#NOTHING will ever beat hill house though

[fawnchives]

♡𓂃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆.

𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆, christopher sturniolo & fem!reader.

episode summary: you and chris attend one of tara’s parties, where one first time leads to another unexpectedly.

parental advisory & ratings: slight angst, but it gets fluffier towards the end + established relationship with chris. talks and usage of drugs—molly to be specific, swearing, talks of sex and virginity loss, and nick locking in big brother mode.

♥︎ ⋆ ͘. behind the scenes. first things first: do not do drugs! in no shape or form am i promoting drug usage. anyways, this was well out of my comfort zone but i did enjoy writing it, i hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much — be safe ! 💐

april 20th, 10:47 pm ── beverly hills, ca.

ever since you saw the videos from tara yummy’s one million party, you’ve been begging for chris to take to you one. the puppy dog eyes and princess tantrums must’ve charmed him over because that’s exactly how you spent your friday night instead of curled up in bed, indulging in terribly written netflix shows and a tub of ben & jerry’s brownie batter ice cream.

though you guys weren’t in hawaii, the theme of her latest party was a luau—one of tara’s friends let her use their beach house; the perfect view of the ocean, the floral and beachy decor, and island style drinks and food. it was, well, perfect. especially considering that it was your first time going to a big party, nothing too crazy.

or so you thought.

the frilly and cheerful flower necklace that laid around your neck moved frantically with every move you made as you danced to the beat of the music with tara. the big speakers produced such a deep volume of bass that it made the walls in the house shake and the floor vibrate. and though you were having the time of your life, you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed over the fact that you were practically glued to tara’s side all night.

it wasn’t too much of your fault, everybody you knew was either busy or couldn’t make it; nick and matt stayed home, nick complained something about having a ‘debilitating migraine’ and matt was in one of his moods. madi got caught up in some sort of brand deal nightmare and the moment you arrived to the party, one of chris’s friends pulled him towards the drinking games table. you always felt a bit out of place around his friends so you just let it happen, not wanting to live up to the ‘clingy girlfriend’ title you’re sure they tease him about.

you and tara flashed each other toothy, anticipated smiles as you both walked over to a less noisy area, trying to catch your breaths from all the dancing you’ve engaged in. you two giggle and gush over how much fun you’re having when suddenly, the dj switches the track to a slower paced song, earning a thankful sigh from tara.

“thank god,” the short brunette dramatically exhaled as her arms fell to her sides. she looked around the room and quickly locked eyes with her ex boyfriend, jake, sending him some sort of hand signal as she motioned towards you. “hey um, hun? i think i’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

“do you want me to come with?” you curiously offered, oblivious to what she was hinting towards. “you know, to stand guard.”

“oh, no need!” the girl singsonged, forcing a smile as her eyes darted between jake and one of the bathrooms down the hall. it suddenly clicked in your head, and you felt like a cockblocking moron. you awkwardly watched as jake pushed past a few people, making his over to you two—well, really tara.

“you should go find chris!” tara giggled loudly as she let her ex pull her away. that was her nice way of telling you to get lost.

11:17 pm.

after what felt like forever searching through a sea of people, you finally found chris. he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, talking to one of his friends. despite being a bit out of breath, you excitedly called out his name and waved at him. his friend quickly glanced in your direction, patted him on his shoulder, and bolted away just as you made your way towards him.

“hey—you okay, babe? you look tired.” chris questioned as his brows furrowed with worry the more he examined your state. he wasn’t lying, you were a bit tired from the dancing and walking around. but you didn’t wanna go home just yet. not so early into the party.

“i’m fine.” you shook your head as your boyfriend wrapped his arm around you. “just a little thirsty, all the dancing and stuff.” he kept his arm lazily draped around you as you two waltzed your way to the kitchen to find something to quench your thirst.

11:35 pm.

you and chris quickly settled on some punch, red cups filled with the delicious citrusy beverage as you both caught up with each other. you gushed to him about the dance frenzy you were in with tara and he bragged about how he totally “kicked ass” at beer pong. between the loud music and fast paced convos, you both didn’t hear the kitchen door swing open.

“chris sturniolo, i thought i’d see you here.”

you both quickly turned around at the sudden sound of a girl’s voice and your eyes are met with the sight of a tall blonde girl. your eyes darted between the semi uncomfortable look on chris’s face and the friendly look on hers—definitely laced with something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

you awkwardly coughed as you sloshed the rest of your drink around in your cup. “you two know each other or…?”

“we used to be, um—” chris nervously fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket.

“we go way back,” the girl answered for him, somewhat saving his ass from a whole lot of questions and awkwardness. she turned her attention towards you and smiles tightly. so fake.

“i’m brooke.” she reached her hand out for you to shake. you return the favor with a small smile back.

chris awkwardly cleared his throat. “right. y/n, this is brooke, brooke, this is y/n, my—”

“girlfriend.” the tall blonde answered for him again. “yeah, yeah…kinda figured. the way you had your arm around her earlier kinda gave it away. anyways uh—” you watched as she began to dig in her clutch purse and you couldn’t help but to feel a small pang of jealousy form in the pit of your stomach. you weren’t sure what kind of relationship she has with chris—or what kind of relationship she had, but the girl was drop dead gorgeous, the way her small black dress clung to her body showing off her curves…it was almost mesmerizing.

“speaking of introductions and stuff like that,” brooke said as she she slowly pulled out a bag of white pills from her clutch. “i’m hoping you two wouldn’t mind meeting my friend molly tonight.”

chris’s facial expression darkened as he pushed you behind him. “absolutely not, okay? y/n—she’s not that kind of girl.”

your stomach flip flopped, you’re weren’t stupid. you knew what was in that bag, despite your lack of knowledge and experience on it. though, curiosity gotten the best of you.

“wait,” you stepped forward, eyes darting between the bag and brooke. “i dunno, i mean, what’s it…like?”

brooke smirked as she placed two single pills on to your palm. “first timer huh? don’t worry, chris hasn’t tried it either. but if you really wanna know…” you leaned forward on the counter as she edged you with her words. chris scoffed and looked away, but made sure he stayed by your side despite being ticked off.

“…colors get brighter, sounds get sharper. you feel more connected to everything you love, that’s why they call it the love drug.”

chris angrily watched as brooke slowly walked off to a group of partygoers by the door, enthusiastically greeting them with hugs. he turned back towards you and sighed, shoulders slumping. “you don’t—you don’t have to—”

“no!” you squeaked back excitedly. “i do, i do want to, i mean. it’d be both our first time taking, um, well you know.” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the word. “c’mon babe, please?”

your boyfriend let out a defeated sigh as he looked around the kitchen before picking one of the small white pills out the center of your palm.

you two exchanged nervous smiles as you toasted with your red solo cups, downing the drug with the party punch.

12:30 am.

“c’mere,” chris giggled as he pulled your legs into his lap. you two were currently seated on the memory foam couch in the middle of the living room, center of the ongoing party. it was a little after an hour since you and your boyfriend took the pills—the pills which have definitely kicked in. brooke wasn’t lying, the colors in the atmosphere looked like something straight from a lisa frank collection, you felt light and airy asa feather. you giggled some more as you ran your finger through chris’s hair, his chocolate colored waves nearly having you under hypnosis.

“what is with you and my hair?” he laughed, gently pushing your hands away from his head.

“mmm, it’s just so…just so soft.” you lazily responded before booping the boy’s nose.

he lazily threw his head back against the couch and smiled at you. “you wanna know what really feels soft, babe? this couch—just feel it, like, oh my god.” you two bursted into another fit of giggles as you felt up on the couch cushions, soon melting and becoming one with the foam.

“i love this couch!” you gushed happily. “i love this house! it’s so awesome, oh my god!”

chris giggled at your euphoric state as he sat up a bit. “i’m so glad, i mean. i really am so glad for a lot of stuff. i was kinda worried when we first got here that the party would be a bit too much for you, y’know. i never want anything to ever be too much for you.”

“baby.” you smiled at your boyfriend’s intoxicated state.

“nooo, i’m serious,” he continued. “i just love you s’much, i know i can be high on energy like allll the time but sometimes i worry that i might be too much for you. and i was talking to the guys earlier and sex got into the topic, they asked if we’ve ever done it yet and, i dunno. i’m not sure if you wanna.”

“w-wait,” you stopped him, sitting up as soon as the word sex left his lips. “so, like, do you not wanna have sex with me?” you nervously chewed on your bottom lip as he quickly shook his head.

“no, no!” chris practically yelped. “i do, i really do, but i don’t wanna like…it’s no pressure! none at all—”

“i want to.” you suddenly found yourself on your feet, excitement and anticipation shooting through your bloodstream. “i’m ready. i wanna do it.”

“you sure—”

“i’m sure.” you nodded eagerly. chris smiled softly as he slowly stood up, wrapping his arm around your waist. “okay, babe.” he pressed a kiss along your temple. “let’s go find a room.”

april 21st, 9:30 am ── los angeles, ca ; present time & day.

chris absentmindedly toyed with the rubber band around his wrist as he sits on the barstool in front of the kitchen counter, watching nick prepare breakfast as he blabbers on about some sort of instagram dilemma; something about him not knowing which pictures to posts? dunno, beats chris, not like he’s listening.

which earns him a sharp scolding from the eldest sturniolo triplet. “hello, earth to fucking christopher. i asked you question like five minutes ago. are you gonna answer or are you gonna sit there staring into space like you’ve just seen a ghost or something equally fucked up?”

chris’s pale blues shoot up to meet nick’s. “hm?”

“okayyyyy…” nick turns his attention back to the waffle maker he’s been messing with for the past hour. three waffles made, three more to go. “what’s up—and don’t tell me it has anything to do with you being hungry. when you’re hungry, you act like a fucking warthog, not a spaced out idiot.”

the longer haired boy rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“something tells me it has something to do with y/n?” nick tries, eyes occasionally glancing up. “did you guys get into a fight? she’s been acting weird this morning too.”

the way chris’s shoulder slump tells nick that he’s right on the money—after what happened last night at the party? there’s been an uncanny amount of silence between you two and a dreadful, looming feeling of fear. and guilt, lots of it.

“no, we just—” the youngest triplet groans loudly as he buries his face into his hands. “we kinda had…sex.”

“you guys had sex!” nick shouts, causing chris to grit his teeth and throw an oven mitt at his brother. “god nick, could you be any louder? i don’t think the people on the first floor heard you!”

“i-i’m sorry,” nick responds in a whisper shout as he finishes cooking up the last round of waffles, sliding them on to a plate. “but that’s a really big fuckin’ deal—you two had sex!”

“we were high, nick, really fucking high…we took each other virginities, we weren’t thinking straight.”

“WHAT?!”

“nick, shut the fuck up!” matt whines from his room, slamming the door shut. nick and chris exchange looks before breaking out into a giggle fit, but it doesn’t last long.

“so let me get this straight,” nick pours syrup over his and chris’s waffles. “you guys got high, blasted out of your minds, and then fucked?”

chris nearly chokes as he washes down his food with apple juice. “even though thats literally what happened, don’t say it like that. it sounds bad.”

“it kinda is bad, chris.” nick shakes his head. normally, nick would be quick to scold his younger brothers whenever they did something so utterly stupid, but looking at the depressive state chris is in, he decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. “but it’s not the end of the world. you two did something pretty stupid and irresponsible, yeah, but there’s couples out there who have done worse. there’s still time to fix things between each other.” nick nods towards the balcony, where you been sitting out for most of the morning.

“she’s out there, go talk to her.”

you jump at the sudden sound of the balcony door sliding open. you turn around to see chris standing in the doorway. you give him a small wave and halfhearted smile before settling back down on the lounge chair you’ve been camping out on for the past few hours.

“hey.” chris greets softly, handing you a can of pepsi as he sits down on the empty chair next to you. you can’t help but to roll your eyes and laugh as you accept his carbonated drink offer.

“i’m sorry,” you both say in unison, causing each other to laugh. chris shakes his head once the laughter dies down. “i’ll go first; i’m sorry. last night should’ve went down differently, and i shouldn’t have let you…you know. mess around with that stuff. your first time should’ve been special.”

your brows furrow. “but it was special, chris. i mean sure, it wasn’t exactly how i planned my first time going but i don’t regret it at all. not a single bit. i even thought you were mad at me.”

the brunette nearly chokes as he looks at you. “mad at you? baby, i thought you were mad at me!”

“no!” you laugh. he laughs. you both laugh again. you guys look at each other and then look away.

“so we’re good, right?” you ask.

chris leans forward and grabs you by the waist, settling you into his lap. “yeah, babe. we’re good.” you two snuggle and enjoy the morning sun when suddenly, the sound of nick’s annoyed voice fills the air.

“you guys better come eat these fucking waffles! i spent an hour nearly burning my fucking hand off for these shits!”

likes + comments & reblogs are highly appreciated.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 tags. @sugrhigh @dominicfikue @kangelics @xoxo4chrisss @wovenribbons @ethelcained @cherrypostsposts

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader

[waywardangel-wilds]

Putting this here so I don't lose it. I think this would be fun to rework into a longer version for ao3.

I had an idea (I wrote this on my phone, forgive all the random mistakes):

Catnip asked me to help her out with training. I didn’t mind, she’s never been the best at snares. Plus, it was time with her. But, as usual, the merchant got priority. I hadn’t been all that excited about teaching boy wonder, I’m still not that thrilled, but I can be nice. That’s what Katniss likes now right? She likes ‘em nice.

Anyway, whatever. Today’s the first day. I told Ma’ I’d be late from hunting so I could help Katniss out. She took the Quarter Quell announcement really hard. I did too, obviously. Every Sunday’s gonna be a long day, but it’s for the best. We gotta get Katniss home for good this time, no strings.

I’m just walking up the Victors Village hill when I spot her. She’s sulking on her front steps, covered in sweat. My mouth goes dry. She looks really good. She doesn’t notice me though, she’s too busy glaring at Mellark who’s standing in front of her.

“That wasn’t your best time.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk to her like that before. Guess I got used to the sappy stuff, like everybody else.

“I’m not doing that again,” Katniss snaps. She’s glaring at him as if she wants him to drop dead. I’m surprised he doesn’t.

“You’re beating that time,” he starts saying as he shucks off his sweaty shirt to use it like a towel “tomorrow.”

Katniss doesn’t say anything in return. She stands up and walks past him, making sure to knock into him with her shoulder.

Peeta turns to stare after her, “that’s gonna cost you another twenty minutes, you know.”

She flips him the bird, but doesn’t bother sticking around. She keeps walking in my direction, “Gale!”

“Hey,” I smile. She nods at me. “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s Haymitch?” The last half of her sentence she directs to the guy behind her.

“Probably passed out somewhere by the fence,” he snorts, taking a long drink from a bottle of water. He thankfully pulls the shirt back on. “I’ll get him, get started.”

Katniss rolls her eyes but lets Peeta leave without saying anything else. She crosses her arms, “come on, let’s practice in the house.”

I’m expecting her to head to her place, but she walks past it, going down the street towards some other house I’ve never been to.

“Where are we going?” I ask. “Haymitch’s?”

“Peeta’s. No Prim or mom, plus it’s clean.” She answers. She jogs up the steps and pushes the door open, “come on!” She says when I don’t follow right away.

Great, now I have to be in his house. “I’m right here.”

“Layouts the same, put your stuff in the living room,” She jogs towards the kitchen and I follow her at a slower pace.

I watch her turn on the tap and stick her face into the water, splashing the sweat off and taking a long drink. “What?” She asks once she catches me staring.

“Nothing,” I shake my head. I wander over to the kitchen window, looking around for anything… interesting.

“Ugh, he sucks!” Katniss whines behind me. I turn around and find her digging through Mellark’s fridge. “There’s nothing worth eating in here,” She opens the fridge wider so I can see all the vegetables in there. “Not even bread.”

I make a noncommittal sound, “yeah”

Some noise from the front door interrupts us. “Katniss!” Mellark.

“Crap.” She closes the fridge and grabs my wrist, yanking me into the living room. “I’m in here!”

“Walk,” I hear Mellark snaps at someone. Probably Abernathy.

Katniss plops herself down on a couch and I put my bag on the coffee table. Haymitch and Mellark come into the room. Mellark shoves the older man in front of him.

“Don’t make me shank you,” Abernathy groans halfheartedly and drops himself into the spare cushion next to Katniss.

“I’d love to see you try,” Mellark scoffs, side stepping around the couch. “You can’t even see straight.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Let’s just start,” Mellark says curtly.

“Would you quit being such an asshole?” Katniss says, but Mellark just stares at her, arms crossed with and a blank expression. “Show us what you brought, Gale.”

I glance at all of them, clear my throat and pull open my bag, kneeling down on the floor once I’ve got the wire and rope on the table. “We’ll start with the basics,” I say.

I start off showing them some easy traps, simple knots. Mellark crouches nearby to get a better look, accidentally knocking against Katniss’s knee. She leans forward to have a better look too, but she knows this stuff. While Mellark is frowning down at my fingers she picks up some spare wire and slowly arranges the trap. It’s a small thing, good enough to catch a curious rabbit, if you’ve got a branch nearby. Mellark turns to look at what she’s doing, reaching out to put a hand on her wrist to slow down her movements.

I watch him, frowning. Katniss doesn’t seem to notice he’s touching her at all, and honestly, I don’t think he noticed he did it either.

I brush it off and glance at Abernathy to see how he’s doing. I raise my eyebrows when I realize he’s snoozing against the couch, not a care in the world.

“Yeah that’s good,” Katniss says, picking up the loop Mellark made to inspect it. “We should probably practice setting these outside so you can see how they actually work.”

“Hm,” Peeta says dismissively. “Show me something else,” he nods, directing the words towards me.

I can tell that Katniss is bothered by his attitude, but if Mellark notices he doesn’t seem to care. It sucks to see it gets to her, but I’m glad there doesn’t seem to be anything going on between them.

I spend some time showing him a basic wire snare. I can tell Katniss checked out a while ago, she isn’t looking my way. She’s picking at some of the string in front of her without really seeing it. Mellark is paying me very close attention, so I’m surprised when he suddenly jumps up.

“You’re hungry,” he says.

“What? Oh yeah.” Katniss puts a hand to her stomach. “I’ll go back home-“

“No, come on.” Mellark motions for her to follow him into the kitchen but she stays put.

“Don’t bother, I’m sure there’s food at the house.”

“Come,” Mellark takes her hand and pulls her after him.

“I don’t need you feeding me,” Katniss grumbles but she goes along with him anyway, a small smile she hides from him tugging at her mouth.

I show up at the same time the week after that. I don’t find them outside though. I walk over to Mellark’s house again and find Haymitch drinking moonshine on the porch.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“Good morning, how are you?” Haymitch says sarcastically. “She’s inside with the boy. Might as well give em a few minutes if you value your peace.”

“What?”

“They’re fightin’. I don’t know a whole lot, but even I know when to leave something alone.” He chuckles and takes another drink. “Don’t tell em you saw me drinking!”

I ignore him and keep walking past him. You can’t hear any yelling or anything else that sounds like a fight so I push the door open and walk over to the living room.

“Catnip..?” The question dies in my mouth.

“Ugh, get off!” Katniss is struggling, trying to kick out Mellark’s legs from behind her but missing. The guy’s got her arms held behind her back, half on top of her one the ground.

“You can get out if you do it like I taught you,” he shifts his grip to compensate for her struggling. “Come on, go for the weak spots.”

“Get off of her man,” I take a step into the living room, dropping my bag to the ground along the way. “She told you to get off!”

“Gale, it’s fine,” Katniss blows some of the hair out of her face and looks in my direction. “I can figure this out, give me a sec.”

“You can wait over there, if you want.” Mellark nods towards the couch without looking at me, he’s too focused on Katniss. “Go for the leg for real this time.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Katniss snaps and keeps trying to pull her arms free. Mellark’s grip doesn’t budge. I stay standing close by. “Gale, it’s really fine. Go outside if you want, we’ll be done in a minute.”

“I’m gonna stay here.”

Mellark ignores me. “You’re already dead. You think anyone in the arena’s gonna give you this much slack? Huh? Kick!”

“Shut up!” Katniss puts all her force into throwing her shoulder back, knocking Mellark backwards. She tries to crawl away from him in the confusion, but he catches her right away, crawling on top of her and locking her wrists down with his elbows.

“What’re you gonna do now?”

“Ugh!” She tries to pull her hands free but it’s futile. Mellark shifts his weight from one hip to the other. Katniss’s feet scramble against the floor but find no purchase.

“Think it through, how do you get out?” Mellark asks, staring down at her. Katniss moves her head around, trying to get her bangs out of her face but Mellark smooths the hair back with a free hand. “Come on, stay cool. You can figure this out.”

Katniss is frowning. She looks beyond pissed. She gets one of her feet flat on the ground and uses all her strength to buck at him with her hips. Mellark merely shifts his weight again and slams hers back down to the ground.

“Damn, buy me dinner first.”

“That,” Katniss’s expression breaks and she laughs. “That’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Mellark heaves himself backwards and off of her, settling onto his knees. He offers Katniss a hand to pull her up. “We can try again some other time.”

“Fine,” once she’s seated she busied herself with fixing her messed up braid. Mellark steps past me and out of the room.

