat in a way that had nothing to do with his barely healed leg. A few times he nearly texted Stretch and resisted, not wishing to give off the impression that he was checking in on him. There was no good reason for him to feel uneasy about Stretch going out on the town with his best friend as he had many times before. There was even less for the prickling feeling crawling up his spine when his phone pinged with a text message in the chime he’d set for unknown numbers.

That prickling turned icy cold, skittering along his vertebrae as he read the simple message like the spiders he was still occasionally dreamed about on rare, awful nights. Three words. Not the ones he’d slowly grown accustomed to saying so often to Stretch, nearly torn from him the first time they were spoken and now said with ease, morning, noon, and night, as often as his love wanted to hear them and repeat them back.

These words made dread and fury lurch within his battered soul, tainted with fear.

We have him.

His phone chimed again but Edge didn’t have the chance to see the second message. At that moment, his front door burst open with enough force to slam against the opposite wall and Edge never hesitated. He hurled the attack on pure instinct and by the time he actually saw Antwan’s face, his dark eyes going wide, it was too late to pull it back.

Before the wave of bones could land, Antwan was yanked backwards out of the doorway by a sudden blue glow in his chest. The door swung back closed seconds before the sharpened bones slammed up against the steel, quivering briefly before vanishing without leaving behind a scratch or dent. His attacks were targeted at the soul and the physicality of the door was enough to stop them.

Edge was at the door before the last bone vanished, stumbling outside to find Antwan lying spreadeagle in the grass and his brother standing over him, his left eye still glowing with searing crimson and the spangle of blue at the fingertips of his left hand fading.

“fucking hell, dumbass, i told ya to stop!” Red snarled down at him. “lucky he didn’t turn you into a kabob, what the fuck were you thinkin’!”

Edge pushed past Red and fell to his knees next to Antwan, barely noticing the sharp twinge from his leg as he gasped out, “I’m sorry, I—" He fell silent as Antwan waved a shaky hand at him.

“My fault,” Antwan rasped. He sat up, and Edge could only crouch by him, his hands hovering but not touching as his friend coughed, dragging in a harsh breath to wheeze out, “Wind just…got knocked out me.” One harsh inhale, another, his breathing easing. “Don’t even try to apologize, he’s right, it was my fault.” Antwan staggered to his feet, barely catching his balance before holding out a hand to Edge. “Did you get a text?”

Red interrupted him with a short, sharp hiss before he could reply. “not out here,” Red said tersely. “both of ya inside, right now.”

Arguing would be pointless, Red would have things his way or none at all. The hard tangle of emotions in his chest, worry, fear, guilt, were ignored as Edge took Antwan’s hand and allowed him to help pull him to his feet. Now was not a time for anything as useless as pride and he forced it down with all the other emotions trying to boil their way up. He led the way inside, closing the door behind his brother.

But Red didn’t move further into the house. He stood on the doormat and held out a hand as he said curtly, “gimmie your phone.”

The instinct to protest was immediate, but Edge only hesitated a moment before handing it over. He wasn’t surprised when his brother entered the passcode and thumbed through his messages. He couldn’t even manage vague irritation. There wasn’t room in his soul for any other emotion, all of it viciously crammed together in a ball inside him, he couldn’t let everything demanding to be felt come through. His anger and fear needed to wait, the only thing he could allow was cool detachment.

Antwan had collapsed on the sofa when he came inside, an arm slung over his eyes. Edge left his brother to his snooping and went to sit by his feet, offering a quiet, “I am sorry. You startled me but that’s no excuse.”

Antwan only waved him off again. “Don’t, man. It’s okay, I was already unsteady on my feet, anyway. Your brother showed up in my house yammering about text messages and dragged me over.” His unpleasant chuckle turned into a groan and a stifled burb. “Your brother’s shortcuts are rough, no wonder you’re always about to upchuck after one.”

“bitch later,” Red said suddenly. He shoved Edge’s laptop aside to sit on the coffee table and his expression was not a soothing one, cold and grim. “gonna give it to you straight, both of ya, so brace yourselves. embassy took a call about ten minutes ago for a ransom demand.” He held up Edge’s phone between two scarred fingers. “included this same picture they sent you, boss, and if the time stamp is right, they were both alive when it was sent.”

Next to him, Antwan stiffened. It was strange to see him sputtering inarticulately, Edge noticed distantly. Always he was so eloquent in the courtrooms, arguing fearlessly for Monsters rights. To hear him now, struggling with words, was grotesque in a way, each one stumbling off his tongue, “They…alive? But how…what…they as in Stretch and Jeff? How the fuck, what the fuck do you mean a ransom demand, who the fuck...!?”

“Let me see it,” Edge demanded over Antwan’s questions. Even as he snatched for it, his phone disappeared from Red’s grip in a neat sleight of hand and he cursed aloud, “Let me see, damn it!”

“not a fucking chance, little brother.” The words were not unkind, only his brother’s dubious version of gentleness that Edge rarely wanted and certainly not right now. “it ain’t gonna do a damn thing to calm your tits.”

He closed his sockets briefly, then asked, low, “How much?”

Red licked his teeth, grimacing, “that don’t matter, neither. asgore’s all for payin’ it, no matter if it wipes out our accounts, but that’s ain’t gonna help. you know that.”

He did. Kidnapping and ransom were not uncommon in Underfell and he knew from bitter experience that ransom demands did not have happy endings. He forced those memories away, could not place his husband or Jeff anywhere within them, refused to even contemplate it.

His tenuous grip on his anger was slipping, his soul throbbing hot and heavy, ready to unleash his rage at whoever dared attack what as his. Useless; there was nowhere to direct it, not yet, and all he could do was get what information there was. “Then tell me where we are. What are we doing to get them back?”

“welp.” Red stood, tucking his hands in his pockets in a telling delay tactic that did nothing to soothe Edge’s burgeoning anger. “already sent a team out to where their cell and trackers are pinging, but they ain’t gonna be there ‘cause someone tipped ‘em off to ditch their clothes.”

“Their clothes--?” Antwan said, pitiful confusion swelling into his own anger. “you said they weren’t hurt!”

“said they were alive.” Whatever expressions were on their faces made Red grimace, “but yeah, they don’t look hurt, neither, which means the reports we’re getting’ that the honey bun was drugged at the bar are prolly accurate.”

Through his carefully cultivated calm, a sliver of his hope latched on to those words, not hurt, please, not hurt. “You said someone tipped them off. Why do you think that? Explain.”

Red pointed a sharp-tipped finger at him. “your liability ain’t a fighter, but he ain’t no slouch, either. he wouldn’t get in a car with a stranger no matter what candy they got, and he’d get the hell out of dodge before anyone snatched him up if things looked hairy. coupla rough shortcuts is hell on the equilibrium, anyone he was draggin’ along for the ride wouldn’t be in any shape to play these kinda games. but that ain’t common knowledge, so why’d they drug him and not handy andy, unless they had a cheat book.”

That made sense. Edge nodded, gesturing impatiently for him to go on and Red did, choosing his words with obvious care.

“already taking calls from the bar they were at, they’re the ones sayin’ the honey bun looked drugged. that takes some know-how right there, ain’t no wikipedia on how to dope a monster. descriptions are vague right now. humans, your basic white guy with dark hair generic bullshit. we’re gettin’ a copy of their security footage now.”

“So.” Edge stood and wandered to the window, tugging aside the curtain to look out at the night. The porch light cast a glowing circle of sodium yellow and within it he could see one of the flowerbeds he’d been working on before gardening took a brief backseat to building a small duckling a pond. In a few weeks there would be a riot of flowers blooming in colors he never dreamed existed before he came to the surface and it didn’t matter, none of it matter, he’d sacrifice any of it, all of it it, pay any ransom to have Stretch back here with him. He kept his gaze on outside as he said with slow deliberation, “What you’re telling me is we have no idea where they are, no idea who has them, and we know absolutely fucking nothing of any fucking use, particularly where they might have gotten this inside information!”

The last word ended on a near shout as Edge struggled again with his temper. This wasn’t his brother’s fault or if it was, he wasn’t the only one to blame. The failure to protect what was his was as heavy as lead, dragging him downward into the eager embrace of his LV, waiting to be unleashed.

Behind him, his brother drawled, “nope, that ain’t what i’m saying. that’s what i’m tellin’ you.”