“Sorry that took so long,” Katniss is saying. “Peeta really wants me to do well at close combat.”

“Yeah, that’s what this is.” I can tell my expression is bitter because Katniss’s smile drops. “Let’s just get started.”

“Who the fuck sold to you??” We both hear Mellark shouting from the porch. “Tell me! What the hell did I say, Haymitch?!”

Katniss cringes but hops up to her feet. She starts rearranging the furniture. It had been moved to make space for their little wrestling match. “Haymitch was drinking again?”

“Yup,” I say.

“That sucks. Just when we got him in a better mood he goes and blows it.” She shakes her head.

Anyway I spent wayy longer than I intended writing this! Hope you liked it!

#fanfic #everlark #the hunger games #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Closed Doors

❥ Yandere Choi Soobin x fem reader x Kim Hongjoong

➯a/n: SPOOKY MONTH SPOOKY MONTH SPOOKY MONTH WRRRRAAAA 👻🎃 mwahaha i came back strong with this one 🫣

✃ "Watch close, don't even blink."

✫彡wordcount: 4.1k

(>ᴗ•) ♡'･ᴗ･'♡ genre: smut w (a little) plot, yandere

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not edited, stalking, drinking culture, dom joong x sub soobin x switch reader, noona/hyung kink, tipsy sex, threesum, pet names, fingering, DIIIIRTY talk, cunnilingus, corruption kink, edging, squirting, handjob, m x m, deep throating, throat bulge, snow balling, unprotected (booooooo), one slap, light degradation

⁂taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

Kim Hongjoong is everything Soobin wants to be. A strong leader. A respected producer. An ambassador. Someone to be looked up to and praised.

And you, Hongjoongs girlfriend of nearly three years, is all he wants. A loyal partner. An understanding person. A kind soul that clings to his.

He knows anything and everything there is to know about you and Hongjoong. He watches all of Hongjoongs content, he stalks you as you run errands. He knows the scent of perfume Hongjoong buys every other month and he has a caddy full of your favorite soaps. He knows how you only hold hands in the dark to avoid the paparazzi and he knows all of the sweet nicknames you call each other.

He knows how bad this could be for him should it ever get out that he's obsessed with his senior and his girlfriend. He knows first hand how badly it feels to be violated of your privacy. But he can't bring himself to stop. He can't help but bask in your existences. He needs to know more.

He needs to know the brand of condoms Hongjoong uses, if you take brith control. Does Hongjoong always take the lead like in those heated kisses he's caught glimpses of backstage, or do you like to have power in the bedroom? He needs to know if Hongjoong looks as beautiful covered in sweat in bed as he does on stage, he needs to know if your hair frames your face just as gracefully when your head is thrown back in pleasure.

    Just being a bystander isn't enough for Soobin anymore.

He needs to know what goes on behind closed doors.

彡★

The house is eerily desolate, perched atop a hill in the middle of a field. Nothing but trees and flowers and mother nature on her lonesome to witness what goes on in the lot. It was gothic in its architecture, pale in its color palette.

Despite the houses deathly aura, life rages in inside of it. Shadows of people dancing by the windows, muffled music leaking from the walls, a shout or yell every so often from a drunken party goer.

    You're clearly buzzed, Soobin can tell. You're stumbling around and gripping to the wall every so often as you move your body to the beat of the music. Hongjoong isn't around you, so he takes the opportunity to approach you. Though he gets nervous around you, his heart stops in his chest everytime his senior so much as addresses him directly.

"Binnie boy!" You cheer with a wide smile, discarding your red solo cup on the antique table behind you in favor of wrapping your arms around his slim torso. "I didn't think you made it!"

So you're an affectionate drunk. Lucky him-

His heart is beating wildly, he's never been more thankful for loud music. He can barely breathe, his arms tingling as he wraps them around your shoulders. God, you feel so warm. "H-hey, Noona. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, yeah! It's been forever since I went to a party," your hand lingers on his chest as you back away and grab your cup again, lighting his skin ablaze through the thin fabric of his costume.

After you take a swig, you offer it up to him. When he goes to shake his head, already blushing and feeling drunk on your proximity, you roll your eyes playfully and stand up on your tip toes, holding the lipstick-stained cup to his lip. "It's rude to refuse a drink," you tease, nearly cooing as he opens his lips and drinks immediately. "Good right? I think Gaeul made it."

He's not registering any of the words that are coming past your lips. His brain is going a million miles an hour as he feels the lipstick that's transferred to his lips. Sure, he has alot of the products you use but never from your own personal collection. Never from your own lips, even if it came off a secondary source. This is almost as good as when he found one of Hongjoongs sweaters at a thrift shop after watching him drop off a bag of donations.

"I found it!" Hongjoongs voice brings him back to his own body, and he's immediately frozen again as he feels the fur he knows he's wearing wrap around his shoulder. He has to be dreaming. Is he dreaming?

Hongjoong is right by his side, hip to hip with his arm stretched up and around his shoulders. "Is she teasin' you? She likes to tease when she's drunk," he chuckles, looking up and watching the younger mans face flush deeper as he stutters.

"I'm noooooot," you draw out dramatically, slipping your hand into his open fur coat and under his top. "I'm just being friendly- right, Binnie?"

He's nearly gasping for air as he watches the two of you. What in the world is going on?

"You found one?"

"Mhm," Hongjoong moves away from Soobin and drags you to the stair case, and he watches in confusion as you both stop on the second stair, your conversation hidden by the loud music and the shadows.

A few moments later, you're coming back to Soobin and grabbing his hand, "c'mon."

He can only follow the warm grip you have on his hand, blinded by how good it feels to have your skin touching his that he doesn't even notice as you lead him up the stairs to the bedrooms with Hongjoong hot on your tails.

"Wh-" The words die on his tongue as you let go of his hand and dive into the tall, elegant bed. "Non-" There they go again as he turns as sees Hongjoong latching the door locked.

You look like the angel you're dressed as as you lay down on your back, your head propped up by the pillows and your legs spread so invitingly.

"Isn't my Angel so gorgeous?" Hongjoong asks as he joins him at the foot of the bed, a smirk painting his face as he watches his ears flush pink. "Don't you just want to..." he trails off, watching in the corner of his vision as you pull the white dress above your hips teasingly slow, "fuck her dumb?"

"Hyung!"

Your giggles fill the room, and Hongjoongs follow, leaving Soobin stunned more than ever; a deer in the headlights. "Oh, c'mon Binnie," you moan as you slip your hand into your underwear, "we aren't blind."

"We see how you watch us," he finishes your thought, shrugging off his coat.

"Mhm," you nod in agreement, watching his bulge grow with his blush. "If you don't want to join us, close the door on your way out- ah!" Your laughter fills the room as Hongjoong jumps into the bed, kissing and licking at your neck.

His eyes flick between the two of you and the locked door. His mind is already made up but he doesn't want to seem too eager. He thought he was sneaky enough. How much do you both know?

"You're so wet just from teasing him," Hongjoong purrs as he slips his fingers into your bare heat, your skimpy panties discarded at the edge of the large bed.

He almost immediately starts pumping his fingers into your wetness, purposefully slapping his palm against your clit to create more lewd sounds. Soobins head is spinning. His eyesight is blurring, but at the same time he can see your face twisting in pleasure so clearly. He's crawling into the bed instinctively to get a closer look, his brain can't comprehend the amount of hormones that are flooding him. From your feet, he can see the wetness on Hongjoongs fingers as he pulls them out briefly before they dive back into you.

"Staying?" Hongjoong grins as he looks over his shoulder, slowing his fingers to give him a good showing of your wetness. He only nods in response, eyes never leaving your puffy clit and sopping hole.

"Ngh-" He moans as Hongjoongs free hand grips the back of his neck, forcing him face to face with your core. The sound of his fingers pressing against your walls paired with the scent of your arousal nearly makes him come undone the second the tip of his nose grazes your clit.

Your hand comes down and pets his head almost innocently, and he looks up your heaving torso to see you as you speak vulgarly, "have you ever eaten a pussy before, Binnie?"

       He shakes his head, the tip of his nose still forced against your clit by Hongjoongs grip.

      "She'll get you addicted," Hongjoong moans lowly at the thought of his own tongue on you, he can taste the memories, "she's fucking delicious."

He lays on his stomach between your legs, next to Hongjoong whos straddling your thigh. "H-how?" He forces his voice out, his hot breath fanning you.

"Show him how, Baby," you prop yourself up on your elbow and wiggle your hips, smirking at the two of them. "Show him how to eat pussy like a real man."

Hongjoongs slips his fingers out of you and sucks them clean as he positions himself next to Soobin, rubbing down his back sensually. "Watch close, even blink."

"Oka-" He's left speechless once again as his tongue darts out and laps up and down the length of your heat, pointing and circling your clit before diving into you and all over again. He listens to his Hyung, though he doesn't know if it's even intentional. He wouldn't blink if his eyes were dryer than the Sahara.

His skilled tongue skims and rubs and fucks all of the right places, not a single part of you left untouched as he moans into you. "Oh, fuck, Joongie," you squeal, thighs trembling briefly before they lift of the bed and press into them.

He pulls away and pushes the thigh that's pressing into him back down, nodding at Soobin to do the same. His slender fingers dig into your skin softly as he copies him, pressing your leg back into the soft sheets.

"No," you whine, "so close!"

"C'mon Princess don't be selfish, let our guest have a taste before you squirt all over us, hm?"

"Squirt- squirt? You squirt Noona?" He pants breathlessly. He doesn't know how he's going to survive.

You chuckle softly, head tossed back as you rub your wetness on his chin, getting oh so close to his lips. "Make me cum and you'll find out, Binnie. Go on, do what Joongie showed you."

He sticks his tongue out tentatively and flicks it across your clit. The high moan you let out. The taste of you. Hongjoongs burning gaze on him. It's so. Fucking. Good.

He copies all of Hongjoongs movements, it's not hard to. The image of his tongue working against your wet skin is burned into his memory and he will never let it go. He whines into your cunt, pressing his face closer as he savors your juices, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips grind against the bed on their own. His mind is gone from his body, his entire being washed in pure pleasure. He's so far gone that he doesn't register that your both turning on your sides, your legs sandwiching his face as you moan and groan.

      He feels Hongjoongs hands unbuttoning his pants, and he lets him. No way in any universe is he doing anything that will stop this moment. His length is engulfed in his warm hand, and the vibration of his moan is enough to send you over the edge, flooding his face and neck in your release and clenching your legs around his head tightly. The curses that fall off your trembling lips go unheard by the eager young man, who could nearly be drowning in the amount of fluids that you're washing him in, in the pleasure that Hongjoongs hand is giving him.

"Fuck, Binnie! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Son of a bitch- holy shit!" Hongjoong laughs, finally pulling his wet face away from you. His eye flutter open, his pupils blown way out of proportion. He pants, bucking his hips into Hongjoongs stilled hand.

"Ngh, Hyung," he whimpers, melting as he resumes stroking his length, "you were right, she's so delicious!" He licks his swollen lips, sliding onto his back and watching his slender hand pump up and down, blissfully unaware as you slip out from behind him and remove your clothes. "Oh my god," his eyes roll back into his head, and just before the pressure inside of him can snap, the warmth of his hand is gone. "No, no! Hyung!" His cock twitches in the air, hips bucking wildly.

"Shhhh," he shushes him softly, holding his hips down to the bed, kissing his jaw lightly, "don't you want to let it out inside your Noona? There's nothing else like it, Binnie."

You join them once again, on the opposite side of Hongjoong, naked body curled up to Soobins side. "All warm and wet, nice and inviting."

A whiny moan chokes him, jaw dropped as he nips his ear lobe, your fingertip swirling around his nipple. "F-fuck, please."

"Not yet," you whisper, "you'll cum the second you feel my hot pussy. Calm down a bit."

Both of your warmth is gone, and he opens his eyes. They widen at the scene infront of him.

Your naked body, all out in the open as your face is in Hongjoongs lap, ass in the air. His thick, veiny member resting on your flushed cheek as you fondle his balls.

"Is it everything you dreamed of, Soobin?" He grins as you take his cock down your throat, years of practice having paid of. "Isn't my girl the fucking best? Look at that," he coos as he points Soobins gaze to your throat, an the outline of him pressing out of your skin, "see how she takes it? Mmm fuck. If your lucky, maybe one day she can take that long, pretty cock of yours."

You moan around him, peering over at Soobin. He slides closer immediately and leans into your neck, taking in a deep breath of the smell of sex that comes from you. "Fuck," he groans, cock aching for attention. But Hongjoong is right, he wants to save it for you. He wants to know what Hongjoong gets to feel everytime you fuck. "Everything and more." He kisses your neck, and the feeling of his lips through your throat makes Hongjoong feral.

He grips the back of your head, thrusting deep into your throat with a short and fast pace. The sound of your throat contracting around his cock fills the room, even over the muffled music. Your spit flies out of your stretched lips, soaking his smooth pelvis. "Do that again," he growls quietly, free hand pressing Soobins face into your neck.

And he does, he licks and sucks at your neck, like he's trying to suck Hongjoongs cock just as much as you are. "Mhmp!" Your arousal drips down your legs, your hole clenches around nothingness as you steady yourself on his thighs.

The amount of attention you've been receiving tonight already has you back on the edge, teetering as your boyfriend chokes you on his cock and his handsome junior sucks hickeys in your skin. Your head is fuzzy with oxygen deprivation and arousal.

     You can feel his body tightening beneath you, and you get ready to swallow his release when he tugs your hair roughly. "Don't swallow, Angel," and with that, he pulls your mouth back to envelop just his tip and floods your mouth with his sweet seed, head tossed back and a bead of sweat dripping down his chin, chest heaving as he moans, "let him have a taste."

     He tenderly helps you up, positioning your face above his and smirking as he opens his mouth wide. The mix of saliva and cum leaks into his awaiting mouth, and a string of moans from all of you builds your arousal to an all time high. He gulps it down greedily and watches you intently as you move to straddle his hips.

You lick your lips clean, taking a peek at Hongjoong. He gives you a nod and grips the base of Soobins cock, holding it upright as you sink down on it. "Oh- oh shit," he bites his lip, eyes flicking from your blissful face to your sopping hole as you slowly descend to Hongjoongs member twitching back to life.

"Don't you dare cum, ladies first," Hongjoong fixes Soobins hair back and rubs his thumb on his lips.

"Al-alright- fuck! Oh fuck!" He whines loudly as you begin riding him mercilessly, clenching his gut as his brain begs for the flood of dopamine that it knows will come with filling your cunt in the most primal way. "Fuck, please! Noona! Noona!" He screams, hips bucking wildly and making his cock reach depths inside of you that haven't been touched by another person since you met Hongjoong. He doesn't stretch you as good as he does, but God does the slight pain as he rearranges your guts feel heavenly.

"How does it feel?" Hongjoong inquired, slipping his hand around your hips and circling his finger tips around your swollen clit.

"So good!"

"S'good!"

Both of you chime together, bodies bouncing on the soft mattress. "Oh, Joongie! You were right," you draw out in a moan, "he's so- ah! So big!"

"Ride him, Princess, ride that big cock," he smirks at him over your shoulder before diving in and sucking darker hickeys over the ones Soobin left. It's definitely a show of dominance, telling him not to get too comfortable in his girlfriends cunt. But he does. Not. Care.

He'll find an in eventually, for now he's content to hold onto your hips as you ride him like a mad woman.

"Noona," he whines highly, rutting into you desperately, "please let me!"

"Let you?" You question dizzily, rocking your hips into Hongjoongs fingers as they continue their assault on your clit.

"L- ah! Fuck, I'm sorry, Noona, I can't help myself anymore!" He thrashes, locking his arms around you and flipping you around. He cages you underneath him and slams back into you, banging his hips onto yours and burying his face in your chest as he clings to you.

Hongjoong crawls up to your face, cradling it gently as Soobins rough thrust toss you around. "You gonna let him cum in your pussy? That's my pussy, you know that?" He slaps your cheek softly, a large grin on his face. "Dirty Angel, you're enjoying having this freak in your cunt," he kisses you deeply and moans, pulling back and gripping Soobins hair roughly.

"Listen to me," he sneers, "you can fuck us silly all you like, you little horn-dog. But this is my girl. And I'm her man. Got that?"

      "Y-yes, Hyung!"

    "Good," he pushes his head away and goes back to you, fondling your breasts as he licks your ear, whispering something that Soobin can't hear over the pounding of his hips on yours, especially not combined with the music growing louder in his overstimulated mind.

Your moans are growing louder and louder, more frequent as he plunges into you rapidly. "O-oh shit..." You screw your eyes shut and bite your lip, and from his place looking down on you, Soobin wishes he had photographic memory. It's everything he ever made it up to be and more, and more, and more...

A broken moan rips out of your throat as you clench on him like a vice, squirting with each of his thrust as he ravages you. And that's all he needs to let loose, an orgasm like no other washing over him and soaking your insides, shutting his brain off as it floods with unimaginable pleasure.

He collapses into you, clinging to you for dear life as his hips continue driving into you with a mid of their own.

"Feels fucking amazing, huh?" Hongjoong chuckles, rubbing your heads simultaneously as he pries Soobin off of you. He straddles him carefully and slips his hands under his top. "Hope you've got some more energy for me, pretty boy."

彡★

       He stands as silent as a mouse and grabs his phone, eyes raking the two of you darkly as he searches for the perfect angle to capture you in your fullest beauty.

      Hongjoongs arm is draped over your naked chest like he subconsciously knows to protect your modesty from what's about to come, his ring catching the dim moonlight as he cups the side of your breast.

     He snaps a picture of your torsos and arms all mingled together, thankful that the lamp was left on so that he didn't have to risk the flash waking you. He knows you're a light sleeper.

    With a lick of his lips, he zooms in on his always noticeable bulge. It strains against his boxers even as he's flaccid and snuggles against your hip innocently.

He doesn't know when it got to this point. He doesn't care, frankly. He just wants in, he wants in- he wants in now. He wants to sleep in that cozy nest of a bed that he knows you make up every morning after cuddling your boyfriend all night. Seonghwa once told him about it and how you had to strip the bed of all your pillows and blankets and plushies so that Hongjoongs vlogs didn't share something that you felt so intimate about, he hasn't got to see it yet but he wants it so badly. He wants to spoil you with plushies to add. He wants to fuck you until you squirt on it all freshly made just to mark it with your scent and drive in the fact that he makes you cum like a lover.

     His soft panting fills the quiet air as he snaps a photo of the way your finger tips are pressed into the elastic band on Hongjoongs boxers.

He doesn't care that it's crazy. He just wants to be apart of you, and every little thing only adds to it.

     He leans one knee on the edge of the bed and snaps a close up of your bruised hips, the forming colors, to remind him of how well it felt to hold them as they boucned.

   He turns the focus to your face. You're the one he has the least photos of despite the fact that you're the one he's most obsessed in love with. You look so peaceful in your sleep, lips parted as you breath softly, a small smile twitching at the edges that he immediately snaps a photo of. You must be dreaming of him.

He. Doesn't. Care.

    He snaps photo after photo after photo after photo after photo of you. His girl. The lines on your soft, exposed stomach. Your fluffy sock clad feet. Your slightly swollen lips with his thumb carefully placed between them. The way you suck on it subconsciously. Your hair, the baby hairs that fall from the sloppy way you put it up. Every single freckle and mole and embellishment on your skin. Your thighs. Oh good God your thighs, he could die a happy man between them. The way goosebumps raise on your skin as he trails his fingers tips all over you. Your neck which still has his marks no matter how hard Hongjoong tried to cover them. Picture after picture after picture after picture until his camera betrays him and tells him he has only a little storage left to document your adorable, unconscious state.

Soobin

Does

Not

Care

     He backs up and gets every single piece of you both in frame for one last photo. Of the way the two of you meld together. His precious, stupid lovers.

     He will be apart of you. And this is only the beginning.

He got a glimpse of what goes on behind closed doors.

Now you'll never get rid of him.

#ateez #ateez smut #smut fic #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together smut #choi soobin #soobin #txt soobin #yandere soobin #yandere tomorrow x together

[hh0320]

໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco. 

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on. 

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you. 

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle. 

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you. 

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone. 

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world. 

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix skz #stray kids #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunlix #mine.

[gotham-ruaidh]

What I wouldn't give to see this scene in Season 7...

 “You dreamed about Brianna and the children? What happened?”  

    …“It is all right,” he said. “They are safe. I saw them in a town—it seemed like Inverness, but it was different, somehow. They walked up the step of a house—Roger Mac was with them,” he added, offhand. “They knocked at the door, and a wee brown-haired woman opened to them. She laughed wi’ joy to see them, and brought them in, and they went down a hallway, wi’ strange things like bowls hanging from the ceiling.

      “Then they were in a room, wi’ sofas and chairs, and the room had great windows all down one wall, from the floor to the ceiling, and the afternoon sun was streaming in, setting Brianna’s hair to fire, and makin’ wee Mandy cry when it got in her eyes.”  

      “Did … did any of them call the brown-haired woman by name?” I asked, my heart beating in a queer, fast way.  

      He frowned, moonlight making a cross of light over nose and brows.  

      “Aye, they did,” he said. “I canna just—oh, aye; Roger Mac called her Fiona.”  