Edge whirled around, snarling out, “you little bastard, you—”

“ah, ah, ah,” Red interrupted, eye lights flickering, and Edge shut his mouth so hard his teeth clipped the tip of his tongue, warm magic filling his mouth. “don’t try to sweettalk me, bro. i ain’t tellin’ you any extras ‘cause you need to be here, not out there gettin’ into shit and gettin’ into people’s way. we’re on it, i’m on it. you two are staying the fuck here ‘cause i’m already looking for two dipshits, don’t need to double it.”

Antwan let out an unsteady laugh. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m a lawyer, not James Bond. I’ll stay. I’m trusting you to bring him home.” His voice broke then, that calm dignity wavering. In his lap, his hands were twisted so tightly together that his knuckles were bloodlessly grey. “Please, bring him home to me.”

Perhaps they were both too far from Underfell these days. That faltering gentleness rose again in his brother as he said, “already working on it, pal.” His gaze flicked back to Edge and hardened. “bro, look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” Edge ground out. Red nodded once.

“brother.” That single, stark word was like a jolt right to the chest, striking home. “i’ll get him back to you, you hear me? i promise.”

There was a beat of silence before Edge managed to nod. His head felt strangely heavy, wobbling on his vertebrae.

Suddenly, Red grinned, sharp-toothed and there was the cruel humor Edge knew so very well that his brother possessed. “one other thing you two gotta consider. of all of us, they snatched up stretch.” That grin widened, the wild, silent laughter glittering in his crimson eye lights nearly demonic. “gotta admit, the honey bun’s got a way about ‘im. wouldn’t want to be in their shoes right about now.”

Edge barked out a laugh, tight and pained, “That is a very good point. Of any of us, Stretch is certainly…creative.”

The last word caught in his throat, nearly choking him. He turned back around to escape from his brother’s penetrating look, staring again outside and this time he allowed his gaze to rise to the darkened sky, at the twinkling lights filling that velvety blackness as he thought, Come home to me.

He did not say it aloud, only looked out at the stars that Stretch loved so much and sent his silent wish to them with the desperate hope of one who needed to believe. Come home.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[fellhellion]

can you make a rec list of your favorite fe3h fics? if that's alright?

OF COURSE I WOULD LOVE TO <3 always happy to give my fave works a shoutout <33333

Though mind u this is going to be a LOT so ill pop them under a cut

from the heart in exile

TLDR: platonic hubert edelgard fic that haunts me. It’s extremely good with really well written character voices and focuses on these two characters trying to find out who they are beyond the war with their friends refusing to leave them behind

Summary: 

You can’t speak just yet to whether time—and age? experience? not that war or rulership have given you much of the latter, at least in the area of gardening—has made your thumbs any less brown, but the house in the Oghma Mountains is surrounded by so many growing things it hardly seems to matter. It sits at the edge of a forest, on the gentle lower slopes, and the people in the nearest town had all smiled to speak of it when they pointed the way for Hubert, the day you arrived. A number of them were old enough to remember what it had been like, years ago, in the warm and golden before, and to insist that it had not changed in the ways that mattered. It was still full of light. The air still smelled green.

In which Edelgard keeps a garden, Hubert learns to fly, and those they leave behind refuse to be left behind.

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Watchtower

TLDR: platonic fic and amazing sylvain character study. Like genuinely one of the best i’ve ever read. If you’re someone who really wanted a deeper exploration of Sylvain’s feelings about Dimitri this fic is for u. 

Summary: 

When Sylvain is six and a half and climbs to the top of a tower with no one’s hand in his, he realizes that each and every one of the people he loves has been born as a gift to something else. Dimitri was born for Faerghus, and Felix was born for Dimitri. Glenn was born for the royal family, and Ingrid was born for Galatea and for Glenn. He realizes, too, that what they’re for decides their future. Dimitri will lead them into a better world. Felix will guide his path, and Glenn will protect his life, and Ingrid will bind her future to theirs.

And Sylvain, who was born for the border, will stand in a watchtower. He will see the enemy before it comes, and he will keep Dimitri and Felix and Ingrid and Glenn safe.

Dimitri reappears after five years. Sylvain knows it's his role to fix the mess they're in, but he doesn't know how.

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little light

TLDR: really good exploration of flayn and seteth’s relationship (+ with his wife and flayn’s mother) pre canon (also post canon if i remember right) just a really good if heartbreaking family fic 

Summary: 

"She is beautiful, and she is perfect. It is foolish to say so, because the goddess herself says perfect beings cannot exist - but Cichol knows now she must have been wrong, because his daughter is perfect. They name her Cethleann. In the old tongue, it means 'light.'"

Cichol, Cethleann, what they lost, and who they became.

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conjure the wind, ease my mind

TLDR: this author in general writes FANTASTIC work so pls check out their whole repertoire. a platonic fic between holst and claude w an exploration of claude’s past that’s just so good....found brotherhood i am WEEPING 

Summary: 

“I’d like to know what’s wrong. I’d like to help if I can.”

Calculating green eyes lock onto Holst’s own, but this time they’re laced with something a little bit like resignation

Many people call Duke Riegan a liar, but Holst feels like he knows the young man a bit better than that. To call him a liar is wrong, you see, because all Claude has ever really done is master the art of giving up as little of the truth as possible. He keeps truth close, treats it like a valuable commodity.

“I have three brothers,” he says. “Half-brothers.”

***

Claude won’t spar with Holst and Holst wants to know why.

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my fellow passerine

TLDR: same author as before and just...god this fic is so good. a platonic exploration of the relationship between Claude and Cyril. This fic has it all: found brotherhood, worldbuilding about Almyra, Claude character study, CYRIL character study. it’s just fantastic 

Summary:

Then the Alliance delegation shows up, and their offering strolls through the gates of the monastery like he already owns the place.

A reminder, for those who need it: Cyril is not an idiot. He has good eyes and he uses them.

An observation, for those who want it: The Golden Deer house leader is Almyran.

~

Cyril knows a lot more than he lets on, Claude is far less covert than he thinks he is, and messing with the guy your parents told you was a possibly-unkillable demon-prince isn’t usually supposed to earn you a lasting friendship but hey… life is already pretty damn weird.

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Autotomy

TLDR: god this ferdibert fic just fucking...destroys me. i cannot get through it without crying at least twice and usually more. it’s basically a CF canon divergence with a heavy HEAVY exploration of ferdinand and hubert’s perspectives towards usefulness and how abelist thinking affects that in their efforts to find Shambala after Ferdinand loses his sight from one of Hubert’s experimental spells. All while falling in love. this fic is VERY fucking heavy, please mind the tags, it’s amazing but it’s subject matter is something you need to be very aware of. Also i would highly reccomend reading the prequel to this fic as it provides some critical context to Hubert’s actions that you don’t get through Ferdinand’s flawed pov. Basically this author is a master of character perspective.

Summary: 

Ferdinand von Aegir's war record ends in 1182. The war does not.

Or, blind man's bluff.

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Coming of Age

TLDR: same author as before and god...just my FAVOURITE ferdinand character study. Takes place within the period Byleth is away. I don’t want to spoil anything but it’s incredible. Mines the fantastic character drama hook between Edelgard and Ferdinand that canon DIDNT rip

Summary: 

Ferdinand was a general. In theory. Edelgard had promised him continued command of his battalion, and a general needed a certain measure of wealth to supply his horses, his servants, his armor and rations and lodgings and, she’d promised.

But his father sat rotting in a cell, or worse, and it could be nothing more than a fable they thought him simple enough to believe. What did promises matter?

When the house of Aegir collapses around him, Ferdinand struggles to forge a path forward. He quickly discovers he can't manage it alone -- and neither, perhaps, can Edelgard.

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Another Life

TLDR: same author AGAIN (can u tell theyre my favourite fjsdhfk). Ferdibert fic, a man loving his partner and trying to figure out the best way to support them as they silently wrestle with questions about their gender identity is something that can be so PERSONAL and make u CRY god. also dark flier hubert my beloved. 

Summary: 

Ferdinand notices things. He cannot say what he notices, precisely, because he has no one to ask, and if he were to ask Hubert it would damn well result in every questioned moment up and vanishing forever behind a new wall of prickly austerity. Ferdinand cannot risk that. The things that he notices stick in his chest, and he thinks only, but.

Hubert wrestles with unasked questions; Ferdinand wrestles with a pegasus.

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Beneath the Sheets of Paper Lies My Truth

TLDR: Dimilix fic in my FAVOURITE fucking format of secondary in game historical sources exploring their relationship in retrospective.