      “Did he?” I said. My hands rested on his shoulder, and my mouth was a hundred times drier than it had been when I woke up. The night was chilly, but not enough to account for the temperature of my hands.  

      I had told Jamie any amount of things about my own time over the years of our marriage. About trains and planes and automobiles and wars and indoor plumbing. But I was nearly sure that I had never told him what the study looked like in the manse where Roger had grown up with his adoptive father.  

      The room with the window wall, made to accommodate the Reverend’s painting hobby. The manse with its long hallway, furnished with old-fashioned light fixtures, shaped like hanging bowls. And I knew I had never told him about the Reverend’s last housekeeper, a girl with dark, curly hair, called Fiona.  

      “Were they happy?” I asked at last, very quietly.  

      “Aye. Brianna and the lad—they had some shadows to their faces, but I could see they were glad nonetheless. They all sat down to eat—Brianna and her lad close together, leaning on each other—and wee Jem stuffed his face wi’ cakes and cream.” He smiled at the picture, teeth a brief gleam in the darkness.

      “Oh—at the last, just before I woke … wee Jem was messin’ about, picking things up and putting them down as he does. There was a … thing . . on the table. I couldna say what it was; I’ve never seen the like.”  

      He held his hands about six inches apart, frowning at them. “It was maybe this wide, and just a bit longer—something like a box, maybe, only sort of … humped.”  

      “Humped?” I said, puzzled as to what this could be.  

    “Aye, and it had a thing on top like a wee club, only wi’ a knob to each end, and the club was tied to the box wi’ a sort of black cord, curled up on itself like a piggie’s tail. Jem saw it, and he reached out his hand, and said, ‘I want to talk to Grandda.’ And then I woke.”  

      He leaned his head back farther, so as to look up into my face.  

      “Would ye ken what a thing like that might be, Sassenach? It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”  

      The autumn wind came rustling down from the hill, dry leaves hurrying in its wake, quick and light as the footsteps of a ghost, and I felt the hair rise on nape and forearms.  

      “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve told you about them, I know.” I didn’t think, though, that I had ever described one to him, in more than general terms. I cleared my throat.  

      “It’s called a telephone.”

-- A Breath of Snow and Ashes

#outlander #jamie and claire #a breath of snow and ashes

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY (see full series list here)

1993

On the 22nd of November you sit on the floor of your office late at night, watching the flames of your fireplace crackle and pop. Beside you, sits Harry, eyes focused on the fire as well. Sirius had asked him to wait in front of the fire in your office at one o'clock and for you to be there too. You can't say your heart isn't beating faster than the steady tick of the clock on the wall, worried and giddy at the same time.

"I'm sorry about this whole situation, Harry," you say with a sigh, reaching out to stroke Dubh's fur idly as she clambers into your lap. "I know this isn't what you want. I tried everything to get them to change the rules but nothing worked."

"Thanks," he says blankly, like he's used to being disappointed.

"And that article in the paper — "

"I didn't say anything of that. It's a lie," Harry responds quickly.

You nod. "I'm well aware. Rita Skeeter is...difficult." As soon as the words have left your mouth, you grimace, shaking your head. "Actually, she doesn't deserve that nicety. She's a bitch, Harry. A nasty old hag that has nothing better to do with her life than spread rumours and sensationalise everything in sight."

Harry seems slightly taken aback by your words but nods in fierce agreement nonetheless.

"My best advice to you, Harry, is to run for the hills every time you see her — or just wave me over if I'm near. I am well accustomed to small talk with people like her — the trick is to just get them talking about themselves."

He nods. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her ever again."

"Smart decision," you say, sighing. "And look — I know I'm not supposed to get involved but if you need any help whatsoever, just ask. There's plenty of useful spells I can teach you and tips I can give — anything at all."

Just then, the flames move in a peculiar fashion and Sirius' head appears in the fire. Both you and Harry let out a small gasp, and when you look at Harry, his face has broken into the biggest smile you've seen him wear in weeks.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaims immediately.

He looks different from the last time you seen him. His face had looked gaunt and sunken, but now he looks far healthier and his hair, which was long, matted and greasy, is now clean and neat. You're glad to see that though he's trimmed it a tad, he's kept the beard. He looks younger.

"Hello, Harry," he says, before he turns to you, smiling, "and hello to you too, love."

You bring your hand up and give him a tiny little wave, unable to stop the giddy smile taking over your face at the sight of him.

"How're you doing?" Harry asks.

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius asks firmly, returning his attention to his godson.

"I'm — " Harry stops himself suddenly, holding himself back. Just when you're about to check if he's alright, he spills. He tells the two of you everything: about how no one believes that he hasn't entered himself into the tournament, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he can't walk down a corridor without getting sneered at, and about the toll it's all taken on his friendship with Ron.

You feel your heart ache for him. He deserves absolutely none of this and you wish you could do more to help.

"Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons — I'm a goner," he finishes desperately.

Sirius is looking at Harry with deep concern as he says, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute — I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"Just break into Moony's house next time," you say simply, shrugging. "Sounds much easier to me."

Sirius gives you a look that suggests he already thought of that, but obviously decided not to as he was already coming north to see you two. You smile cheekily at him and he shakes his head, refocusing his attention on Harry.

"What do you need to warn me about?" Harry asks.

"Karkaroff," Sirius says. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater?" You're shocked. Just this morning you picked his fork off the ground for him at breakfast!

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

There already is an Auror at Hogwarts, you think. Or did Dumbly-dorr just forget about me?

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry says slowly. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius replies bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...he's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

How do you not remember any of this? Surely you'd have seen this all mentioned in the papers around that time?

"Okay..." Harry says. "But...are you saying that Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," says Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry — "

"You and the rest of the world," he says bitterly.

"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius says hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but I don't think so somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he still can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But — why?"

Sirius hesitates.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he says apprehensively. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone cast the Dark Mark...and then — did you hear about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" You say. You recall reading that article about her disappearance not too long ago.

"Exactly...she disappeared to Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" says Harry.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sirius says grimly, glancing at you. "Do you remember her at school?"

You nod your head. "She was at Hogwarts when we were, a few years above us," you explain to Harry. "As thick as a board, she was. Very nosey, too. Awful combination."

"Makes her easy to lure into a trap," Sirius finishes.

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" says Harry. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don’t know," Sirius says with a shake of his head, "I just don’t know...Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing." Harry grins bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"You'll be fine," you reassure firmly, though you're not sure if it's for Harry's sake or your own. "I'll be there, all the rest of the teachers will be there, and there'll be that group of dragon keepers there too."

"Look, about these dragons," Sirius says, speaking quickly now, glancing around him furtively, "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try and simple Stunning Spell — dragons are too strong and powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon — "

"Yeah, I know, I just saw," Harry says.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius tells him, looking him straight in the eye. "There is a way, a simple spell's all you need — "

Knock-knock.

At once, all three of you go dead silent and whip your heads to the closed door.

"Go, Sirius, quickly!" You hiss at him urgently.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing Harry's invisibilty cloak off the desk and launching it at him.

"Quick!"

Harry frantically pulls the cloak over his head and ducks behind your desk as you make you way over to the door, glancing back at the fireplace to see that Sirius' head has disappeared and the flames have returned to normal. You feel a small pang in your heart.

Who could possibly be knocking at your door at one o'clock in the morning? Surely everyone is asleep by now?

You pull the door open and are met with nothing but the quiet, dark corridor.

"Must've been Peeves," you mutter angrily, moving to close the door. Of course that poltergeist would find a way to cut your time with Sirius short.

"Oh, no, mistress, it is Bitsy!"

You look down in search of the voice and sure enough, at the foot of your door, is Bitsy, grinning up widely at you with her ginormous eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candles on the wall. You notice that she's holding a tray of scones in her tiny hands.

"Bitsy?" You say in shock and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Bitsy was cleaning this corridor, mistress, and heard talking coming from mistress's office! And Bitsy thinks 'why is mistress up so late talking?' Perhaps she has a guest and is very hungry! Mistress was not at breakfast this morning, and I isn't seeing mistress in the kitchens either!"

While part of you feels angry and cheated that she's just interrupted your seldom chance to talk to your husband, you can't be mad at Bitsy and her big kind heart.

You chuckle softly. "Oh, Bitsy. You are far too kind to me. You're right, I didn't attend breakfast this morning nor did I go to the kitchens in the afternoon — I had breakfast with a friend of mine in Hogsmeade today. I should have told you."

Bitsy beams at you and holds the tray out for you to take. "Bitsy is glad to know you did not go hungry this morning. For you, mistress!"

You accept the tray with a smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You are very kind — let me go fetch something to give you as a thank you."

"Oh, no, mistress! I cannot accept anything from you, I is just doing my duty!"

You leave her momentarily, placing the tray of scones down, grabbing a box off your desk and returning to hand it to her. "Film, for your camera, Bitsy. So you can take more pictures. "

You don't miss the gleeful smile that spreads over Bitsy's face as she looks at the box in wonder. "Mistress, I must not — "

"I insist, Bitsy. Actually — I order you to accept the film. I know how much you love your camera," you tell her, pushing it into her hands.

"Thank you, mistress," she says gratefully, bowing to you. "I must return to my work now, unless mistress requires Bitsy for anything?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, but thank you, Bitsy. I think it's time for mistress to get some rest."

Bitsy leaves, clutching the film tightly in her hands and bowing out of your view before Disapparating. You close the door behind you, letting out a sigh as Harry stands up slowly, pulling the cloak off.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry," you say. "I really wish we could have more time with Sirius."

"Yeah, me too. Was that a house elf?"

You nod, chuckling. "Sure was. That's Bitsy. You see, I stay up much later than everyone else — I'm usually up in the tower because of course, the best time to view the stars is at night, so I sleep in the next day and miss breakfast a lot of the time. And when I do, I can go down to the kitchens and Bitsy and all the other house elves will give me something to eat — have done since I was in school myself when I did the exact same thing. Bitsy is my saviour, honestly. She's an absolute gem."

"You're able to get into the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry says curiously.

"Yep. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit down by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room — just tickle the pear and the door'll open right up for you."

You know that as a teacher you probably shouldn't be telling him this, but you don't really care. You went there countless times as a student so why shouldn't he?

Harry nods thoughtfully before asking, "That spell Sirius mentioned, that could defeat a dragon...have you any idea what it is?"

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against your hip as you search your brain for anything like that. "I don't, Harry, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could try confundus, and confuse it? I can't say I'm too familiar with dragons...now, you should go to bed, Harry. A good night's sleep for the next few days is what you need before the first task. And in the meantime, I'll have a look and see if I can figure something out for you."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll find it easy to sleep," Harry remarks, throwing the cloak back over his head.

"Well, if you do find that you can't sleep, come up the Tower," you tell him with a smile, pulling the door open for his invisible figure. "I find stargazing is the best way to relieve stress and solve problems."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You feel like you're about to get sick. You stare at the Hungarian Horntail, huge and terrifying as she crouches protectively over her eggs, huffing great hot breaths out of her large nostrils. And there, standing across from this fearsome beast as though rooted to the spot, is Harry. The crowd roars around you but you can barely hear them as your stomach knots and twists and flips with sickening worry.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yells, raising his wand.

You wait. The crowd waits. Harry waits.

And then you see it. Harry's broomstick, his Firebolt, hurtles towards him and stops in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount it. You vaguely register Ludo Bagman roaring something over the crowd in response to this, but you're too focused on praying to whatever great deities you can to protect your godson. You're just so relieved that he managed to figure something out — and something so clever, too! Why hadn't you thought of a Summoning Spell? It's so simple. Sirius will be so proud of Harry when he finds out.

Harry rises into the air, the wind rushing through his hair, surveying the dragon not far below him. A sort of resolve seems to come over him and then he dives, forcing you to bring your hands up to cover your eyes in fear.

"Oh, I can't watch," you breathe. Beside you, Minerva gives you an understanding look as she watches on. You hear the rush of fire, the crowd cheering and screaming, and then —

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman roars. "Are you watching this, Mr Krum?"

You open your eyes just in time to see Harry plummet to the ground once more, just missing the burst of flames that flies from the Horntail's open maw — but not quick enough to completely avoid the whip of her tail and to your horror, one of the long spikes grazes Harry's shoulder, ripping his robes.

"Harry!" You shriek, practically about to chew your finger off with the alarming rate you're biting the tips of your nails as you reluctantly watch on, wishing for it to be over.

He begins to fly this way, then that, not near enough to make the dragon breathe fire at him to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient enough threat to make her keep her eyes focused on him, tracking his every move.

The dragon's head sways with his movements, her eyes unwavering as she followed him, gruesome fangs bared. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest. Harry rises even higher, the Horntail's head rising with him, her neck now stretched out to its fullest extent.

You jump as the Horntail lets out a deafening roar, her tail thrashing threateningly as she blows another burst of fire at him, which he thankfully dodges.

She opens her mouth and then she finally rears, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last and Harry seizes the opportunity to dive at an incredible speed. You can barely keep your eyes on him with the rate he's whistling through the air, hurtling towards the nest of eggs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." you chant, hands tapping frantically at the tops of your thighs as you sit on the edge of your seat, watching impatiently.

Harry takes his hands off his broom, seizes the golden egg, and with another huge burst of speed, he's off and soaring out over the stands. He tucks the egg safely under his uninjured arm, and looks out over the stands.

You can't help but jump out your seat, cheering yourself hoarse as you voice your praise and feel relief wash over your body like a tsunami. The noise around you is monumental, drumming in your ears like a jackhammer.

"Look at that!" Bagman yells. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

The dragon keepers rush forward to subdue the Horntail and you hurry out of your seat, practically sprinting to the entrance of the enclosure. Minerva is hot on your heels and Moody and Hagrid have already beaten you, waiting with wide smiles for Harry to land.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Minerva cries as the boy hops off his broomstick. She points a shaky hand to his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Harry, you were brilliant!" You exclaim excitedly, eagerly pulling him in for a hug and beaming at him. Normally, you'd worry about other students thinking you have a favourite — which you do, of course you do — but today you couldn't care less, you're so overwhelmed with relief and swelling with pride for your godson. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry! Just — fantastic, honestly, I can't believe it, I was so worried — I'm so proud — "

"Thanks," Harry says, unable to keep the large smile on his face down, his face red.

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says loudly, so that Hagrid doesn't blather on about how he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. You give a light chuckle.

"Yeh' did it, Harry!" says Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' — "

Even Moody looks very pleased, the slightest of smiles tugging at his cracked lips. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please..." Minerva says, gesturing to the tent with her hand.

He leaves, giving you all a grin before heading into the tent and you just smile proudly after him, rolling on the balls of your feet.

"Oh, he was just excellent, wasn't he?" Minerva says to you, smiling. "The best out of the all the champions, by far!"

You nod enthusiastically. "Easily! Oh, Merlin, I am just so glad he came out alright, I thought I was going to chew my own hand off with worry..."

"He was migh'y," Hagrid says loudly, a sob racking his body as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a large handkerchief, bigger than your face, and blows into it. "Jus' migh'y."

"Oh, Hagrid," you say softly, reaching up to place a comforting hand on his back, smiling sympathetically.

Across the enclosure, the five judges are sitting at the end in raised seats draped in gold. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raises her wand in the air and what looks like a long silver ribbon shoots out of the end of it — forming the shape of a large figure eight.

"Not bad," you remark, clapping along with the crowd. "Must've been the injury that lost him marks..."

Crouch comes next, shooting a number nine into the air.

"Excellent!" Minerva exclaims.

Next, Dumbledore puts up a nine and the crowd yells louder than ever.

Ludo Bagman — ten.

You turn to Minerva in disbelief, matching looks of shock with each other before you eagerly applaud.

Now, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand — four.

"What?"You yell indignantly, blinking several times to make sure your eyes aren't tricking you. "A four?"

"How shameful, he gave his own student a ten!" Minerva remarks angrily.

Several members of the crowd seem to agree with you, bellowing angrily and booing at Karkaroff's biased marking.

Suddenly, Sirius' words ring in your head.

He's a Death Eater.

You feel your spine chill as you look across the enclosure at Karkaroff's steely expression, steadfast in his decision to reward Harry four marks.

Scumbag.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"A toast!" Dumbledore announces, raising his glass. "To the completion of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

You grin, raising your glass in tandem. "Cheers!" You clink it against Minerva's, then with Professor Sprout's on your other side.

All the staff have gathered in that small room right of the Great Hall for a little staff-only party, the fire blazing in its place and radiating a pleasant warmth around the room. The house elves have prepared a small spread of finger foods for the lot of you — and you've gone straight for the cupcakes, decorated humorously with little edible dragons. They're delicious — you make a mental note to voice your thanks to Bitsy the next time you see her.

Despite the happiness that's settled in you since Harry's successful task, when your eyes land on Karkaroff, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you, talking with Snape, unease gnaws at your gut.

You're sitting in a room with a Death Eater.

You've been in this situation countless times, of course, back when you were an Auror. But then, you knew what was going on. You knew what you were in for. Here, you don't. At parent-teacher meetings, you don't doubt you've been in the company of some Death Eaters, or former Death Eaters, rather. Some of your Slytherins' parents certainly seem to have a fondness for opaque, long-sleeved shirts...

You can't help but remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup, and your brain starts to picture one of those cruel Death Eaters pulling off his mask and revealing Karkaroff's sharp face.

You grip your champagne glass tightly, downing the contents and taking a deep breath. You should go mingle, the time for investigating Karkaroff can come tomorrow.

It's this little staff party that you finally get acquainted with Madame Maxime properly, trying your hand at your conversational-level French. She seems very impressed at this, delighted that you know at least a little bit of her own language — she says something about the 'arrogance of native English speakers', which you don't disagree with.

"Oh, and look at zis pretty diamond on your finger!" Madame Maxime exclaims suddenly, catching sight of your engagement ring, sitting pretty above your wedding band on your left ring finger. She takes your hand in her much larger one so she can inspect it closer. "You are married?"

You look at the sparkling ring, glinting in the candlelight, smiling softly. "Yes, I am."

"'Ow sweet," she remarks, dropping your hand gently. "I was married once."

You raise your eyebrows imploringly and she leans closer, waving her large hand theatrically as she says, "But 'e was a bastard."

She laughs fiendishly, and you just sort of watch, unsure whether you should laugh or not.

"You can laugh!" she assures when she sees your unsure expression. "Good riddance, is what I say. 'E thought 'e could keep ze company of some girl while I was at working at Beauxbatons — so I said to 'im, 'fuck you and ze 'ore you rode in on!'"

You nearly choke on your champagne, shocked at what you've heard come out of Madame Maxime's mouth. She grins proudly, showing rows of pearly white teeth. She seems to be finding your shock very amusing as she laughs again.

"His loss," you tell her, chuckling.

"Absolument." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though it was nothing to her but a stone in the bottom of her shoe. "Et toi? 'Ere is your 'usband?"

You don't answer her for a moment, sucking on your teeth. "Well, I don't know, actually."

"'Ow do you not know?"

"Because he's just escaped from prison," you answer simply. You don't know what makes you tell her that. It would have been so easy to lie, but you don't. Perhaps it's the two too many glasses of champagne you've had, or perhaps it's the way Madame Maxime doesn't seem to care about anything, really, other than Fleur Delacour and the tournament.

Her mouth drops for a second, before she laughs. "Ah, well, c'est la vie. Marriage is never easy."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. It feels weirdly relieving to you that she couldn't care less about your personal life. You find a new respect for the woman in front of you. "Certainly not."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

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[fermentedfanfics]

the cottage on the hill.

hey cuties here’s another au fic, i feel like aus are the only things i write these days?? i just have a lot of ideas i want to insert loki into lmfao. ummmm i simply did no research on this genre whatsoever so i’m really sorry if it kind of sucks or is a little all over the place?? let me know what y’all think! <3 also, there’s going to be instances of mentioning of reader’s father’s initials on items, it will be done so as (F.I) thank you cuuuttiiiieeessss. this fic series is explicit and for 18+ audiences, minors dni.

summary: reader lives in the hills outside her local village, close to the fae border. after a fateful encounter with a black cat, she accidentally invites the fae king into her home. warnings: (for future chapters) fem!reader, smut, fear kink, praise kink, piv sex, unprotected sex, different time era, kinda obsessed loki? not kinda, he is obsessed, i’ll add more as the series progresses. word count: 4.1k tag list: @colorsunimaginable @huntress-artemiss (please reply below if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic series!) part two (will link once posted.)

“You should move into the village.”

You’ve heard the sentence plenty of times, over and over again– and at this point it’s a nuisance. But the old woman in front of you, her serious tone, you know you cannot laugh and wave her off. Not Meredith. Your fingers dig into the handle of your woven basket, placing four nice, round apples (the last of her order) into her hands– she sharply thrusts the six copper and one silver coins it cost her into your hands. “The hills are not safe.” Meredith grumbles, her one eye that hasn’t gone blind is shooting beady daggers into your soul.

You thickly gulp and shakily nod your head, tucking the coins into the small pack sewn to the hip of your dress. “Yes, Meredith. I’m making arrangements.” You lie, and she knows you’re lying to drop the topic. But before she can barrage you again with eerie warnings of your home, your heels have turned and you’re on your way. You thank her profusely of her patronage, but you must be on your way. Household chores and the lot.