Summary:

It was said that Duke Fraldarius’s grief at King Dimitri’s death was more potent than even the queen’s—but said by whom, and how, and why?

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A Fair Day’s Work

TLDR: Post CF Canon ferdibert where Hubert and Ferdinand’s overworked aides desperately try to get them together so they’ll be too busy being uhhhh AMOUROUS to give them so much work. Very much a romantic comedy with very fun OCs as our protags. 

Summary:

“I may have some coffee in the place for you,” said Prime Minister Aegir. “Let me show you how much better I have become at brewing it to your taste.”

“If you insist,” said Minister Vestra but he sounded pleased. To Delarivier, who had literally made it her profession to attune herself to his tone (usually ranging from sort-of-murder-y to extremely-murder-y), Minister Vestra sounded very pleased indeed.

--

Ferdinand and Hubert's long-suffering aides figure out a way to work fewer hours.

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Roost

TLDR: Dimilix post AM Canon with some pre canon moments. Basically an exploration of the complexity of their relationship with bird symbolism and extra Holy Kingdom lore. Gifting ur lover a vulture is something that can be so personal fksdhfsjkd

Summary:

Dimitri makes an affirmative noise. Then he takes a breath, voice leveling out into what Felix had long ago dubbed his 'future king voice', all steady explanation: “Long ago, the saying fledged right along with the nobles' and royal family's love of hawking, and it has remained a common phrase from one generation to the next. As adviser to the king, the duke is meant to be regal and strong, even deadly when required, from his place at the king's side. To always act as the most piercing, watchful eyes over the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and her sovereign."

He looks over to Felix as soon as his mouth snaps shut on the final word, as always seeking approval on his recitations.

Felix tilts his head, trying to look unimpressed. “I like eagles.”

A hand automatically comes up to cover the lower half of Dimitri's face, muffling the inarticulate sound of a snort of amusement. “That is good, since you are to be mine.”

***

They say an eagle watches over Fhirdiad.

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A faint and faraway sound

TLDR: Ferdibert with an excellent Hubert centric character study....just so good...makes me warm and fuzzy...the mutual pining and ROMANCE of it all

Summary: 

Hubert learns to be a person, with a lot of help and complication along the way.

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In golden light

TLDR: A really REALLY good ferdibert fic with ferdinand centric pov that focuses on him reflecting on his life as he prepares the Aegir house to become a boarding school. Ferdinand sibling exploration is ABOUND here and it’s great

Summary: 

When his family's summer home at Lake Aegir is set to be converted to a boarding academy, Ferdinand pays it one last visit and contemplates his complicated relationship with family, love, and legacy.

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one three four three four zero

TLDR: the fic that actually got me into dimilix. VERY heavy character study and you NEED to mind both the general fic tags and the content warnings the author lists for each chapter but it’s incredible. Takes a very familiar trope and just. slams you in the face with over 60k words of amazing character study. 

Summary: 

“How are you going to get the One-Eyed Demon of Garreg Mach, the Boar Prince of Faerghus, smuggled past Dukedom soldiers? What plan could you possibly have to get a creature that incapable of even pretending it isn’t a bloodthirsty beast into Dominic without getting caught?”

The Professor gives him one of their steady, unreadable stares. They definitely do not and could not possibly have answered him, “You’re going to pretend to be married to him.”

or, How to Pretend to be Married When One of You Can't Stop Hallucinating and the Other One Uses Hostility to Cope

#Anonymous #ask games #anon #this is so long SORRY LMAO

[monstersandmaw]

Male werewolf x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a patreon tier reward, and I hope you enjoy my take on their big, dad-bodded werewolf OC, Lowe. It's been up on Patreon on early release and is now up on Tumblr for you to enjoy.

Content: playful banter, fluff, the briefest flicker of angst, some dominant tendencies in Lowe (it's not D/s though, for anyone who's not into that), and a reader who gives as good as she gets. Wordcount: 2792

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As you yanked the door to the campus cafe open with about twice as much force as it needed, you caught a glimpse of Lowe working behind the counter. Of course, there was a massive queue at this time of day; at the midpoint of the afternoon when people were thinking about either finishing up early or knuckling down for a caffeine-fuelled all-nighter.

Engrossed as he’d looked in his work before, he glanced up as if he’d sensed your presence, his warm eyes flicked briefly in your direction as the door opened, and he offered you a quick, fond, twitch of the lips before turning back to the masterpiece of latte art in his hands. Even at that distance, you felt your body relaxing a little more around him. In the time since he’d made some playfully snarky comment about your Pokémon shirt a few months ago - which had, in fact, led to a joint outing on campus playing Pokémon Go together - you and he had fallen into an easy friendship.

You tried not to snarl softly to yourself as the woman at the front of the queue, old enough to be a post-grad perhaps, leaned on the counter and flirted openly with him, but at the end of the day, what claim did you have to him anyway? Lowe was your friend, and as much as you’d like to think you might be the tall, long-haired guy’s type (he was certainly yours, with that ‘powerful-yet-soft-around-the-edges’ dad bod he had going on, and that self-assured confidence that tipped just pleasantly shy of being arrogance), you couldn’t really be sure. After all, you’d seen him getting pretty close with a guy friend of his, so for all you knew, he wasn’t even interested in women, but you’d never really discussed that. The most personal things had got so far was Bloodborne bosses and beloved DnD characters, which was also fine.

The queue slowly dwindled in front of you, and when you stepped up to the counter, Lowe turned from the machine on the far counter and plonked a large cup down before your lips had even opened to begin your order. His grin was positively wolfish, all teeth and glinting eyes.

You pouted and snapped, “And what if I wanted a chai latte with soy milk today?”

He raised one thick eyebrow as he popped the takeaway lid onto the cup with a distractingly big hand, and said flatly, “You hate soy milk. Drink up, grumpy-guts. You’ll feel better…”

You huffed, took the cup off the counter, slapped the cash down just hard enough to make him chuckle and twitch another smile - damn the bastard looked pleased with himself and double-damn, if he didn’t look extra-specially good wearing that expression - and he announced to his colleague that he was going on break.

He joined you outside, tugging out one of the heavy, metal chairs for you without a word before taking a seat on the other side of the table.

Lowe closed his eyes, tipping his head back a little to feel the chilly late-spring breeze on his face. He looked good as he relaxed like that, with his long, thick, nut-brown hair tied back off his face with a few fluffy bits escaping at the front, and his big arms folded across his chest and resting on the slight paunch he had at the waist. Something about the thick, almost russet-brown scruff on his jaw made you want to touch it. Instead, you sipped your drink and sighed.

“Good?” he asked without moving or opening his eyes.

“You know it is, you cocky little shit,” you laughed. Banter with him was always so easy, and you gave as good as you got. “Thanks, by the way. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m a complete brat…”

He snorted and cracked an eye to look at you. The sun caught in his golden-brown iris and glinted softly like polished amber, and it honestly stole your breath for a moment. “How’s the course going?” he asked instead of teasing you any more. “You were pretty stressed about that assignment last time we talked.”

You rolled your eyes and puffed the air out of your chest, swiftly following it with some inarticulate grunt of despair. “It would be going a lot better if my roommate wasn’t also being such an inconsiderate asshole,” you snarled. “Seriously, I don’t think I can take the smell of weed or the late nights any more.”

He frowned. “Can’t you talk to someone about it?”

“Have done. Not sure I’ll have a roommate for much longer though… Missing classes and being constantly stoned must equal tanking grades, right?”

Lowe nodded but didn’t say anything for a while, watching as a gnoll and her girlfriend strolled past, hand in hand. The gnoll nuzzled her nose against the human’s ear and elicited a squawk that made her giggle in return. Eventually he said, “You free this weekend?”

Cocking your head to one side, you shrugged. “Hand-in is on Friday afternoon, so… yeah? I mean, I had just planned to sleep all day… why?”

He looked uncharacteristically apprehensive and chewed on the inside of his cheek before answering. “I was going to head up into the woods for the weekend. Camping. Wondered if you wanted to come too?”

“Camping?”