You’ve actually not much to do today, but you desperately do not wish to sit and listen to Meredith and her outlandish stories of the fae. You were smarter than she thought, you knew to stay home and never wander. Ever since the passing of your father, the village has grown more concerned about you living in the hills all by yourself.

With nothing much else going on in their lives, it’s expectant for them to bud their noses into other’s lives and gossip– you didn’t think this much though.

“Y/N!” Gareth, a tall townsman that you’ve found yourself day-dreaming about on multiple occasions, catches your attention just as you are to leave the village. His frame towers you, and his dirty blond hair is messy from work, sticking to his forehead in the sweltering heat of the day. “Heading home already?” He muses.

You smile, nodding slightly. “Only a few deliveries today.” Gareth looks you over, your basket almost empty, odd for someone about to head home. “May I walk you?” He offers, but before you can even think you’re declining his offer and absconding.

You aren’t sure what possesses you to isolate yourself from the town, but ever since your father’s passing you’ve found yourself uncomfortable with any sort of bonding the people of the village offer you. Even from someone you fancy.

It’s an hour's time from your home to the village, you hope to be home before the sun sets. While you aren’t afraid of walking home in the dark, your trusty dagger tucked to your hip and out of sight, you also didn’t want to deal with the troubles night brought. The warm, summer wind kissed your cheeks and cooled the sweat forming on your forehead, thankful you weren’t nearly as heated as you could be.

Following the brown beated trail from your house to the village, you kept notes of your surroundings. The birds that flew ahead, the rabbits that hopped around you– if you had your traps you’d make the effort to catch some for dinner. You thought of tempting one with kindness and taking your blade to it, but you didn’t want to waste daylight.

The forests around you whispered ancient tongues directed towards everything but you about you, just as they were taught to. Where you were, who you spoke with, what you were doing– they knew far too well who would be asking these questions. But they didn’t have to, he was already there– watching.

You listened to the crunching of the leaves and sticks below your feet, enjoying the day's walk. If you were in your right mind, you would have taken Gareth up on his offer to walk you home, but there was something different. Something wrong. You could feel it in your gut, and your father always told you to never ignore a gut feeling.

Picking up your pace, the strange feeling relaxed a bit as you could see the faded, moss-overgrown roof of your home. You could practically feel the comfort of your rocking chair once the stone fencing of your house came into view, shoulders slumping. 

Digging into your basket, you pulled an apple from it. Turning it to the side, you eyed the small, brown, bruise that made the woman that you tried to sell it turn it away. You felt lucky the apples trees lining the forest near your home had decided to bear fruit this soon, but a bit bitter at the expectations from the villagers. The trees were there when you were born, they weren’t going to be perfect every year.

Pulling your dagger from it’s sheath, you carefully cut the bruise from it and began to cut the apple in half, then into quarters and so on. You were left with dingy, but still edible apple slices, popping them into your mouth as you completed your trip. The sweet juice was satisfying.

Without warning, a sudden loud chatter pulled you from your thoughts. Your dagger slipped from your hands from the startle, looking down to see a beautiful, sleek black cat staring at you. He seemingly came from no where, or at least snuck up on you while you hadn’t noticed. “Oh!”

He was possibly the most beautiful cat you’ve ever seen in your life, your heart instantly swelling. Black cats were a parah amongst the villagers, harbringers of bad luck, death, and everything terrible. It wasn’t uncommon to see the instant death of black cats– it was one of the reasons you didn’t want to move to the village.

Squatting to your knees, you held your hand out to the cat, beckoning it. “Hello pretty kitty..” A smile curled to your lips as he dipped his head into your palm, purring. Oh, what a way to end the day. However, just as quickly as he turned sweet, he instantly turned sour.

The cat snapped at your hand, nipping your palm with his sharp teeth. You shouted, wincing in pain as you fell back onto your backside. “Fuck!” You cursed, looking down at the small bite mark in your hand, light dribbles of blood pooling from the wound. Well, suppose there was a reason people were wary of black cats.

Before you could react, he swiftly picked your dagger into his mouth, blade hanging out. In an instant, he was a black blur in the wind. “No! No, no, no– please!” Your voice immediately cracked, standing to your feet in an instant to chase. But it was no use, the minute the cat ducked behind the apple trees and into the forest your run came to a stuttering halt. Your chest rose, a burning sensation flaming across your skin and tears pricking your eyes.

Your father’s dagger, his prized dagger– the one he made himself and gifted you just days before his untimely death, it was gone. Just like that. Falling onto your bottom once more, you heaved at the sky. “Fuck!!” You shouted.

What would a cat want with a dagger anyway?

It was dark by the time you picked yourself help and dragged yourself into your home, tears streaking your cheeks. You cried hard and long in front of those trees, your grief gripping you by the throat with a strong vice. You’d thought you were okay. Yes, you were broken by your father’s death, alone with no one to protect or love you– but you’d stopped the crying weeks ago!

You were frustrated at how easily your sobs came back due to something so simple. Sniffling, you closed and locked your wooden door before heading to the kitchen. You needed to eat. A solemn expression settled on your face, and the ache that grew in your chest hummed painfully.

A soup would do good tonight, something comforting to pull you from this rut. Grabbing two large, chunky potatoes from the sack in the corner of your kitchen you placed them on the counter, ready to cut. Instinctively, you reached for your dagger to use and gasped when you felt it’s emptiness.

Shit.

Tears welled again, and your crumpled to the floor like a wet rag. Nothing had ever hurt so much.

Your little home filled with the sounds of your moaning sobs, weak sniffles and frustrated screams. You felt like a child having a tantrum, and all you wanted was your father. But even he couldn’t come to help.

You cried yourself to a short slumber.

Thump. Thump. Thump!

You jolted. Eyes bleary from the tears, you confusedly blinked them. Was that the door? Pushing yourself up off the floor, you wiped your wet face with the sleeve of your dress. Seems you didn’t sleep that long, it was still dark outside– just how late into the night was it?

Thump. Thump. Thump!

“Gods! Who…who would be here..?” You whispered to yourself, picking yourself up off the floor as you tried to make yourself look presentable and not like you hadn’t just crumpled into a mess of a woman. Wiping your hair from your face, you quickly rounded the corner of your kitchen to your front door.

The strange feeling that fluttered your stomach on your walk home returned, making you hesitate in opening the door. Unsure of the feeling, you took a step back from the door, staring at it warily. Perhaps you had heard wrong?

Thump. Thump. Thump!

Christ your candles were still lit, they knew you were home. You didn’t wish to deal with an intruder or burgler, let alone someone coming in to do you harm. You didn’t have your dagger, but you surely had your kitchen knives.

Running back to the kitchen, you quickly grabbed one and slid back to the door. Hiding it behind the door, you finally slid the wood slab that kept it locked away and creeked it open, peaking your head out. “..Yes?” Your voice wavered slightly.

You were surprised at the stature of the stranger in front of you, noting how you actively had to look up. He wore a hooded cape that hid most of his upper torso, the hood settled atop his head and slightly covering his face. It was dingy and slightly torn, little holes littering hte hems indicating how long he’d been using it for. His boots were covered in mud, as if he traveled far. You squinted your eyes at him.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“My lady,” He grinned, cunning and wicked. Your stomach twisted.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you so late into the night, but, I was passing– and noticed the initials etched into your home.” Despite his attire, he was eloquently spoken. You gripped your knife tighter, trying to keep a calm face.

“Are you perhaps, F.I?”

“I am. What is it to you?” You were stern, this caused him to chuckle. It was deep, almost mesmerizing.

“Then, I believe this belongs to you.”

The stranger then reached his hand out, and you tensed. You were expecting something terrible; a curse, a dagger ready to rob, anything bad that would befall you and make you meet your end tonight. You were correct, in a sense, but the dagger in his hand made you gasp.

You didn’t even think when you dropped the knife, the clatter not reaching your ears as you opened your door wider and grabbing it from his much larger hands. “My dagger!” You heaved, the smile of relief that washed over your features make him smile wider.

The handle was carved beautifully out of wood, wrapped in a thin leather for grip. But in the blade, an engraving stood out. F.I. Your father’s dagger was back in your hands. “Gods! I never thought I’d see this again. Sir, thank you! Where did you ever find it?” Your wide eyes looked back up at him.

“Well, I found it quite odd to see a cat carrying such a thing. It dropped it when I scared it, so I kept it– just in case. And on my travels to the next village over,” He motioned towards the one you had just came back from. “I saw your home, and your initials.”

Your heart raced with excitement and joy, pure, unbridled joy. The sadness you had felt had washed away, and was replaced with a happy melancholy. Your father was still gone, but it was like he’d returned home.

Your fingers grazed the blade, looking it over. It was undamaged, surprisingly. “How could I ever thank you?” You whispered, your mistake.

The stranger held back his wide smile, sharp teeth gritting with delight. He knew not to get too excited, not too giddy. Good things come to those who are patient afterall.

Dipping his head slightly, he cleared his throat. “If it’s no trouble to you, madam, would you be so kind as to offer this traveller a meal? To ready him for his continued travels?” He innocently asked.

Looking up at him, you thickly swallowed. A stranger, in your home. Your mind, body, and soul were on different paths. Your gut said no, turn him away and call it a night. But, your heart, oh your weakness. He had kindly given you back your beloved dagger, even though he could have kept it for himself because of how well it was made. A meal was nothing to you, nothing.

Biting your lip, you peaked at the knife on the ground. Norns. “Yes!” You almost shouted, clearing your throat. “One moment.”

When you shut the door of your house, you looked down at the dagger for a moment before tucking it into it’s sheath on your hip. You picked up the knife that had made it’s way to the floor and tried your quickest to put it back into the kitchen. You hadn’t even started dinner, but the soup you were to make would do just fine.

Back to the door, you opened it and this time fully opened it, allowing the stranger access to your home. “Please, come in.” You offered with a wry smile.

The stranger graciously accepted your offer, stepping into your small, cozy little home. Your scent engulfed him, and he had to turn away from you for a moment. You’d already turned your back to him, heading back to the kitchen. “There’s not many places to sit, other than the table and my chair. Feel free to get comfortable if you wish, I’ll be making dinner then.” You wave your hand at him.

He takes your advice and melts into your chair, almost radiating in the fact that it was yours. He was delighted, gleeful in fact. You’d been much dumber than he expected, but it was with charm. Your back turned to him, he greedily took in your backside and bottom as you began to chop away at vegetables; potatoes, carrots, peppers– anything to add to the soup. It wasn’t going to be much.

“So, my lady. What does F.I stand for?” He mused.

You bit your lip, rolling your shoulders slightly. “I’ll admit that I lied to you. They are my father’s initials, not mine.” You admitted, dumping the potatoes into a pot of water you had prepped before you fell asleep. You’d have to go out and get some chicken feet to add flavor so you weren’t just feeding him vegetables and water.

“Ahhh, a little liar on my hands?”

“Well, I didn’t know who you were!” You defended yourself.

“And your name?”

“What about it?”

He grinned, so you were a tad bit informed. “May I have it?” His question was so simple, and very innocent. He was good at making your skin crawl, your forehead sweat, and your abdomen warm. Strange, indeed. You remembered what Meredith told you. Never give your name to a stranger, they’ll take it for good. “No..” You sighed.

You jumped when he burst into laughter, haughty and loud. You’d almost nicked yourself with the knife when he did, looking over your shoulder with confusion. “You are very smart, madam! Suppose I should stop testing you.” Testing for what? You wondered.

“What is your name, my lady?” He finally asked, like a normal person. You were beginning to believe he wasn’t a normal person, and the thought alone made you shudder. “What is yours?” You asked instead.

“Loki.”

“Loki?” You reiterated, it was a foreign name certainly. One you’ve never heard.

He liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, and the fact that you simply didn’t realize who he was by name only elated him. Were humans forgetting? Becoming more stupid? Loki revelled in the thought of what the future would bring.

“Yes, Loki. Now I’ve told you mine, you must tell me yours!”

You chewed on your bottom lip. “Y/N.” You huffed curtly.

Loki already knew your name, the trees whispered your secrets to him. It’s why he knew everything about you, why he loved you.

“I must step out to my coop for an ingredient, try not to mess with anything.” You simply stated as you walked across from your kitchen to the back door by the chair he had so comfortably plopped himself in. You wiped your hands onto your apron before opening the door and stepping out. You just needed some chicken feet.

When you returned, you instantly noticed Loki was no longer in the seat he was in. Before you could panic, you finally noticed him leaning over the pot of water and vegetables. 

“I told you not to mess with anything.” You almost scolded him, a hint of faux-ire in your voice. You tossed the chicken feet you’d acquired into the water, looking up at him. He seemed dissatisfied with what you were making, and it made you upset. Sure he returned your dagger, but he was a guest and you were genuinely going out of your way to feed him.

No traveller would be this picky.

“I was wondering if you’d planned on feeding me just water and vegetables.” He taunted.

“And I was just thinking no traveller would be this picky.”

His silence chilled you to your core as you picked up the pot, huffing at it’s weight. You struggled to bring it over to the fire hole in the center of your home. With effort, you were able to plop the pot right over the fire– it would be a bit before it was done. This left you with some time with Loki, and your skin itched at the idea.

You melted at the dining table your father had also made, a soft sigh escaping your lips. Loki joined you, sitting across. His hood was still on, despite his comfort in your chair he had not made any advances to relax.

“Where do you hail from, Loki?” You finally asked him a question, one you should have asked long ago. The strange feeling in your gut did not leave whatsoever, in fact it only worsened. The hairs on the back of your neck stood when he was near, and his voice sent chilly vibrations throughout your body. You weren’t quite sure if you were afraid, or attracted to him.

“Asgard, and I assume you hail here?”

You couldn’t tell if Loki was lying or not. With everything he said, you just weren’t sure what to take at face value. It was what bothered you the most about him, he was a wall you seemingly couldn’t knock down. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

“Yes. My whole life.” You admitted.

“And where is your father?” The question stung, and Loki knew it did.

You’d remembered and grieved your father’s death far too many times today, your face said it all. Nose slightly scrunched, brows furrowed in such a miserable sense– it almost made Loki want to jump from where he was and hold you.

With watery eyes, you coughed slightly to cover it. You looked away, over to the pot checking it hadn’t boiled over. “He’s dead.” You quaked. This night wasn’t how you planned and you wanted it to end instantly.

But looking over his figure, his large hands with long, delicate fingers– he’d overpower you easily should the night go awry. You admit you were scared of Loki, deeply afraid. His mere presence evoked a trigger in your flight or fight responses, and you wanted to fly.

“That is a shame truly, to leave a lovely daughter all alone. With no one.”

His words were a stab to the heart, breaking you down. You abruptly stood from your seat, clearing your throat. “The..soup.” You motioned over to it, your excuse for leaving. Hastily making your way over, you grabbed a large wooden spoon from the kitchen and began to stir. It finished much faster than you anticipated, but you were glad it was. The sooner he ate, the sooner he left– right?

Loki watched you carefully as you walked from the kitchen to the pot again like a ghost, two bowls in hand. You first filled his, the broth a nice brown-ish colour from the cooked chicken– and when you handed it to him you held up your hand for one moment.

You returned from the kitchen with a loaf of bread, breaking a piece for him. He gratefully took it. You then made your own bowl and joined him once again at the table, exhausted. Loki ripped a piece off the bread you’d given him, dipping it into the hot liquid before taking a bite. A hum escaped his chest, as if he were a starved man eating for the first time in weeks.

Starved but picky? His strange aura eluded you. “Much better than I expected, this will get me through the night, madam.” He grinned, almost as if he wanted to taunt you to anger– to do something not in your right mind.

What was the point in sharing names if he was just going to call you madam and lady? You weren’t even a lady, the state of your home made that clear. Tearing off a piece of bread, you silently dipped it into your soup and took a bite. Much to your surprise, he was right.

The soup was delightfully flavourful, instantly warming your core. Your mouth watered as you swallowed the broth soaked bread, picking up one of the smaller wooden spoons you’d grabbed for the two of you to eat with. You scooped up a chunk of potato, slurping it down with a bite of bread and as you chewed you began to realize there was something off about the soup.

You wanted to panic, to stop eating, but you didn’t. You kept eating it, because it was delicious. It was the most delicious soup you’d ever made, and you were a pretty good cook. Your mind ran wild with how something so simply put together tasted so good that you didn’t notice Loki had finished, and was watching you devour the soup and bread like you were the one starved.

When you finished the soup, you couldn’t stop the sigh of content that released from your chest. You felt warm, fuzzy, and sleepy. A tired you’d never felt before. You chalked it up to eating such a hot dinner on such an emotional night, but you knew you were going to sleep heavily afterwards. You looked forward to it.

Loki standing up pulled you from your daze, your tired eyes looking up at him. “Thank you for the meal, my lady. But I must take to the night.” He told you holding out his hand. Without much thought, you slipped your hand into his. Loki brought your knuckles to his lips, placing a chaste kiss upon them. Your brows flew up in surprise at the sentiment, the skin where he’d kissed feeling hot as well as your cheeks and ears. This was unexpected.

“Oh, it’s alright– please.” You awkwardly pulled your hand from his, stepping aside to lead him to the door. A part of you was jumping with glee that he was leaving so soon.

“If it’s no mind to you, when I am finish with my duties in the village, may this traveller come back for another meal tomorrow night?”

His question did not have time to linger before you agreed without thinking, wishing you’d bit your tongue. With a grin, Loki let himself out and was gone into the night. You closed the door, sliding the lock into place.

You stared at the door for a moment, then wavered to the bedroom in the back– it was your father’s bedroom now turned yours. You plopped into the bed, softly grunting as your body collided with the fluffy blanket. Your body was burning, and your head was elsewhere. That soup did a number on you, and as you thought back to seeing Loki leaning over the pot, you drifted into a deep slumber for the rest of the night.

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[kingofsummer93]

Northern Lights in Our Skies

Summary:

Two years after the war with Hybern, a looming conflict once again threatens Prythian's fragile peace. With the safety of the human lands at risk, Elain jumps at the opportunity to act as emissary to a distant, mysterious realm.

That she will get to expand her horizons along the way is a bonus she'll gladly take.

That she'll have to do so while masquerading as Lucien Vanserra's wife, on the other hand, is something she'll need some getting used to.

Ao3 | Masterlist

Chapter 1

Elain woke to the sound of cicadas buzzing loudly in the humid, sweltering summer heat. It was so loud that it felt like the sound was coming directly from inside her skull.

Everything was too loud. She could hear worms wriggling in the earth in her garden, a distant rushing sound as waves crashed on the shore, the hustle and bustle of the markets in the city center. All of it accentuated by a thousand scents- some sharp and foreign, some warm and comforting.

For a moment she was so disoriented and groggy that she lay in her hammock and let the warm breeze sway her gently. She could feel the skin on her shoulders and nose burning, and wondered how long she had been asleep in the sun. If her mother was alive she would have scorned her for the way her usually fair skin had freckled from her hours in the garden, and was now tinged pink from her nap.

Elain sat up slowly, retrieving the floppy hat that had fallen off her head as she dozed. She realized with a jolt that though the sun was still blisteringly hot, it had started its descent in the sky. She must have been asleep for hours. Why had no one come to get her? Perhaps Feyre had fallen asleep as well. Nyx still wasn’t sleeping through the night, and Elain sometimes wondered if all of Velaris could hear her nephew when he started to wail. The thought made her smile, even as her body shook with a powerful yawn. At least with an infant in the house she had a ready-made excuse for her daytime drowsiness.

The truth was that ever since she had come out of that cauldron Elain dreaded closing her eyes. If she did, her sleep would be fretful, interrupted by nightmares so vivid that she would wake from the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest. Or else, and even more horrifyingly, she’d be awakened by dreams.

The dreams were worse than the nightmares because there was no way to tell which were visions and which were simply her mind playing tricks on her. The dreams were tinged with golden sunshine- not the muggy heat of summer in Velaris, but pure, undiluted sunshine. Sunshine so warm and glorious it couldn’t possibly be real.

She dreamt of swaying palms, a city of white marble rising like a fortress atop a hill, sunken pools filled with crystal clear, blissfully cool water. Her dream self gazed out at impossibly turquoise waters, visible in the distance through arched windows draped in gauzy curtains. After one such dream Elain had gotten out of bed and ran her fingers through the heavy silken drapes at her window, feeling almost absurdly surprised that they weren’t the weightless, flowy gauze of her dream, and that the view from her window was of her garden, and not an ocean she’d never seen.

Sometimes her dreams were filled with nothing but sand, and when she woke she could almost remember the feel of it drifting through her fingers, as elusive as the dream itself.

But most of all she dreamt of a fiery, mismatched gaze. One eye of russet, twinkling in mischief, and one of gold, boring into her as if it could pierce directly into her soul. Hair like a river of molten lava, sensual lips curved into a teasing grin. Instead of waking up from those dreams in a panic she would wake, inexplicably and without fail, with the scent of him in her nose and her heart beating a slow, leisurely pace. She thought she could smell that maddening scent even now, like some phantom presence- woodsmoke, crisp apple, and something else, something musky and undeniably male. Something like the scent of skin after a day in the hot sun.