“Yeah…” he said, looking like he was regretting mentioning it now. “But if you don’t want to, it’s fine. I mean… you’ve earned your rest, and camping under the stars isn’t for everyone. Don’t feel like you have -”

“Shut up for a second, will you?” you laughed, and he drew up short and blinked, staring at you before laughing fondly. “I’ve actually never been camping. I’d love to go, as long as you don’t make me go for a ten mile hike as well…”

“Would I treat you like that?” he crooned and you rolled your eyes again and muttered something which you didn’t think he’d catch. Somehow, however, he did, and he barked a loud laugh, startling a cervitaur walking past with his grocery shopping in each hand. As Lowe turned to look at the cervitaur he’d surprised, you watched his eyes flare gold, almost unnaturally so. Perhaps it was just a trick of the sunlight at this angle. When he looked back at you, you missed what he said, staring at his eyes, which were now back to their normal, warm brown.

He murmured your name, sounding a little concerned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it. You’re not a brat… not really…”

“Shut up,” you retorted, your tone carrying no venom. “And you know full well know I can be.”

That Thursday afternoon, your roommate moved out, finally expelled for drug use and selling to other students, and you fumigated the room as best you could, relieved at last. The second after you’d finished deep-cleaning everything, you texted Lowe and said, ‘So… I’m down a roommate now.’

‘You need me to help hide the body?’ he sent back immediately and you burst out laughing.

‘I love you, but no. It was expulsion rather than murder. I was kind of hoping you might want to move in instead?’ you sent, your heart in your mouth. He’d mentioned he was looking for a place closer to campus, and this could be perfect for him. If he was willing to have you as his roommate, of course.

‘Definitely interested. Can I think about it and let you know this weekend?’

That wasn’t a complete rebuttal, you figured. ‘Of course.’

‘Cheers. I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday.’

True to his word, Lowe didn’t take you on a ten mile route march. He drove you up to the start of a wide, easy looking trail that was apparently only three miles up to the campsite, along a winding, inviting, grassy path. Despite looking maybe a little towards the less fit end of the scale, Lowe was four strides ahead of you in a matter of seconds. Realising this, he slowed, and you nudged him with your elbow.

“Thanks,” you said and he gave you one of his soft, secret smiles that you didn’t see very often.

He wasn’t particularly talkative as you made your way up the path, but the silence between you was easy, relaxing even.

“You’re such a cliche, you know that?” you laughed a little while later as you paused on a rock for a drink and to adjust the laces of your shoe.

Lowe scowled. “How?”

You stared pointedly at the penknife in his hand and the stick he’d picked up and had idly begun to whittle into a howling wolf in his big, strong hands, almost as if he’d not even realised he was doing it. Again, he surprised you by just shrugging a shoulder and turning back to it while you enjoyed the scene. He seemed a bit distracted somehow. When you moved on, he stashed it in his pocket.

Lowe carried literally everything, stowing your water bottle for the way up in the side pocket of his backpack, and even a two-person tent, food supplies for that evening and breakfast, and more water than you probably drank over the course of three days, and yet he still managed to arrive at the campsite as if he’d just strolled the length of one city block.

He impressed you again by lighting a fire and cooking a veritable feast for you both on a little makeshift grill, and he looked more than pleased with himself when you complimented him. “Don’t let it go to your big fat head,” you snickered and he growled playfully at you.

Quite literally growled.

The moment he’d done it, he went still, eyes wide, and even looked a little sick. “Shit,” he hissed.

“What?”

“I…” then his huge shoulders slumped despondently and he let out a long breath. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you. I mean, I’ve been meaning to tell you for… well, since we kind of became friends, really. But it never seemed… convenient…”

“Convenient to tell me what?”

He shuffled a bit and poked at the embers of the fire. Your stomach felt uneasy, and it had nothing to do with the inordinate amount of amazing food you’d just finished. “I…” he began, and then whispered, “Fuck it.” He looked you in the eye and said, “I’m not human. I’m a werewolf.”

You blinked. It didn’t totally surprise you, if you were honest. “Well, that… certainly makes one or two things add up…”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

He turned his golden eyes away from you and poked a bit more at the smoldering, grey wood, making it crumble to fragile ashes. He did look a bit easier now though. “I figured… maybe you wouldn’t… that if you knew that I’m not human, you might not want me as your roommate anymore… It was stupid though, I know.”

“Lowe,” you said, more gently this time, reaching for his bare forearm where he’d cuffed his tartan sleeve up to his elbow. His skin was warm and his muscles tensed, hard as the earth beneath you as he waited for whatever you were going to say next. “You’ve become probably my best friend… There’s no one I’d rather be roommates with than you. Besides, who else is going to tolerate your Soulsborne marathons and hipster lumberjack wardrobe?”