Elain inhaled again, and her lungs filled with the familiar scent of her garden. Daylilies, hydrangeas, geraniums, earthy soil, and underneath it all, the sharp scent of decay.

Not real, she reminded herself. It was just the gods-damned mating bond playing tricks on her as she slept. She shook the thought from her mind and headed back towards the house to clean up before dinner.

Her little sister’s house, where she stayed like some charity case. She tried not to let it sting, but when the melancholy took over she couldn’t help it.

She was meant to be lady of a household by now. She was meant to host parties and balls and raise a child of her own. She wasn’t meant to be living in her little sister’s house, helping in the kitchen and spending her days in the garden.

Not that she would ever have admitted it to anyone. She was grateful, of course, but some mornings she simply lay in bed and wondered how her life had turned out this way, and how she had gotten here.

Graysen had been wrong for her, she could see that now. Living with a happily mated couple, though sometimes mortifying, had certainly taught her what unconditional love was supposed to look like. If Graysen had been the right man for her he wouldn’t have let his prejudices and fear get in the way of them being together. Or at least, that’s what Elain told herself. It was easier to convince herself that it hadn’t been true love, than to think that it had, and that she had lost it.

She pushed open the back door to the kitchen with a sigh. It was rare that she allowed herself such bouts of wistfulness. Especially in the summertime, when she had the luxury of losing herself in soil and blooms and sunshine.

The house was quiet as she crossed into the entry hall and towards the stairs. Too quiet. Unnaturally quiet. No as if it was empty, but as if whoever was inside did not want to be overheard.

Elain held her breath and strained her ears. Maybe Feyre and Rhys had managed to put Nyx down, and were taking advantage of the silence to lock themselves behind some wards. That was just as well- maybe she’d have a quick bite and then go to bed early.

But then she heard it, beneath the sound of her own beating heart. A drumming, strong and sure, cutting through all the background noises of Velaris until it called out to her like a lighthouse in a storm.

Shit. He was here. Her mate. How had she missed this? She’d probably been asleep when he arrived. Normally Elain could tell the moment he stepped foot in the Night Court. The golden cord that tied them together would go taut, buzzing with life, as if rejoicing at the fact that her mate was near.

She didn’t even have any authority on how her body reacted to his presence. One more choice that had been taken away from her.

With another sigh she turned back to the stairs, fully intending to go upstairs and pretend to be asleep until he left. With a little luck he had just dropped by to update Rhys on the situation in the Spring Court, which he only ever did behind closed doors, and afterwards he would leave straight away. It was rare that he stayed for meals, anyway.

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes.”

The memory of those words flitted through her mind, as they often did when he was around. It stung every time, the reminder that she was a burden to him as much as he was to her. Even more so, perhaps, from what she understood of the mating bond and how it affected males.

Elain was halfway up the stairs when she heard the rumble of voices from the direction of Rhysand’s office, growing louder with every step. Either he hadn’t bothered with wards, or they didn’t think anybody would be around to overhear. Typical of them to forget about her.

She recognized his voice almost immediately. Deep and rich, as soothing as a cup of hot tea with honey. And then Rhysand, and his lazy, authoritative drawl.

And then a third, fainter than the first two. Slightly stuttering, as if the speaker was intimidated in the presence of the two fae males, but also quietly outraged. Something about it was familiar.

Familiar, and yet so out of place that Elain’s feet started moving towards the closed door to the study of their own accord. In the seconds it took to reach the door she convinced herself that she had imagined it. It couldn’t be- she must have misheard.

She barged into the room without bothering to knock and all four occupants whirled towards her. Still she could hardly believe it, even as her eyes confirmed that her ears hadn’t deceived her.

“Graysen?”

---

Lucien’s stomach dropped as the door opened and Elain walked in, her doe eyes wide with surprise. Her familiar jasmine and honey scent filled his lungs, awakening that ancient, primal beast in his chest.

Mate, the beast purred. You are mine and I am yours.

He was all too aware of the human man sitting on the other end of the couch, as far away from him as he could get. It usually amused him to see the lordling cower from him, but something about seeing it play out in this context only reminded him of the female who also shied away from him.

The female currently standing in the doorway, gawking at them all. Her thick, curly hair was slightly mussed, as if she’d been asleep, and the tip of her nose was flushed pink with sunburn. Something about her slightly disheveled state was so charming that his chest constricted.

He hated himself for it, these raging instincts that paid no heed to the fact that she was acutely uncomfortable around him. Sometimes Lucien wondered if she knew how strongly he desired her, and if that was partly why she recoiled from him. He wouldn’t blame her if it was.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Graysen’s mouth set in a thin line, his body going rigid with tension. It was an effort not to snarl at the man.

“Elain!” Feyre jumped to her feet, glancing between himself, Elain, and Graysen, seemingly at a loss for what to say.

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Elain was frowning at her ex-fiance, her voice small and tentative. The opposite of the bubbly, smiling female she was around anyone but him. It might be the only thing he and Graysen had in common, Lucien thought drily.

Graysen quickly glanced at him, visibly uncomfortable. Lucien let a small lick of flame spark to life in his russet eye, unable to stop himself, and Graysen blanched.

“Ask your mate,” the man said through gritted teeth. “He’s the one who dragged me here.”

Lucien couldn’t hold back his snarl then, even as hearing Graysen say that word satisfied some idiotic, male part of him. Elain’s arms wrapped around herself as she winced. Lucien immediately felt wretched, even if he hadn’t been the one to say it.

“Is someone going to bother telling me what the hell is going on?” Elain demanded, her voice slightly unsteady.

Feyre froze, blinking at her sister in surprise. Her ex-fiance looked at her sharpy, frowning. Lucien felt his lips twitch, even with the awkwardness of the situation, and the severity of the problem that had led him to drag Graysen all the way to the Night Court in the first place.

There you are, that beast in his chest crooned. Show me. Show me who you really are.

She was the biggest enigma he’d ever encountered in his life. Always so polite, so well-mannered, like the lady Feyre had claimed she was. Except when she’d let something slip, a curse or an eye-roll or an expression of irritation that was quickly tampered. It made Lucien endlessly curious about how far he’d need to push for her to truly snap.

Nobody spoke. Feyre and Rhysand were staring at each other, no doubt communicating mind-to-mind. Graysen seemed torn between running out of the room and wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

How many conversations did Feyre and Rhysand leave Elain out of? It made Lucien’s blood boil just thinking about it. His fingers clenched around the handful of reports he was still holding.

“My father is mobilizing his troops.” The words were out of his mouth before he had made the conscious decision to tell her.

Elain looked at him sharply. “Against the Spring Court?”

“You don’t need to worry about this-” Feyre started, glaring at him from her seat across from him.

“Against the continent,” Lucien continued, holding his friend’s blue gaze. “The human lands on the continent.”

Feyre sighed an all-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Elain inhaled sharply, her big brown eyes growing even wider. Lucien felt a trickle of alarm that definitely wasn’t his own hit him through the bond. Not for the first time he wondered if she was aware of this connection- and if she had ever felt any emotions come from him.

“What?” Elain moved fully into the room, shutting the door behind her. “What did you say?”

It was Graysen who cut him off this time. “Feyre is right, this is hardly the type of conversation for-”

“For what?” Elain snapped. “For me? Just because I’m not a trained warrior, I shouldn’t be told these things? I’m assuming Nesta already knows about this?” she added, turning to her sister.

“No,” Feyre said, scooting closer to Elain. “This is…” A glance in his direction. “Very new information. We need to figure out what our move is before we make it known.”

“We’re trying not to spread panic,” Lucien started, surprised by her passionate outburst. “With some luck we can stop him before he does anything.” He glanced at Graysen, who met his gaze with disdain. How he wished he could just reduce that little shit to ash some days.

Elain sat down next to Feyre heavily, clutching her floppy hat in her hands. She looked so out of place in this room, in this discussion, that it was almost endearing. “And if not? What is he planning to do? Why the continent?”

She was looking straight at him as she asked, and Lucien was so surprised that she was talking to him almost normally that he momentarily forgot the severity of the discussion.

“We think he’s looking to grow his numbers by taking out what he possibly considers to be weaker armies with little chance of resisting.” A scoff from Graysen. Lucien ignored him. “My intel estimates that he plans on coming back to Prythian to invade Spring from the south.” From the human lands, he didn’t need to add. Lands that he would decimate in the process. It was an effort to keep calm, to not let his fear and hatred show.

“We have to do something!” Elain exclaimed. “The fae territories on the continent-”

“Will be reluctant to help,” Rhysand cut her off gently. “Prejudices and perceived hierarchies run even deeper on the continent than they do here. They won’t be easily swayed to come to the aid of human territories. If anything, they might see it as an opportunity to join the fray and attain some land for themselves.”

Elain gaped at the high lord. “Surely that’s not true!”

“He’s right,” Lucien agreed. “They stayed out of the way during the war with Hybern, waiting to see how the dust settled. It worked for them then, why step in now?”

Elain looked so affronted that Lucien almost felt bad for telling her in the first place. “Scythia’s army came to our aid during the war. We’re supposed to repay the favor by sitting back and watching them get invaded?”

“No,” Lucien declared forcefully, remembering who, exactly, had secured that alliance on Prythian’s behalf. He had no doubt she was thinking of the same thing. “We will not.”

“Scythia’s army is divided,” Graysen piped up. “Some forces have stayed behind to help us rebuild. Sending them back now-”

“Is not your decision to make, last time I checked,” Rhysand drawled.

“And where are Jurian and Vassa?” Graysen cocked his head in mock wonder.

“They didn’t need me to drag their asses across the continent to convince them of the seriousness of the situation,” Lucien ground out. He glanced at Elain again and took a deep breath to calm himself. He had little doubt that she wouldn’t appreciate him punching Graysen in the face, regardless of how her relationship with him had ended.

“What good will rebuilding achieve if you get invaded again?” Feyre asked, eyes narrowed.

Graysen sneered at her. “We do not have any troops to spare. What good is it to send my men to get slaughtered across the ocean?”

“What about the other courts?” Elain asked quietly.

“Spring is still in tatters,” Lucien said simply. “Summer and Winter will no doubt be more interested in defending their own borders than helping a foreign territory.”

“And the Solar Courts will likely decide that the matter doesn’t concern them,” Rhysand said with a frown.

“But-”

“We need to call a meeting with Thesan and Helion,” Lucien decided. “Get them on our side before they can decide to shut their borders and stick their heads in the sand too.”

“I don’t understand,” Graysen said, stubbornly. “Why don’t all of you just work against him, you could easily stop him-“

“For the same reason you’re not preparing your soldiers for potential battle as we speak.”

Lucien stared as Elain’s hands shook in her lap. Even Feyre seemed surprised. “Or is it only you that gets to play ignorant in this scenario?”

Graysen opened his mouth to retort but Lucien cut him off before he could speak. “I’d be very careful what comes out of your mouth next, Nolan.”

“Or what?” he shot back, his tone dripping with venom. “You’ll burn more of my ash groves? Ash that we could have used if we are going into battle.”

“Not if,” Rhysand cut in, his voice clipped with quiet menace.

Lucien dug his fingers deeper into the plush armrest, if only to prevent himself from pouncing on the sneering prick. At this point he was fairly certain that it was only Elain’s presence that prevented him from ripping his throat out.

“You need to remember that every breath you take is a gift that I allow you to have,” Lucien growled.

Feyre and Rhysand were very still, no doubt communicating silently once more as they watched the interaction unfold.

It was Elain who eventually broke the silence. “Are you done with your territorial fae bullshit?”

For a second Lucien thought he must have misheard. He had never heard her speak like that, and certainly not to him. Her eyes were narrowed at him, hands clenched around her sunhat.

And fuck him, but something about it made his blood heat a few degrees. His heart rate picked up, and too late he saw her eyes narrow even more as she undoubtedly heard it.

“Don’t you mean, am I done with my territorial mate bullshit?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. Dead. He was a dead male. But something about her shooting daggers at him…he’d piss her off any day if it meant she’d stop cowering from him.

“Can you blame humans for being fearful of the fae?” she asked, squaring her shoulders. “When this is how you…we, treat our supposed allies?”

“No,” Feyre agreed, also glaring at him. “We don’t blame them.”

Lucien raked a hand down his face. This was going nowhere. “I get it, I’m the big bad fae. What else is new?” He turned to Rhysand before either female could retort. There was a lazy, knowing smirk on his face that Lucien suddenly wished to claw off his face. “Contact Helion. I’ll reach out to my contacts in Dawn. Thesan will listen to them.”

“This is a dangerous game,” Rhysand replied, all traces of humor instantly gone. “If the others find out…”

“We’ll make it seem like some Solar Court summit. Some holiday, I don’t know. I’ll come up with something.”

A sharp cry suddenly pierced through the air, and Feyre and Elain both jumped to their feet.

“Stay,” Elain said, hurrying towards the door. “I’ll get him.”

She paused halfway out the door, hesitated, and then turned back. “I want to go,” she said, looking right at him. “When you talk to the other High Lords, I want to be there.”

Lucien didn’t bother looking at Feyre and Rhys before replying. “Done.”

Her eyes danced with something like victory, and then she was gone.

---

It took two weeks to arrange the meeting. The summit, as they were calling it. A new, yearly tradition to discuss trade and commerce between the Solar Courts. Or, at least, that’s how it would appear to the outside world.

The River House was in a constant state of activity in the days leading up to the meeting. It wasn’t anything Elain hadn’t grown accustomed to, with the Inner Circle coming and going as they always did. Nor was having to insert herself into the discussions and planning.

It had been the same at Solstice, with the visit to the Hewn City. As abhorrent as she found the Court of Nightmares, she hadn’t appreciated the assumption that she wouldn’t want to be involved. She had hoped that her declaration that she was a part of this court, and a part of this family, would make a lasting impression, but of course it was too much to ask.

“You don’t have to come, really.” Feyre had said just this morning. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

As if the safety and future of the human lands (lands they had called home until very recently, people who had been their neighbors and friends) should not have been something for her to worry about.

But Elain tampered down her irritation, as always. They all had roles, and this was the one she was meant to play- she was the one to be fussed over and coddled, a precious thing to make the stronger people around her feel ever stronger. She hated their surprise every time she spoke up during meetings, their hesitation and uncertainty every time she asked to be involved in something. Sometimes she wanted to scream at them to look at her, notice her, see her.

Elain looked at herself in the gilded mirror in the entryway of the River House and frowned. She was dressed in black, like the rest of the court. The gown was too heavy for summer, with a bodice of heavily embroidered satin that restricted her breathing, while her neck and arms were covered in sheer black organza.

To say black was not her color would have been an understatement. The color made her skin, lightly tanned and freckled from the hours she spent outside, look pale and sallow. Even her hair looked dull- mousy and muddy, rather than its usual golden brown. She had pinned up half her curls with pearl-encrusted pins, letting the rest tumble down her back. In the secrecy of her bedroom she had opened her jewelry box and lifted out a pair of earrings that she rarely allowed herself to think of- and much less actually hold in her hands. Pristine, teardrop shaped pearls dangling from a delicate silver chain. They would have gone perfectly with her hair pins, but of course she couldn’t wear them. For the same reason that her palm still slightly stung from a savage thorn that pierced clean through her gardening gloves the day before.

The dress wouldn’t have been her pick, naturally, but she didn’t have the heart to argue when Feyre had presented her with the garment the night before. Looking like she belonged with the rest of the delegation was more important than her vanity. Besides, she told herself- it wasn’t as if she was trying to impress anybody.

She smoothed her skirts, her hands clammy with equal parts nerves and, despite the reason for the meeting, despite the looming threat of war, excitement. The only significant meeting she had ever been a part of since becoming a part of her sister’s court had been the meeting at the Nolan estate, and that had ended with her broken engagement. Besides, the only other court she’d ever seen were the battlegrounds during the war with Hybern. This was her first opportunity to see a different part of this new world she now lived in.

The front door burst open and Nesta walked into the foyer, looking slightly cranky. “I don’t understand all the pomp and circumstance,” she complained by way of greeting. “Aren’t we trying not to draw attention to this meeting?”

She was wearing a gown of silver silk that looked like it had been poured over her like liquid metal. Her hair was braided around her head like a crown, and the effect was regal and arresting. In Elain’s opinion Nesta had nothing to complain about when it came to outfits, but perhaps her sister had grown so accustomed to spending every day in fighting leathers that anything else felt unnatural.

“High lords can’t help showing off when they get together,” Cassian said with a smirk. “Just look at these two.” He jerked his chin towards Feyre and Rhys.

Rhys was in his usual immaculate black jacket, while her sister had dressed for the occasion in a gauzy midnight blue dress, embellished with iridescent crystals that shone like the night sky when hit in low light. Even little Nyx had dressed up for the occasion, in a tiny version of his father’s outfit- though the little lord looked even grumpier about it than Nesta.

Elain tried her best to ignore the other set of Illyrian wings blocking the light from the open front door as Cassian bent to drop a friendly kiss to the top of her head. It was difficult to do so when she felt Azriel’s eyes on her like a brand.

Her infatuation with the spy master had been ill-advised to say the least- though, if she was truthful with herself, that might have been part of the appeal. Still, the memory of that night made her burn with embarrassment and shame whenever she thought about it.

A mistake. That’s what she had been.

Another man who had run away at the first sign of trouble. Or, in this case, before the first sign of trouble. What was it about her that was so abhorrent it made men bolt out the door? First her fiance, who had gotten on one knee and declared his never-ending love for her, then her mate, who was meant to be her soul-bonded partner for life, and then Azriel. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic.

“Everyone ready to go?” Feyre asked over the quickly growing pandemonium in the hall.

Elain glanced around curiously. “Where’s Lucien?” Their brief interaction in Rhysand’s office had been playing on a loop in her mind for the last two weeks. She couldn’t explain it- the thrill of satisfaction she’d felt at seeing the surprise flash across his usually neutral facade. She could explain even less the amusement she could have sworn she had felt, even though she had been anything but amused. It had taken her a while to realize that it had been his amusement. With no small amount of horror she wondered if she’d ever inadvertently sent him any of her emotions. How horrifying, if she had.

Every single head in the room swiveled towards her, all bearing various degrees of amused expressions.

“This was his idea, wasn’t it?” she asked defensively.

“He’s meeting us there,” Feyre replied, looking like she was trying to suppress a smile. “With Jurian and Vassa.”

“Oh. Right.” She cleared her throat awkwardly, feeling herself flushing against the weight of so many eyes on her.

It was just as well, really, considering the dream she had had the night before. If she had trouble meeting his gaze before then she certainly wouldn’t be able to now.

“Don’t you mean territorial mate bullshit?” He had asked in that deep, rich timber. Except in her dream the words had been murmured, gravelly and rough.

“Say it,” that voice had prompted. His lips had been pressed to her ear, so that it felt like the words were slipping right into her soul.

She had known what he had wanted to hear.

“I’m yours,” she had whispered. “Mate.”

She had woken up and immediately needed a cold bath to dispel the memory of that dream.

Elain shook her head, sweating in her dress. Suddenly she wondered at the wisdom of going to the summit with the inner circle- she’d be stuck in a room all day with him, with no easy way to escape him as she did here.

Get a grip, she scolded herself. You are a grown woman.

Female, she reminded herself. She was a grown female. Years later and she still had to remind herself.

Rhysand held out his hand to her, and before she could further talk herself out of it she slipped her fingers into his. All at once darkness enveloped them, tinged with a citrusy salt spray. Elain shut her eyes against the disorientation of being winnowed, that hollow feeling of stepping off a ledge into the void. A moment later solid ground slid beneath her feet once more, and she felt the darkness dispel. The first thing she noticed was the sound of gulls squawking overhead, and the feel of a hot, salty breeze lifting the damp curls stuck to her neck.

She opened her eyes, and her jaw fell open. They were standing in a courtyard at the base of a set of wide stairs that led to an imposing marble palace. The courtyard was flanked by intricately carved columns, some accented with floral motifs, others carved into a variety of animals or fae figures. Some were covered in crawling ivy or bright, vivid blooms the likes of which Elain had never seen before. Tall palms dotted the walkways, their swaying leaves creating dancing shadows over the mosaic tiles on the ground. In the very center of the courtyard was a large sunburst, made up of what looked like hundreds of tiny gems in shades of orange, yellow and gold. They had winnowed directly into the center of it, and with the hot sun beating on them it felt like they were standing in the purest form of sunshine.

Elain’s nerves melted away as she looked around her in awe. The palace was built at the foot of a white-washed city that rose up gently sloping hills. To their right Elain could hear the sounds of a bustling harbor, and behind them- her breath caught as she turned to look. A few steps behind them the courtyard melted into a stretch of sand so white it almost looked like snow, and beyond that, a sparkling turquoise sea. The sun was beginning its descent over the horizon, shining molten red in the sky as it set the waves glittering golden.

It hit her like a punch to the gut. She had seen this place before. There was no mistaking it- that white sand, those palms towering so high she had to crane her neck to see the tops of them, those white buildings dripping down that hill like an avalanche of marble. She had never seen anything like it in person before- the shore near Velaris was rocky, and in the human lands the ports she’d seen had been smelly and bustling with activity and noise. And yet she recognized it immediately, from the glimpses of it she had seen in her mind’s eye.