A long, low growl emanated from him but it dissolved into laughter when he saw your expression and he shook his head. “I can’t believe I was so chicken about you knowing…”

“I can’t believe you looked like you pissed yourself a minute ago!”

His eyes flashed openly gold now and he huffed, “I did not…”

“You totally did. Anyway, I’m glad you told me. But you know that means I’m going to want to know all the details.”

“I think I’ll save that for another day,” he said as he reached for the s’mores beside him.

‘Another’ day turned out to be a week after you’d helped him move all his boxes into your room. He was lying on his back on his bed, his arms folded up behind his head, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out, foot dangling off the end of the mattress. You glanced across the room at him from where you had your laptop on your knees and your headphones on, working on the last tweaks of the next assignment due. He looked tense, even though he wasn’t really doing anything in particular.

Removing your headphones, you murmured, “Lowe? Everything alright?”

“Mmm,” he half growled. A moment later he heaved out a huge sigh and said, “No. Full moon’s tomorrow night. I always get kind of… cranky around now.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Whatever you’d thought he’d say, you hadn’t expected the long, low moan that escaped him. It was not an innocent noise. Breathing through his mouth in soft, quiet pants, he didn’t look at you, but you sensed that his eyes were glowing.

“Lowe?”

“No,” he said. “Not unless you want to take whatever this is between us somewhere else…”

You bit your lip. “You mean…?”

“It would probably take the edge off if we slept together, yes,” he said bluntly. “But if you don’t want that, then I’m hardly going to push…”

“I like it when you’re pushy,” you countered, setting your laptop aside and staring him in the eye.

His pupils blew wide and he raised his nose. “Fuck,” he cursed. “Oh… fuck, you’re beautiful.”

With a smile, you crossed the room to him as he sat up, watching your every move with unwavering, lupine focus. “Let me help you out, big guy,” you crooned playfully and he twitched his lip in a possessive snarl, eyes golden and locked on the curve of your neck.

“Last chance,” he said. “I don’t want you regretting crossing this line with me.”

“You’ve got super-human senses, Lowe,” you said, playing with the hem of your shirt. His gaze darted instantly to the movement, transfixed by the glimpse of skin beneath your top. “You must know how I feel about you by now…”

“Yes, but lusting after someone and doing something about it is different when they’re your friend… I don’t want you to feel like I’m putting pressure on you…”

In answer, you reached out and trailed your fingertips up his neck, scratching him a little bit and making him growl again, and as you finished with a single finger drawing a line up his throat and under his chin, he shivered, as if barely holding himself back. “Why don’t you put just the right amount pressure on me… here?” you said, licking your lips as you climbed into his lap, straddling his thick thighs and running your palms over the softness of his stomach.

His jaw was soft, mouth open as he panted openly, and beneath you as you ground your hips to emphasise your question, you felt his hard cock.

A heartbeat later, he’d clamped his hands under your thighs and stood up. Lowe dropped you onto the bed with the perfect mix of recklessness and carefulness and lunged for you. He peppered and mouthed kisses down your neck, tugging at your skin with his canines, biting at your earlobe, his short beard burning and scratching your skin deliciously, and all the while he ground his cock against your thigh through his jeans.

It clearly wasn’t nearly enough, and it wasn’t long before you were both naked on his bed, and he had his mouth on you, his hands spreading your legs wide as he used the strength in his arms that his softer body belied. “Don’t come yet,” he rasped between strokes of his tongue. “Not til I say…”

“Oh,” you gasped, fighting the rising wave of heat that swept up your body, tingling under your skin, at that command. You tried, you really did, but in a mere few strokes of his tongue, you came with a cry against the heat of his mouth, bucking while he held you down and pulled you against his mouth to press his tongue tight against your throbbing clit.

When he pulled back, looking extremely smug about himself and his talents, you saw that his canines had lengthened and his features had become a little less… human.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said, clearly still enjoying the taste of you on his lips.

“Will you hurry up and fuck me?” you pouted, and he snarled.

“Such a brat,” he laughed, but he didn’t waste any time either.

—

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#werewolf #male werewolf #werewolf x reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #male werewolf x female reader