“Finally,” a deep, rich voice boomed somewhere behind her. “I was beginning to wonder if you would show up at all.”

Elain turned to see the High Lord of Day slowly descending the steps from the palace, an easy, warm smile on his handsome face. She had only met him on a few occasions, and had always privately giggled at the revealing garments and sandals he favored, even when visiting the Night Court. But here, even from the few glimpses she’d so far had of his court, Helion couldn’t have looked more like the High Lord of Day. His golden sunray-shaped crown glowed almost molten in the setting sun, his deep complexion radiating health. He was wearing his usual white draped robe, cut to show off powerful legs and muscular chest and arms. The ensemble was finished by a snake cuff on his bicep, and golden sandals that laced up his calves.

The opposite in every way of their delegation, all dressed as if they were attending a particularly festive funeral. Elain glanced down at herself, feeling dowdy and out of place in her stuffy dress.

“You did say sundown, did you not?” Rhys drawled, raising an eyebrow with his usual cool detachment. “Is it not sundown?”

“Ahh, yes. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable, you see. Wouldn’t want you all melting in the sunshine.”

Elain stifled a giggle, and Helion’s sharp amber eyes snapped to her, scanning her quickly from head to toe. Not a provocative gesture, as she’d witnessed him do on both males and females, but assessing. It felt strangely like having a beacon of light aimed right at her, and suddenly she was sweating even more than before.

“The lovely Elain.” He inclined his head in greeting, spreading his arms wide to indicate his glowing city. “Welcome to the Citadel!”

Elain dipped into a curtsy and saw the rest of their delegation follow suit. “Thank you for having us,” she said politely. “But you don’t need to worry about the sun.”

Helion tipped his head to the side in question.

“They won’t melt in the sun, you see. But salt water might do it.”

The High Lord tipped his head back and roared. It was a booming, bright sound, like an explosion of light. Too late Elain realized what she had said.

They. Meaning, there was them, and then her. Separate from them. She hoped nobody had noticed how easily the word had slipped from her mouth.

“Ahh, well, in that case, we must make time for a swim!”

Elain glanced at the calm, glittering turquoise sea, unsure if he was serious or not- and even less sure how to answer. Nesta had taught her how to swim (even though it was hardly a necessary skill for a lady) if only to be able to bathe in the river near their cottage during their years of poverty. But she had never gone swimming in a larger body of water, much less an ocean. And never in front of others. She had no clue what swimming clothes even looked like.

“I’m sure Lucien would enjoy that…” Nesta whispered under her breath.

Elain whirled, gaping at her sister, her cheeks burning. She knew for a fact that with everyone’s fae hearing the rest of the group must have heard, but mercifully they all pretended like they hadn’t.

Because she was Elain, and nobody beside Nesta ever dared tease her. Sometimes she was grateful for it, but most of the time she wished they would treat her the same as everyone else.

Nesta was smirking at her, blue eyes shining with mischief. Out of the corner of her eyes Elain saw Azriel glaring in her sister’s direction, but she didn’t dare look at him. If he was so determined to ignore her existence then she could play that game as well. Maybe she would go for a swim, in whatever surely scandalous garments the Day Court deemed appropriate for such an activity.

Nyx let out a loud gurgle, snagging the High Lord’s attention away from her before she was forced to answer.

“Thank you for having us in your home,” Feyre said graciously, smiling as Helion cooed at Nyx.

“The pleasure is all mine. You know I love a chance to show off.” A few snickers from the inner circle. “Come, let us discuss business so we can move on to the revelry!”

They followed the High Lord up the steps and into the imposing palace. Everything was rendered in shades of white and gold, with bursts of eye-catching vegetation and flowers. White marble floors were inlaid with intricate mosaics, ranging from abstract swirls and sunbursts to intricate scenes depicting what seemed to be Day Court history. The walls were dotted with open archways in lieu of real windows, letting in the radiating light of the setting sun. Water fixtures gurgled merrily, and with the abundance of climbing ivy and potted citrus trees, Elain had the distinct impression of being outdoors, rather than inside a palace.

“Do you not have winter here?” she asked curiously, peering at the arched windows draped with fluttering gauze curtains. “I thought the solar courts all had regular seasons?”

“That they do,” Helion said, looping his arm through hers. “However, my ancestors were not fond of winter, and by consequence the citizens of the Citadel enjoy perpetual summer. I have to say, I’m quite grateful to them.”

Elain laughed slightly breathlessly, resisting the urge to glance at his half-exposed torso. No wonder he dressed this way, if he never had to worry about the cold.

“What a dream,” she said wistfully. “I hate winter.”

She hadn’t always hated the cold. She had warm memories from her childhood, watching lazily falling snow from the living room window, a warm fire crackling merrily behind her. Building snow structures with her father, even as her mother looked on in disapproval, claiming that such activities were not fit for a lady. Once, her father had shown her how to lay on her back and wave her arms and legs in order to create a snow angel. Elain had laid on her back and let the falling snow melt on her tongue. Of course it has tasted like nothing but in her mind she had convinced herself that it tasted sweet, like falling sugar flakes.

But then had come her mother’s death, and her family’s downfall, followed by years of terrible winters. She had always been cold during those years- like the cold had seeped into her bones, the fire never burning hot enough, her clothes always too thin. Those winters had left a lingering mark, and a permanent dislike of cold weather and the memories it triggered. Permanent summer sounded like heaven- gardens in bloom year-round, warm nights scented by salty sea air, days filled with sunshine. She felt a strange ache at the thought of it, like a phantom pain for something she’d never had.

“You are welcome to my city whenever you like,” Helion said with a roguish grin. “I’ll give you a tour of my private gardens later, you’ll never want to leave.”

“Are you trying to poach members of my court, Helion?” Feyre’s tone was friendly, but Elain detected the note of protectiveness underneath the teasing words. Always concerned, always worried. She was surprised an intervention hadn’t been held yet for her. Although, maybe her sister and Rhysand didn’t think she wished for more than what she had. After all, why should she?

“Only the very beautiful ones. Which is to say, all of them,” the High Lord quipped, throwing a wink to Cassian and Azriel over his shoulder.

“Careful how you proposition my mate, High Lord,” Nesta said cooly, earning another round of booming laughter.

Mate. Elain was happy for her sister- of course she was. It was only in the darkest hour of night, when visions of her own mate prevented her from slumber, that she allowed herself to be resentful of her sisters’ relationships. Not of their happiness, but of the nature of those relationships, and what they represented. Incredibly rare, more permanent than marriage, the most sacred bond two people could share. Mates. It was a constant reminder of her own unwanted bond, every minute of her life.

Elain had expected Helion to lead them into a conference room of sorts, or perhaps even an official throne room. The fact that he had fetched them himself should have hinted at the informality of his court, but she was still surprised when he opened the doors to a courtyard and ushered them in with a flourish.

The space was furnished by low couches upholstered in colorful jewel toned velvet, with potted citrus trees and climbing bougainvillea perfuming the air. There were pitchers of wine and flavored water on tables between the couches, and plates overflowing with bread, cheese, and fruits. Standing in the corners were servants, dressed in garments similar to Helion’s, waving large palm fronds to dispel the heat. But what really caught Elain’s eyes were the birds. Trotting around the grass were the oddest looking birds she had ever seen. Some were shockingly pink and balanced on one leg, while others had a plumage of rich blues and greens, with tail feathers so wide and intricate they looked like mosaics. She was momentarily so distracted by the odd birds that she didn’t notice that they weren’t the first to arrive.

A male was seated on a golden velvet couch, though he rose gracefully as they entered. Elain recognized him immediately, though she had never seen him in person before. The High Lord of Dawn, radiating health and youth. His golden complexion glowed in the setting sun, his stunning upturned brown eyes warm and sharp with intelligence. He wore a simple deep blue tunic and loose, breezy pants that tapered at the ankles. Elain once again felt overdressed as she looked at his simple, flowing garments. Thesan’s lover watched them with eagle eyes as the High Lord approached and their group bowed to him- save for Feyre and Rhysand.

“The future High Lord of Night,” Thesan said with a smile. “What a pleasure indeed.”

Nyx gurgled in response, earning some titters from the assembled fae. Her nephew was being unusually well-behaved, Elain observed with a smile. Perhaps he was as taken with the radiance of Day as she was.

“I hear congratulations are in order?” Feyre asked, nodding towards Thesan’s hand, and the simple golden band adorning his ring finger.

Thesan inclined his head in acknowledgment, glancing over his shoulder to his Seraphim captain, whose watchful gaze had softened slightly.

Torches of fae lights were flaring to life around the courtyard as the golden light of sunset gave way to twilight. Glasses of crisp, bubbly wine were poured, and as Elain sipped from her chilled glass, listening to the polite, if slightly reserved conversation around her, she almost forgot they weren’t here on a simple social call.

Until a Day Court fae opened the doors to the courtyard, and the missing guests arrived. She recognized Queen Vassa and Jurian from the war, the former regal in a gown of deep cobalt, the later elegant in a fitted jacket and trousers- no weapons to be seen. It was one of the rules established when High Lords gathered, Elain knew- no physical brawls. There were two High Fae males she didn’t recognize, though from the sigil on their armor she took them to be from the Spring Court.

And in the center of the group- there he was. Her mate. He was always well dressed, but it seemed like he had gone to extra lengths tonight. His deep green jacket was cut close to his muscular frame and richly embroidered with gold thread, the gold clasps down the front gleaming in the fae lights. He had braided back sections of his long red hair, leaving the rest flowing like liquid fire down his back. Elegant, powerful, impossibly handsome. And, flanked as he was, arriving like a High Lord backed by his court- it was sending a message, Elain realized. A reminder that it had been him who had called this meeting in the first place.

His eyes found hers, as they always did, and for a moment she could have sworn that his golden skin glowed with an inner light. And then she blinked, and it was gone.

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[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 17

Word Count: 3.5K

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack, as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

A/N: uh oh, things are changing...

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There was a tense air between (Y/N) and Derek as they reached her house. He helped her off the bike and kept his hand on her lower back as they walked to her front porch but did not say a single word. His stare was a million miles away, and she could tell his thoughts had been running rampant in his head.

“Are you okay, Derek?” the girl finally broke the silence as she slid her key into the door. “You feel weird. Like, distant.”

“I’m fine,” he said, his stoic façade still plastered on his face. “I just need to make sure you’re home safe before I get my pack.”

“They’re fine. They’re hiding up in my room.” She pulled out her phone from her pocket and showed him Isaac’s text confirming that they had locked themselves in her house. “But I need to know what you’re hiding right now because I know something’s up.”

“Everything’s fine,” he huffed. “Why are they here?”

“I thought they’d be safe here,” she responded. “Don’t change the topic, Derek. You know you can’t lie to me.”

“I just… we gotta stay away from each other for a while, okay? Believe me when I say, it’s for the best.”

The answer took (Y/N) aback. She stepped away from his touch, as though suddenly it burned her. His words had seemingly come out of nowhere. They were in a good spot, she thought. They weren’t exactly in a relationship, but they weren’t not in one either. They had been speaking consistently for the past couple of weeks, they had seen each other when they could, and they had kissed. God, did they kiss. “I-I-I don’t understand,” she stammered as she blinked away her confusion. “I thought we were good. I mean, I know our situation isn’t exactly ideal, but I didn’t think it was going bad.”

“It’s just not the time to deal with feelings, (Y/N),” he sighed. “I have to focus on how to get rid of the Kanima and why Scott would betray us. I simply don’t have the bandwidth to focus on you too.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I was such a distraction,” (Y/N) scoffed, putting another step of distance between them. “You know, it was only a few weeks ago that you were saying you wanted this to work. No matter how long it took or what hurdles we had to go through. You said I wouldn’t have to go through life alone, not while you were here. Was that all just bullshit?”

“It wasn’t… It isn’t…” He ran his hands across his face in frustration, letting out an infuriated groan. “With everything that’s going on, I can’t risk being close to you, (Y/N). The more time that passes with the Kanima here, the more hunters will arrive. Especially now that I have a target on my back, thanks to your cousin. Being with you only makes that target bigger, and it puts it on my pack too. I have to make the right decision for them.”

“So, everything I’ve done to help you guys out means nothing?” she cried, biting down the tears that threatened to spill. “I’ve stuck my neck out for you on more than one occasion. I think I’ve proven to be an asset to you and your pack when it comes to my family.”

“You have and I’m grateful,” he said. Derek took a beat before continuing. It seemed he knew the next words out of his mouth would drive a wedge between them that he wasn’t sure would ever be removed. “I just don’t know if one day you’ll turn on us like Allison has done to Scott, or even like Kate did to me.”

If there was anything he could say that would drive (Y/N) away, it was that. Her fears of one day becoming like her aunt still haunted her to that day. It was a quiet but haunting rumble in the pits of her mind, fed by her insecurities and her fears, and very much alive.

“A-are you serious?” (Y/N) wanted to appear confident and confrontational. But she couldn’t help the way her voice broke. “Do you really think I’d be capable of doing something like that?”

“I can’t be sure, (Y/N). I want to believe that you won’t and that you and your father are truly on our side, but I have to take precautions. It’s not just my life that’s at stake.”

(Y/N) didn’t know if his words stung more than the unchanging expression on his face. There was no care, no compassion. She wasn’t talking to Derek, her sour wolf. She was speaking to Derek, the alpha. “What brought this on, Derek?” she asked. “What made you change your mind all of a sudden?” 

“It wasn’t anything specifically. It’s just… the situation we’re in is basically unheard of, and I need to make sure that I’m putting a hundred percent of my brain into resolving this,” he said. “And if Scott isn’t going to help, then I have to find a way to end this once and for all. I can’t be worrying about the hunters coming from your side too.”

 Words died in the girl’s mouth as she tried to conceal the hurt that coursed through her veins. It was a betrayal like no other. “Is that really how you feel?” (Y/N) asked, her resolve quickly coming undone. “You once told me that you knew that I would never be like Kate. That there was no way I could be that heartless. Does that mean you lied? Have you always felt this way?”

And with determination like she had never seen from him, he said, “Yes.” By then, she couldn’t hold back the tears, but she wouldn’t let him see her hurt. She couldn’t keep the drops from falling, but she could keep her sobs inside. “(Y/N)…”

“Go,” she said sternly, facing her door and giving him her back.

“(Y/N), I…”

“I said go, Derek,” she restated, raising her voice. “You can call your pack after. But you need to get out of here right now.”

Before he could say another word, (Y/N) slipped into her house and locked the door behind her. Shuddering cries threatened to break through, so she clasped her fist into her mouth and bit down. She did not want him to hear her. He’d been able to shatter her heart with a few words, but he did not deserve to know her pain. Not anymore.

As the tears fell, she remembered the cuts on her face. Every time another drop fell, it sank into the open wound, mixing blood and salty water down her cheeks. The sting was enough to subside the pain in her chest, but not enough to make it go away. And all she wanted was for it to go away.

Suddenly, soft steps on her stairs forced her head to snap forward to see a witness to her despair. Erica wore a sympathetic smile on her face, something that surprised (Y/N) out of her tears. It had been the first time she had even held a kind gaze toward the girl, always throwing sarcastic comments or unnecessary jabs her way. But at that moment, she came to her as a friend.

“Let’s fix up that face,” she said. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

“Uh, um,” (Y/N) cleared her throat. “There’s one under the kitchen sink.”

“Let’s go.”

The blonde helped her up from the ground and followed her quietly into the kitchen. She didn’t throw snarky remarks her way or make fun of the way her face was most likely a disaster. All she did was remain silent and try to help.

Once the first aid bag was on the counter, Erica patted a stool to instruct the girl to sit. Something she very much obliged to before the werewolf set to work. She put on a pair of black gloves and set to clean the wound with cleansing wipes, clearing away any debris or tear that might have mixed with her blood.

“This is gonna sting a bit, okay?” Erica announced as she uncapped the liquid stitch bottle. “Do you need something to bite down on?”

“No,” (Y/N) smiled softly. “Go ahead.”

The girl winced softly as the liquid touched her skin, but it was quickly replaced with the comfort of Erica’s soft hands pinching the slash closed. She repeated the step two more times before cleaning the area once more and covering it with a gauze bandage. “There,” Erica said as she finished bandaging her arm as well. “The wound should breathe during the night to help with the healing. Try to keep it dry or without direct water contact for about five days, and you should be good.” 

“Thanks,” she said. “You’re good at this.”

“I’ve had one too many falls not to be,” the girl chuckled as she put away the kit. “It’s actually the reason I’ve always wanted to become a doctor. I wanted to make sure no one else went through what I did.”

“Why can’t you?”

“At first it was because I was so behind in school, I’d never get the grades to get into a good school,” she shrugged. “Now, with the whole werewolf thing, I don’t think I could.”

“Why not? I think now it’ll be so much easier for you,” (Y/N) offered. “Now, you don’t have to deal with the seizures, and you can focus on your schoolwork. Later on, I’m sure any school would be begging to have you go there.”

“I don’t know,” the blonde sighed. “I guess, after seeing everything I have and going through what we have in such little time, I think med school seems stupid in the grand scheme of things. I would love to live a normal life, but I don’t think I was ever meant to. I mean, at first, it was epilepsy. Now, it’s the fact that I’m part wolf, part human, and I have yet to get that under control.”

Seeing Erica be vulnerable and sweet surprised (Y/N), and it was a welcome distraction to whatever it had been that had gone down with Derek. “You know this is going to end someday,” she tried to comfort her. “We’re gonna beat the Kanima, and the hunters will go back to their own lives. Life won’t always be like this.”

“How can you be so sure? Something tells me there’s always gonna be something in this town,” she chuckled dryly. “The only way to go back to normal is to leave.” 

“Is that what you want? To leave Beacon Hills?”

“I mean, it’s a plan,” she shrugged as she sat beside (Y/N). “I didn’t think it would be like this. The constant looking over my shoulder, the fear that I’ll be caught, the fear that I’ll be killed. I wanted the strength, the power that came with being supernatural. But I didn’t really measure the danger that came with it. Unfortunately, not every hunter can be like you.”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever complimented me,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Don’t know how I feel about it.”

“Don’t get used to it,” the girl grinned. “But seriously, you have no reason to protect us like you have. I mean, apparently, even lovesick Allison turned on lover boy.”

“Yeah, grief makes you do unthinkable things,” she sighed. “Especially when you have a monster like Gerard whispering in your ear.”

“And he doesn’t whisper in yours?”

“God no. I don’t think he particularly likes my family. At least my dad and I.”

“Ooh, family drama?”

“None that I know the details of, but I know it has something to do with me and some woman from my dad’s past,” (Y/N) explained, remembering the not-so-hushed words from her parents. “Also, my dad sort of sides with the wolves rather than the hunters. He thinks their methods are too extreme and cause more harm than good. He told me he wants to change the group from the inside out, but it’s hard.”

“And you believe him?” Erica inquired, biting the skin from her fingers. (Y/N) could see she hadn’t noticed yet. It was something she did before turning, a way to calm her senses when everything seemed too much. “Do you really believe he’s on our side?”

“He helped me find Derek tonight, and he covered for me about the rave. I don’t think he would lie to me about that. My mom on the other hand…”

“Can’t stand us?”

“Yup.”

“Well, you can tell her the feeling is mutual.”

“Hey,” (Y/N) exclaimed with a smile. “That’s my mom you’re talking about.”

“No offense,” Erica laughed as she threw her arms up in surrender. “But seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but thank you, (Y/N). I’ve unnecessarily been a bitch to you, and you don’t deserve that. So, I’m sorry.”

“Am I really getting an apology from Erica Reyes? I think I might be dreaming.”

“Oh, come on,” she chuckled. “I’m trying to be serious here—vulnerable. I am grateful for what you’ve done for me, even when I was horrible to you. You didn’t have to.” 

“Well, you got the bitch part down, I didn’t think I needed it, too,” (Y/N) grinned before she took Erica’s hand and smiled warmly. “But it means a lot that you apologized. Thank you. Maybe from here on out, we could be friends. I honestly need more in this town.”

“I think that would be great,” she beamed. “I’ve been needing a dose of estrogen after so many months surrounded by testosterone.”

As the girls laughed, footsteps came down the stairs and quickly joined them in the kitchen, followed by the pitter-patter of claws against the hardwood floor. “Well, look at these two fraternizing,” Isaac told Boyd. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I would be rude not to when it’s her house,” Boyd shrugged. “Which, again, thank you for letting us hide out here. We haven’t really received any other instruction from Derek.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think you will anytime soon.”

“What do you…?” Isaac’s words died in his throat as he noticed (Y/N)’s bandages and the smell of iron in the air. He was quick to rush to her side, inspecting her visible skin for any other wound. “What the hell happened?”

“Ah, just a small run-in with Jackson,” she shrugged as she knelt to pet Brody, scratching him on the spot behind his ears he loved so he wouldn’t worry about her. “I’ll be fine. I just don’t heal as fast as you guys do.”

“How serious was the cut?” Isaac asked Erica, knowing (Y/N) would only wave him off. “Was it deep? I knew I should have gone with you to the station.”

“It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, Isaac. She’ll be fine.”

“Dude, calm down,” Boyd chuckled. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

“Thank you, Boyd,” she smiled toward the boy. “I really appreciate the vote of confidence. You should learn from him, Lahey.”

“Yeah, it’s all fun and games until you get seriously hurt,” he grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. “I can’t believe I let you go there by yourself. I should have been there.”

“And risk getting caught by my grandfather? Absolutely not,” she reprimanded. “As a matter of fact, all of you need to lay low because while Jackson is still the Kanima, more hunters will keep flooding into town, and I don’t wanna risk any of you getting caught. If you need a place to stay, I think I can talk to my dad and help you guys out. Maybe tell my mom the basement flooded and keep you guys there?”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” Boyd smiled. “We’ll talk to Derek first. See what the next steps will be.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed lightly. “And if you can find out what the hell is going on with him in the meantime, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

The four of them spent the next hour in her kitchen, talking and laughing like normal teenagers until Erica and Boyd said they were too tired to still be awake and headed to (Y/N)’s room. But not before the girl turned and thanked Argent for giving her a night where she felt normal. After that, only Isaac and her were left downstairs.

They had moved into the living room, where (Y/N) rested her head on his lap, and Brody curled up right beside them. Henry had texted her that he and her mother would be staying over at Chris’ house and that he’d keep her posted on anything that would be going down.

“I don’t understand what happened, Isaac,” she sighed as she felt his hands running through her hair. “Everything was going great until just an hour ago. What made Derek change his mind?”

“Honestly, I wish I could tell you,” he said. “But Derek’s not one to really talk about what’s going on in his head. The only time he’s ever been nice to me is when you’re around. He’s quite a dick when you’re not around.”

“But he’s still your alpha.”

“It’s not like there are many options here,” he chuckled. “And I guess I feel a bit indebted to him. If it hadn’t been for the bite, I’m pretty sure I would have ended up in the hospital, or even worse…”

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to say the words, instead taking in a shuddering deep breath. (Y/N) could see his eyes getting cloudy with tears as fear overtook him. Even if that part of his life was buried, there was no way to repress the memories.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Isaac,” she responded quietly, taking his free hand in hers. “And I’m sorry you had to go through it alone. I wish I could have at least been your friend back then.”

“I think you came at the perfect time,” he smiled softly. “Just long enough to get my shy and adorable side and stay to see my resurgence into an amazing and confident werewolf teenager.”

“You know, some people would say cocky and self-absorbed.”

“Well, those people would be wrong,” he chuckled. “But you did come at the right time. Those last couple of months, you actually gave me hope. If we had spent more time together, I think I may have even refused the bite.”

“Would you have, really?” (Y/N) mused. “Would you have given it all up?”

“I think so,” Isaac shrugged. “I mean, people around us don’t seem disturbed by what’s going on in this town. All I would have to worry about is whether or not I could pass my classes, and well, social services I guess.”

“Not funny,” she reprimanded, slapping him softly on the chest. “But the supernatural does suit you.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, calm down, Lahey.”

“I’m just kidding, Argent,” the boy laughed. “As for Derek, all you have to do is give it time. He can be a moody one.”

“Something feels different this time, though,” she sighed. “I don’t know what it is, but something’s just off.”

The last thing Derek had wanted was to make her cry. Hearing her sobs through her door made his heart wrench in his chest, and all he could do was get as far away from her as he could. His legs took off in a soft run at first but quickly turned into a supernatural sprint that had his lungs aching for air. All he could do was run.

Soon enough, the scenery of houses and cars turned into trees and bushes. Leaves crunched under his feet, and branches snapped as he stepped on them. Even when a rock stood in his way and threatened to make him lose his balance, he simply kept running.

He wished (Y/N) knew that what he did had been for her own good. If she wasn’t by his side, there was no way she could be used as a bargaining chip. Especially not with Peter back. He didn’t trust his own life in the hands of his uncle; how could he entrust him with (Y/N)’s?

By the time he had reached his family’s house, his body ached all over. Frustration filled his veins, and his limbs ached with the need for violence. He let out an exasperating scream before his fist went through a wooden board. He didn’t know if he wanted to keep breaking down the house or just sit down and cry. As much as he wanted to be by (Y/N)’s side, he knew that the best thing for her would be for him to stay as far away as possible. He had lived long enough with loneliness, though none as hurtful as this one for a long time. (Y/N) would soon enough move on from him, and he’d be the one to carry the hurt. As long as Peter was in town and her family would punish her for her affiliations, he’d just have to stay away.

Next ->

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[axelsagewrites]

Could I ask about something fluffy for Halfdan the black from Vikings please for the V day creations 😁🥰🥰🥰🥰Thank you 🥰🥰🥰

Halfdan*Lofn

Pairing: halfdan x goddess!reader

Word count: 1352

Warnings: forbidden love, made up norse festival bc they didnt have valentines (or anything similar i could find)

Masterlist Here

Halfdan never felt the need to make friends. Not in the way his brother Harald did at least. Halfdan had drinking buddies, war buddies, hell even fuck buddies, but he did not see the point of befriending another lord just for his company. Though Halfdan was not the brother destined to be king.

Halfdan quite frankly didn’t understand why they even had to stop in this godforsaken village. So, when his brother told him they had to stay another five days to take part in their festival he found himself groaning and whining like a toddler.

The only reason he hadn’t abandoned his brother and went elsewhere was because of you. well, he didn’t know your name only your face. But the gods had made it the most beautiful face he’d ever seen.

When he asked his brother about the festival even Harald seemed to know nothing. your village had been named after Freyja so every year you would honour her but neither knew what to expect.

-

The bonfire was higher than any house with children dancing around the flames and drinks flowing freely with the adults. As Harald nursed his third cup his eyes fell upon you and finally, he felt like this may have been worth him staying.

You were sat alone, a few feet away from most on a fallen tree staring into the flames. Before he could think the alcohol had decided for him and he was crossing the grass towards you. “May I sit?” he asked, trying to act nonchalant but he felt an odd blush raise in his cheeks as you lifted your gaze.

Your eyes scanned over him for a moment in silence, from his tip toes to his hair, before finally you gave a small nod. “I’m Halfdan,” he said, breaking the silence once more as he sat down, and he felt relived you gave your name back. “Why are you sitting all alone?” he asked making you laugh a little, “What?”

“Nothing. I like someone who does not beat around the bush,” you said, a twinkle in your eye that made him blush again before your eyes returned to the fire, “I like to sit with my thoughts especially on days like this. Everyone seems so happy,”

“And you, are you happy?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you even if you do not return it.

However, he did notice the smile that tugged on your lips, “I can be at times,” usually he’d roll his eyes at an answer like yours, but this felt different.

“You never answered my question,” he said, and you hummed in response, “Why are you alone?”

“You were the first person to ask to sit,” you replied, finally turning to face him, “I think the better question is why did you?”

Up this close Halfdan could see the flames reflected in your eyes despite the fire being so far away. he could feel its warmth as if it was sat next to him, “I suppose I just wanted to meet you,” he said, his head becoming hazy.

“Are you well? you look like you may faint,” you said, brow knotting in concern.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, “It is very warm is it not?” he said, pulling at his shirt to fan himself.

He only stopped when you stood up, “Come with me. I know where you can cool down,” you said, and he did not need to be told twice.

He followed you down the hill the bonfire was on down to the edge of the shore where you slowly walked along as the breeze from the water finally cooled him down, “I’m not sure what happened,” Halfdan said when he finally felt he could breathe again.

Your smile almost took it away though, “It’s alright. Many become overwhelmed by the end of the night. The fire can burn awfully hot,”

“What is the fire for? I know your celebrating Freyja but why?” he asked, pausing in his tracks when you laughed softly.

You stopped as well and turned to face him, “We do not only celebrate her. well, I do not at least,” you said, turning your gaze to the sea, “We celebrate love. Freyja is of course only one of the three we celebrate,”

“And the other two?”

“Well one is Sjöfn though some rumour she is just Frigg in disguise,”

“Why would a goddess need to disguise herself?” Halfdan asked, suddenly very interested in every word you had to say. “Is she not the goddess of marriage?”

“She is. as well as prophecy and motherhood however sadly, love does not always lie in the marriage. That’s where the third comes in. Lofn,”

“I recognise the name,” he said though he could not place from when.

You chuckled however, “Many do. Few know why. She is protecting the forbidden love. The true love. The love that cannot always be, but you will never lose. She is who I celebrate on nights like these,” you said as your eyes turned to gaze back at the fire.

Halfdan felt a flare grow in his chest, “Why is that? I cannot imagine a man loving you and letting you go no matter the reason,”

Your lips quirked into a smile as your eyes turned to him, “I am not in a forbidden love. Not yet at least. Though I do find the notion romantical,”

“Romantical?”

“Romantical. Mesmerizing. Enthralling. Whatever word you choose. The notion of a love so strong it breaks the rules,”

“You do not like to follow the rules?”

“I do not see why I would,” you said.

Halfdan found himself cracking a slight smirk, “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he said before you decided it was finally time to head back to the fire. As you began to walk up the hill, he decided to ask another question, “Why the bonfire?”

“They say no matter how far you are from the flames you will feel them on your skin if you’re sat with your one love and if you feel a chill stood beside it then it is not meant to be,”

“Is that why there are so many girls sat around it?” he snorted when he noticed just how close to the flames some of them sat. you however chose not to respond to that, and it was enough to make him swallow hard. “Do you believe in it?”

“I do,”

“Why?”

“Because I know it’s true,”

“How?”

“I just do,” you said with a small smile as you arrived back to your original seat, “Your brother is looking for you,” you said, nodding over at the dark-haired man motioning to Halfdan to come over. “I’ll wait here,”

Halfdan sighed, “I’ll only be a moment,” he said as he stalked over to his brother.

“I was wondering where you went,” Harald said as he held out a drink to his brother, “Another?”

“I went on a walk,” he said as he took the cup.

Harald made a face however, “By yourself?”

Halfdan rolled his eyes, “No with…” he said, turning to point to you only to realise the space you once stood was empty, “She was right there,” he muttered before telling Harald your name.

Harald just shook his head, “You weren’t with anyone brother. I saw you walk up the hill yourself,”

“That’s impossible,” he muttered as his eyes scanned the crowd.

His attention was only drawn back when he heard Harald shiver, “You’d think that fire would feel warmer,” he said making Halfdan’s eyes widen.

His eyes turned to the bonfire, staring into the flames. He saw you through them like before but this time he did not see you on the other side. Perhaps he’d drank too much Harald suggested when he assured him no one had been sitting on that fallen tree. However, when Halfdan saw the tree standing unbent and unwavering the next day he knew he had met you. he just had not realised you were a god. A god who he could never love. It was all so romantical he thought.

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#vikings #vikings tv #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #halfdan x reader #halfdan imagine #halfdan the black #halfdan the black x reader #halfdan the black imagine #halfdan fluff #halfdan the black fluff #vikings fluff

[urwendii]

This Bitter Earth/On The Nature Of Daylight

for @mascula-sappho 😘

read it also on ao3 | sequel of this

When Nelyafinwë Maitimo Feëanorion is announced to be released Findekáno drops the heavy book he was carrying and gapes at Eönwë. The Herald for his part is a stoic as ever, distraught elves the slightest of his troubles and with practical efficiency gives him the details of when and where.

He says, "His mother dwells now in Valmar and shall make the journey on the next morrow."

Findekáno tries to answer something that would vaguely sound like the High King he once was, the war captain, the Valiant Hero who killed a Kinslayer. 

What he says instead is "huh."

Eönwë gives him a look that is halfway between pity and self-suffering.

Despite his clear lapse of intellectual display, Finno walks to the Hall as soon as he can, dodging questions and siblings alike. Only Findaráto seems to know - the nér always knows stuff and it is unnerving that these bad habits must continue after his Rehousing. Show off.

It is a clear day and Arien is warm and gentle on his tanned skin and so Finno allows himself to run and leaps over hills and enjoy the burn in his lungs that has nothing to do with feral balrogs this time.

He's halfway there when he realises he has been singing and crying. Tears of joy! His Maitimo, his Russo! How long has he waited for that day, how long has he been scared of never seeing the other nér until the Breaking of the World.

But no! Here he comes, Námo - grey figure warped in white vapours - behind him.

Russo!

Maitimo has not a clear idea of what he is doing but there are legs moving, eyes seeing and hands- hand? oh. Yes, right. Hand - singular - grasping at the cloak The Doomsman has offered to him without a word. The texture is harsh against his tender new skin - the scars are gone at least. He thinks he remembers asking for the hand though. Or maybe not? It doesn’t pain him though and that’s what matters.

Finally they are standing outside and Maitimo has to blink a few times to be able to see through the golden light of the Sun. So many colours! Yellow and green of the trees! red, pink, orange of the flowers and blue and gold.

Maitimo makes a sound. He can do that now. He does not know what type of sound it really is though. It is halfway through a wheezy gasp and a wrenched sob and he keeps making it as if not in control!

There is another nér running up to where he stands, dressed in royal blue and striking braids of midnight black and golden ribbons.

Maitimo doesn’t think he feels any pain anymore - he has healed after all, but there is a tightness on his chest and something is blossoming behind his ribs. For a second he thinks, maybe I should ask Lord Námo if anything is awry. 

But then, there are two arms wrapped about his waist, and he keeps making the strange sound - the other nér seems not to mind, if anything he makes his own. There is wetness on his cheeks. 

He turns toward the Doomsman to ask him - something? Námo stares back, grey, vaporous, immovable then blinks out of sight. 

“Russo!”

Maitimo frowns, he thinks he knows this word - and another that belongs to the shorter nér. He tries to make them into sound and taste the syllables on his tongue.  

“Finde-káno.” yes but not this one, another. It tickles Maitimo’s newly beating heart. " Beloved?”

“Yes” Findekáno - Finno? - shakes with that strange gasping sound he too makes, liquid pouring from both their eyes. “Yes darling. Welcome home”

Three months later Maitimo is overseeing the little garden behind his and Finno’s house - a small patch of soil Findaráto and his mother insisted to help them with, with the strong suspicion his very blond cousin is up to something. But maybe Maitimo sometimes forgets this is not Beleriand after all and all that Arafinwion quirkiness is simply just that.

“Russo, can you come here for a second please?” his beloved calls from the open back window - the one from the kitchen with the golden flowers, the ones he likes to paint.

He’s painting now and drawing! Him, the once-warlord. It’s a one-hand person hobby. Weaving is not. But with this new craft he can ask his beloved to pose for him, sprawled in the silky sheets and dressed only in shimmering golden jewellery. Maitimo cannot understand how he once thought the Silmarils to burn brighter than Findekáno. 

He shakes himself out of these pleasant thoughts - he will revisit the real thing later anyway - and makes his way to the kitchen. Inside Findekáno is precariously balanced on a chair, the tip of his toes supporting his weight and a heavy box. 

Maitimo crosses his arms and chuckles. 

“Come on, don’t just stare and come help me.” his beloved groans, his legs shaking with obvious effort as he tries - in vain - to reach the top of the cabinet. 

How Maitimo loves him! He suddenly thinks, overwhelmed by a peaceful realisation that this- this life, is something he is allowed to wish for and experiences each and every day and night. 

“Marry me.” The words he intended to say were, sure I'll help you - or - you look cute - or something of a short joke, those are always funny when Findekáno turns all huffy and points out Maitimo is the freakishly tall one. 

In the previous months they have not talked of remarriage - it is a slow recovery to relearn all matters of speech and how to exist in peaceful lands. And his new body - free of scars but so sensitive under warm beloved hands. Yet, now - oh now he wants this, what he has not been allowed to have, a proper ceremony for his beloved to wear all the gold he deserves, for his beloved to make him - Maitimo, still undeserving of his beloved’ strength and mercy, yet still so selfish to covet it all the same. 

Findekáno’s eyes are wide and then. The box falls on the floor, scatters Yule - A Taliska tradition his beloved has become very fond of - ornaments all over the wooden floor.

And still his beloved says nothing except looking at Maitimo as if - as if? Well he doesn’t really know, he is still relearning much. 

Then there’s a curse - Taliska again, then another one- Sindar? No- Vanyarin he thinks. And then Finno climbs down the chair, almost trips on a delicate globe of crimson stained glass, stops in front of Maitimo and says,

“Are you sure?”

Maitimo knows his Finno, knows him even when speech sometimes eludes him still and so he nods because in three words he hears others - What about your siblings, still mostly not returned, we won’t talk about your father but surely you must think about this . But it is alright, Maitimo has died once because of his family, now he wants to live for his new one.

“I want a proper ceremony, Finno,” he says, “under the sunlight and in the green hills of Valinor.” the rest of his words are cut by eager lips and soon Maitimo has Findekáno in his arms and they are kissing with tears and smiles and no jewels compare to the light in his beloved’s eyes when he answers, 

“I will marry you over and over Russo, even if Arda breaks and beyond the new infinity of time, there will be nothing that will prevent me from being yours.”

“And I, yours.” he echoes and something settles in him, like a quiet weight vanishing from his shoulders and Maitimo suddenly laughs, happy and quiet.

“What?”

“I have got to get you a taller chair.”

And with the indignant cry of his beloved in his ears, Maitimo chuckles and goes fetch his watercolours. There is a new scene he wants to paint. Of souls of silver and gold, of blue and copper, under vast blue skies, basked in the love they have shared for one another for as long as they remember.

#russingon #russingon fics #maedhros x fingon #fingon x maedhros #these twooooooooo

[kitchenisking]

December Fic Rec

Hello people! It's the first weekend of the month and it's already December, can you believe that?! hope everyone has a relaxing weekend! And happy reading❤️

my hands are tied by theonewiththeeyebrows (painfullystoic) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13610, sterek)

When Stiles is eight he see the red string around his wrist that leads to the edge of town. 

Ten years later, Alpha Derek Hale returns to Beacon Hills after training with premier Alphas and going to college.

That feel when you and your Alpha Werewolf boyfriend are possessive little shits byKing_Claus_The_First - (Rating: Mature, Words: 3051, sterek)

Moments of Stiles and Derek's budding relationship and how the peace doesn't really last.

Alternatively, Stiles will fight anyone who gets between his wolf and him, and Derek will rip the throat of the next idiot stupid enough to try to get him away from his man. And then they get dragged into more shenanigans.

The One with All the Kids byItsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: G, Words: 6527, sterek)

Derek didn't know what he did to deserve to have this again. A house full of people, of family. He's going to be forever grateful to that rouge witch for what she did for him and Stiles, because after all the hurt they went through together, many years later, they're standing in the Pack house, in their house, surrounded by their family.

two hands longing for each other's warmth byEvanesDust  - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11486, sterek)

Stiles and Derek were best friends until Derek started high school, presented as an alpha, and became popular. The following year, their almost nonexistent friendship became even more strained when Derek pushed Stiles away after the deaths of his girlfriend and family. 

Still, when Stiles presents as an omega and his first heat approaches, Derek’s the only alpha he wants.

His Abandoned Omega by xcaellachx - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 40491, sterek)

Stiles Stilinski is an omega who was promised to an unknown alpha in a much-anticipated and influential arranged mating. When his alpha never showed, his family and the town took it out on Stiles in the form of physical and mental abuse. He has become a shadow of himself, lonely and desperate for affection.

Derek Hale refused to let himself be trapped in an arranged mating so after college he never returned home. Now he must return to Beacon Hills because his father is ill, though he has a feeling it is nothing more than a trap. 

One chance meeting changes both of their lives and Derek is determined to end his arranged mating so he can claim the omega of his dreams with the gorgeous whiskey eyes. Stiles is filled with hope for the first time in years, but he has sworn to save himself for his arranged alpha. Will Derek be able to change his mind or will the town beat Stiles down before he can?

Trust me by madsmeetsmisha - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 43882, sterek)

Derek Hale needed a nanny for his kids. Someone who knew about werewolves, someone who was persistent enough not to throw in the sponge as soon as the kids wouldn't behave, someone trustworthy. Could a young, very talkative man like Stiles Stilinski be what Derek was looking for?

This Wasn't Supposed to Happen by Parkkrys - (Rating: G, Words: 3996, sterek) Stiles didn’t hide this on purpose, there just wasn’t a good time to tell him. Doing this friends with benefits thing with an alpha werewolf maybe wasn’t the best idea but how could he ever say no to Derek?  Sure, he had feelings for the man, and this could only end in heartbreak because hey, who would be interested in a long time thing with him of all people? He knew how annoying he could be. He wasn’t even sure how his dad had put up with him all these years.  But this has gone on for far too long, the scent blocker and the bracelet that he has been wearing for the past month could only do so much from hiding his not so little secret.

The Omega Spark by misteeirene - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 62325, sterek)

John lived a sad and lonely life after the death of his wife, until one day when he noticed someone had breaking into his home while he was at work.

It Started With a Game by nightlight9 - (Rating: G, Words: 2803, sterek)

It’s one thing to have Stiles as his anchor. It’s another thing entirely to realize that he’s in love with his best friend. His best friend who happens to be three years younger than him and, oh god, John is going to have him arrested. He won’t be able to become a cop because he’ll be behind bars.

You'll Grow Into Your Skin by crossroadswrite - (Rating: T, Words: 11847, sterek)

“So funny story,” Stiles winces, “Remember when I joked you couldn’t get me pregnant?”

Derek nods his head. He remembers pretty much everything from that day.

“Right,” Stiles bobs his head, stops himself and does a little ta-da gesture towards Jacy, “Surprise?”

#stiles x derek #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #ficrec #fanfic #kitcheniskingficrecs

[metalheadcowboy]

“Hey-“ Tommy grabbed ahold of Steve’s shoulder, stopping his storming feet from taking another step towards his car parked along the street.

The face hit him first, the tell tale trembling bottom lip, paired with a set of misty puppy dog eyes that made the freckled boys heart sink deep into his stomach. He knew that face, had seen it more than his fair share of times. It’s the face Steve made when he ran his bike headfirst into Mr. Carters’ solid, brick mailbox when they were ten, or when Jacob Hill tripped him in front of everybody when he went to turn in his test during their 7th grade science class.

It wasn’t so much the face that scared Tommy the most, it was what came after that always terrified him. Remembering how Steve plopped to the ground with a hearty thud, dumbfounded, or sat back in his seat with his head held in his cross-crossed arms. The calm before the storm.

He swore if he thought hard enough he could still hear the stuttering sobs that echoed around the surrounding houses, or the silent sniffles that escaped his tightly barricaded face.

Tommy knew when Steve made that face, nothing good every followed.

The taller boy turned, spun on his heel like Tommy used all the force in his body to turn him around when in reality he barely applied any pressure at all, “What’s up?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, though he was sure his own furrowed brow gave him away.

Steve said nothing, just looked back at Tommy with tears welling up in his eyes. And maybe if things were the way they used to be, maybe if they were alone, Tommy would have pulled him in and hugged him like he did when they were kids. Put a Scooby-Doo band-aid on his wound or rub his back and tell him everything would be alright.

But things weren’t like they used to be. Tommy could count the amount of times him and Steve talked within the past year on one hand. Both too stubborn to admit their wrongs and not man enough to say they were sorry, so nothing ever got fixed, relationships were never mended and in result they acted like each other never existed.

But Tommy couldn’t just stand there and pretend like that face, the signature Steve face of peril didn’t rip his insides to shreds with worry, didn’t eat him alive, "What's up?" Steve responded, voice laced with a thick venom that shot right into Tommy's chest like an arrow. If this were a cartoon the shorter boy swears this is when steam would start violently blowing out of Steve's ears.

After a few beats of silence interrupted only by the faint sound of slightly too loud music still coming from inside Tina's house Tommy spoke up, "Yeah..." he sounded guilty and he knew it, but what else was he supposed to say? It had been so long since he'd been faced with Steve this vulnerable, let alone at all. It would have been weird if he had said anything else, he thinks.

Steve just scoffed, wiping a stray tear from his rolled eyes before tightly placing his hands on his hips. A habit he most definitely picked up from his mother, Tommy hated that he still remembered that, that he remembered everything about the person who treated him like a stranger.

"I mean, what else do you want from me Steve, really?" He meant for it to come out snippy, but it came out more as a plea. Tommy never really was one for hiding his emotions, or being good even when he tried. His older brother called him a 'bitch', but his mom always fondly said he was 'sensitive'.

Steve sighed, scrubbing a hand roughly down his face before returning it to his hip, "God..." he mumbled so quietly that, if they hadn't been standing so close, Tommy wouldn't have even picked it up, "I don't even know." The latter looked down at his feet, cursing the soft sob that escaped the back of his throat.

Tommy just stayed quiet, tight lipped as he watched his former friend grit his teeth in a piss poor attempt to will away the tears that were already rolling down his pale cheeks. The freckled boy pitied him, knowing how shitty he must be feeling.

It took him back to when they were twelve, having dinner at Steve's house and the lanky boy dropped his whole plate of spaghetti onto Mrs. Harrington's brand new imported carpet and he immediately burst into tears. Mr. Harrington going in on him calling him a 'crybaby' and a 'kluts' and many other things he shivers thinking about. Or maybe that's just the brisk autumn air brushing his bare arms, who knows.

"Nuh- Nancy-" Steve choked through gasps of air, snapping Tommy out of his memory induced trance. His expression immediately softened, became less frustrated and more gentle. With just one word Tommy knew exactly what was wrong, always able to read his best- ex best friend like a paperback book.

"Oh," Tommy said, rather dumbly, hardly processing his own words, "Oh," he followed up, sounding much less apathetic than his first go. He reached forward to grab Steve's shoulder in comfort, fully expecting to be completely pushed away, but to his surprised he was smothered by an armful of Steve Harrington.

Steve crumbled into him like a landslide, slowly and then all at once, not wrapping his arms around Tommy's middle, but letting his face nestle into the crook of the shorter boys neck.

What was that expression? Old habits die hard? Well if that was the case, old habits must be buried six feet under because in an instant Tommy was wrapping one arm around Steve's waist, the other carefully cascading up and down his blazer clad back.

"Shh..." he coaxed gently, fully feeling the power of Steve's breakdown wash over him. The wracking of his body, the harsh tears boring themselves into the thin fabric covering his shoulder. Steve's warm breath broke through the stark fall cold front making its way through Indiana, wrapping around his neck like a warm embrace, even if the boy wasn't actually hugging him back.

Tommy had held so much hate towards Steve for so long, but now it all seemed to slip away. All the sleepless nights spend wondering what could he have done differently. All the pretending that Steve ignoring him from across the lunch room didn't make his heart ache. All those times he cried to his mom about it just like Steve was crying to him right now.

He knew this wouldn't last, it couldn't last, Steve just needed a shoulder to cry on, but he had forgotten how much he missed this, his best friend that he couldn't bring himself to care, "Shh, Shh, Shh you're okay, I'm so sorry mi príncipe."

And there it was, something he hadn't said in years. My prince, something he used to tease Steve back in their middle school days, when he was first becoming popular. But now it came out with nothing but true admiration and delicate care. Because it was always true, in his eyes Steve would always be his prince. For the most part, kind, caring, charming, handsome, his prince. Though it was meant as a joke, the nickname always meant something to him, like a well kept secret.

They stood there for a while, just like that, hugging as Tommy slowly swayed them back and forth in an attempt to soothe his heart broken friend. Little by little Steve began to calm down, sobs once shaking his frame turning into a soft sniffle, desperate breaths evening out so much that Tommy could barely hear them anymore. But Tommy didn't dare let go until Steve began to peel himself away like a sticky note.

Tommy would be lying if he said the shell of Steve Harrington standing in front of him didn't look like a wreck and a half. Tussled hair, swollen eyes paired with dreadful tear marks, cheeks and nose a sort of burning red. But to the shorter boy he was still beautiful, always.

"Feel better?" He asked with a small half smile, dropping one hand back to his side, the other giving Steve's bicep a comforting rub. But Steve just stared at him with a blank expression, like he was either caught in deep thought or staring off into space.

"Steve, are you al-" Before Tommy knew what was happening, Steve's lips crashed against his in what had to have been the most ungraceful attempt at a kiss known to man. It was smooshy, loose lips, and slick snot. The freckled boy was dumbfounded to say the least. Not even having time to close his eyes before Steve was pulling away.

The look on his face said it all. It was all horror mixed with a bit of self loathing and Tommy couldn't help but feel upset. Steve's eyebrows furrowed deeply like he was confused by his own actions. And if Steve was confused, Tommy was outright bewildered.

It wasn't so much that he didn't like it rather than: What the fuck just happened?

It was like night and day the way Steve was there one second and gone the next, turned around, making a mad dash the few feet to his car.

"Shit," Tommy cursed himself, "Steve, wait-" But it was too late, Steve had already turned on his car and slammed it into drive, flooring it so fast past him it's a wonder he didn't run over Tommy in the process. Or maybe that's what he was going for, if so, that was one way to avoid your problems.

Tommy just watched, still in shock, as Steve's BMW turned the corner racing impossibly fast, but not faster than Tommy's own thoughts. Deep down he knew it had to be a weird phenomenon of rebounding. Steve latching onto the closest thing he had for comfort, which just happened to be Tommy.

He could pretend to be offended all he wanted, but the butterfies that formed a frenzy in his gut betrayed him.

He had to find Steve Harrington, now.

#Still a Steve and Tommy hoe at heart #Steve Harrington #Tommy Hagan #Tommy H #Stommy #angst #Season 2 Halloween Party #Writing is so hard like I've been writing forever what do you mean I have to consistently practice to stay good tf #Anywho Billy and Eddie Next? LMAO #Giggling and kicking my feet I forgot how much I love writing

[houserosaire]

Prompt #1: Envoy

The snowflake fell onto his hand, the first envoy of the coming storm. Silvaineaux paused midway through patting Joyeux’s neck to spare it a look. It was a pretty thing: a tiny, perfect star of ice. He could remember catching them on his tongue as a boy, or on the dark fabric of his sleeves so he could marvel at the way each tiny flower of the storm was different and beautiful. Now he simply shook it off his gauntlet and looked skyward.

Snow no longer meant Starlight and coming winter. The crisp chill of the air brought with it no pleasant anticipation of carols and parties. Instead Silvaineaux eyed the gathering clouds with worry and displeasure. They had a long ride to the next place they might find shelter and all that snow foretold was misery and wet, and a fresh blanket covering over their tracks as though he and his men had never been at all.  

He could only hope the dragons felt the same way about flying in it that he did about riding.  His hands tightened on Joyeux’s reins, slackening the birds pace as Ser Valerian came up abreast of him.  “Might want to pull up your hood.” His fellow knight suggested. Silvaineaux noted he had already followed his own suggestion. 

With a sigh Silvaineaux tugged his own up far enough to shelter his ears and the top of his head, but not far enough to keep him from being able to see all the wide white blanket of the countryside around them and the hanging grey of the clouds looming low above them. “Did you ride all the way up the line to fuss at me about keeping warm?” He asked.

Valerian laughed. “I am not your mother. No. I just wondered what was the plan should this grow worse.”

“She was certainly much better to look on than you.” Silvaineaux agreed teasingly. Then turned his eyes back to the malms of white country in front of them as he considered. White stretched off into the distance, fading out into a misty obscurity far nearer than he liked. If it worsened… Fury forfend. But through that ever thickening curtain of falling snow he could still make out the heavy grey shape of the nearest hills. Shaking off a few more snowflakes he fished into the pouch at his belt until he found his compass. “I will turn us now, toward the hills and note our heading. “Perhaps we can find a cave or some frozen house, but at worst there will be rocks to block the wind.”

Valerian nodded, seemingly satisfied with that and turned his own eyes on the sky. “Do you suppose it will ever end?” He asked. “This unnatural winter? Do you suppose the land can heal?”

Silvaineaux thought of snow melt and the buds of leaves on trees going green. He remembered gardens full of flowers and the heavy sun of summer beating down. He thought of the green of leaves turning red and golden and the chill rains of fall fading into storms like this one. He recalled snow falling outside the windows, beautiful from his place beside the fire. Beautiful because it would pass. “I don’t know.” He said at last.

Valerian nodded. “I suppose we can hope.” 

“Hope costs nothing.” Silvaineaux said, turning Joyeux toward the hills.

“Do you remember what day it is?” Valerian asked suddenly. 

“I do.” Silvaineaux said, thinking again of summer. His eyes lowered to his compass.

“Happy Nameday, then.” Valerian said.

“Thank you.” Silvaineaux offered him a small smile. “Though I wish you hadn’t invited the snow to the party.”

#FFxivwrite2023 #FFxivWrite #Silvaineaux #Ser Valerian #Backstory stuff #my writings

[cgsf]

Teen Wolf fanfiction recs — Derek/Stiles {Part 4}

°°°°°°

"Don’t Be Anything But Okay" (T) by skoosiepants | 4,828 | “Oh my god.” Ben pops open the car door and says, “Please don’t embarrass me, Dad.” Stiles flaps a hand, still staring at the magnificent sight before him. There are glistening arm muscles and a sweaty tank top and then the vision bends over and holy god. He has to look away; it’s too much to take in all at once, he might swoon.

"An Unpredictable Amount of Turtles" (T) by skoosiepants | 5,942 | Stiles says, “I have a five year plan. A five year plan to popularity that will tank the minute I meet this guy.” “I feel like you’re exaggerating,” Scott says, but Scott has a katana-wielding badass waiting for him at the other end of the rainbow, and Stiles has terrariums.

"Homing Mechanisms" (M) by SmallBirds | 3,742 | Stiles returns to Beacon Hills after four years at Stanford, only to find out that Derek has moved back into town. He brings him a housewarming gift. Derek makes food. Things escalate from there.

"Won't Treat You Like You're Typical" (E) by Zee | 12,037 | "You think this is funny?" Derek says, turning his glare on Stiles' stupid smirking face. "I think it's hilarious," Stiles says, shrugging when Derek looks incredulous. "Dude, it's not like it's forever, we'll just have a few sleepovers until the hunters see that all the werewolves in town are properly tamed by their human mates and move on. And then I'll have an awesome who-I-did-over-Summer-vacation story when Fall Semester starts!"

"In shade of shadows thrown" (G) by rufflefeather | 3,154 | Derek is still asleep, lips parted and face pressed against the window. He looks as harmless as anyone ever could and Stiles sees the fight go out of his dad with one breath. He knows how much Derek has lost. He’d seen it first hand as a Deputy. Knows he’d been thankful all the times Scott’s mom took up dealing with Stiles when he couldn’t. Knows he’d want someone to be there for Stiles if anything ever happened to him. Stiles knows his dad knows all those things, even though he never said so.

"A Secret No One Knows" 🔒 (E) by whiskey_in_tea | 3,688 | "My pre-adolescent crush on Taylor Hanson was basically my bisexual coming out party," Derek says, totally casual, and Stiles feels his heart stop beating, his mouth suddenly Sahara dry.

"New Morning" (T) by Captain_Loki | 2,719 | Stiles was caught in the Supernatural crossfires and ends up in the hospital, a protective Derek is dutifully at his side, despite the Sheriff's concerns.

"Of Wolves and Doughnuts" (T) by Hatteress | 22,340 | When Derek was fifteen, circumstance and a goddamn doughnut had seen fit to Bond him to Stiles Stilinski. In which Derek is more cunning than anyone gives him credit for, Stiles doesn't understand why the new Alphas in town are all up in his business and everyone gets a violent crash-course in what it means to be Pack, whether they're in it or not.

"Shake my ash to the wind" (E) by rufflefeather | 4,308 | Kissing Stiles is like a breeze through an open window that chases away a smell of fire that never leaves. The first time he tastes surprised and says, Holy shit while his fingers find lips that probably sting a little from Derek’s stubble. It makes Derek laugh and Stiles’ eyes go wide and pleased as if that’s a bigger surprise than the kiss.

"Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself" (G) by anonymous | 13,800 | Stiles' house burns down. Derek comes a-calling.

"Foes With Benefits" (T) by kellifer_fic | 4,492 | Stiles wants to fist bump Danny but he's pretty sure he'd just end up punching himself in the eye so he refrains. "It's not really a relationship anyway. It's more a foes with benefits type deal." "Except that you're completely in love with him," Lydia says to her manicure. "Except that I'm... wait, what?"

"I Hope By the Morning" (M) by andnowforyaya | 21,463 | From the bathroom came sounds of the guy brushing his teeth. Stiles rubbed the fifty dollar bill between his fingers and felt cheap. "Dude, I'm not taking your money." The guy spat and turned the faucet on. "Take the money. You said you lived in Queens last night? Who the hell lives in Queens." The fifty seemed gritty in his fingers, but he put it in the back pocket of his ridiculously tight jeans, anyway. That was, like, a five-hour shift at the coffee shop where he worked, Common Grounds, with tips. "And don't call me 'dude,'" the guy continued, turning off the faucet. "I'm not your college bro. It's Derek."

"Conquest of Spaces" (NR) by andnowforyaya | 3,242 | "You?" Pierre asks incredulously. "A mere human?" "Mere?" Stiles repeats, spreading his arms and looking down at himself. This time Derek really does chuckle, and Stiles grins at the noise. "My dad is still inside," he tells Derek. "So can we make this fast?"

"This Ship Will Carry Our Bodies Safe to Shore" (G) by notevenwriting | 6,350 | Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. When those words appeared scrawled against the soft inside of his wrist, Derek’s first thought was that his mate and him would be involved in some kind of accident and they’d died in front of him. The thought used to scare him when he was a kid, the thought of being responsible for someone’s last minutes, of holding someone’s hand, brushing soft strands of hair out of their eyes and assuring them everything would be just fine made his heart race and forced his wolf into the surface.

"Asking for it" (E) by Helenish | 5,551 | “They’re using you,” Derek says, in spite of himself. Stiles’ eyes widen a little, mocking, “Doing a good job of it, too,” he says. There are marks all over him, fingerprints on his arms and throat, and he smells unfamiliarly satisfied, down to his bones, fucked hard, teeth set against the back of his neck.

"The Wonderful World of Woo" (T) by p1013 | 3,410 | Sometime during Stiles’ sophomore year of college, Derek starts dating. To say it’s an abject failure would be putting it mildly.

"DILF" (E) by twentysomething | 30,871 | Today is Scott's first day of kindergarten and Derek is terrified.

"The Summer of Snow Cones and Not-Dates" (M) by clarkoholic & skywardsmiles | 38,871 | Summer is really boring. Like, mind-numbingly boring. Except for the part where Stiles can’t figure out if Derek’s his boyfriend, or why every werewolf in town keeps approaching him in the bathroom.

"The Time Traveler’s Prerogative" (E) by weathervaanes | 9,234 | After the events of "117", Derek doesn't magically transform back into his twenty-five-year-old body. Instead, he's stuck as a sixteen-year-old for an unknown amount of time. So the pack has to learn to deal with it.

"When the Bough Breaks" (T) by The Feels Whale | 12,068 | Look, Stiles knows he’s not really part of the pack, but really? He wishes the others aside from Scott and Allison would stay a little more up to date on what’s going on his life beyond how it affects them.

"who walks this dusty road" (E) by verity | 1,984 | Scott and Derek go off on some two-day wolfbrother spiritual journey in the Preserve that involves shirtlessness and minimal bathing, so Stiles spends a weekend taking hacking lessons from Danny, combing through Deaton's books with Lydia, and squashing his math homework beneath him when Malia tackles him onto his bed. For once, Stiles isn't thinking about anything but this, the way she pins him to the bed effortlessly and takes what she wants, how comfortably their bodies fit together. Then she puts her mouth against his ear and says, "Do you want to fuck him?" "What," Stiles says.

"take in the extent of my sin" (T) by Nokomis | 2,138 | There's someone in his loft, and it isn't Stiles, no matter how much it looks like him.

"Good Things" (E) by Alchemy | 10,067 | The sometimes poignant (and often erotic) misadventures of college-age Stiles Stilinski and his new boyfriend, Derek Hale, as they each attempt to navigate their first real relationship.

"Things are gonna change (next year)" (T) by anonymous | 8,032 | Stiles shifted again, then, and released a long breath. He seemed relieved to have gotten out the worst of it. “And, I'm having a really shitty week, actually. And I don't like myself a lot right now. This week or this year or, um, maybe in this phase of life...” and, and, and, Derek chanted in his head. And, and, and, he wished wildly... "...and if I'm giving you an insanely wide berth it's because you're gorgeous and good and smart and I'm trying really hard to be honest about how hard it is for me to just... be me. With me. Without anyone else."

"marked" (G) by elisela | 2,742 | “I don’t have a name,” was one of the first things Stiles ever said to him, somewhere in between “do your eyebrows always do that?” and “come on, one coffee can’t hurt.” And now the memory of it is all Derek can hear over the pounding of his own heart in his head, a drumbeat that sounds like he’s being marched to his own execution.

"hear it in the silence" (E) by elisela | 72,243 | Derek's been on the fringes of the McCall pack since he returned to Beacon Hills. He doesn't feel comfortable there, he doesn't feel comfortable when he's gone—so he spends most of his time alone, helps out Scott when he needs is, and for some reason, answers every text message Stiles sends him. A year of FaceTime and phone calls don't prepare him, however, for Stiles tossing a duffle bag on his bed in mid-July while he talks about the awesome road trip he has planned for them. Derek doesn't remember agreeing, but he does know this: where Stiles goes, he'll follow.

"ahead in the count" (E) by elisela | 50,075 | “Yankee fan,” Derek says, laughing when Stiles makes a disgusted face. “The Bronx Bombers, Stiles, you can’t be a New Yorker and—” “Stop talking right now,” Stiles sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I still want to kiss you after that,” he says, pulling Derek in by his coat. “This is making me rethink everything." “I’ll never watch them again,” Derek promises, and Stiles laughs against his mouth.

"love in suspension" (T) by creationmyth | 6,140 | They walk side by side back to the camaro, Derek’s all tensed up while Stiles hums some unnamable tune under his breath. When they finally break the treeline, Stiles pulls Derek by the arm so they’re face to face. “Thank you,” Stiles tells him quietly, making sure Derek knows he’s sincere. “It’s what we do.” It is. It really is.

"mark me like a bloodstain" (E) by creationmyth & S3anchaidh | 11,405 | Stiles bows back, flat against the front of the dishwasher as he considers Derek, surrounded by his own hair. “Are you afraid of things changing,” he starts, “or are you afraid of changing me?”

"i want to eat at you the way it eats at me" (E) by creationmyth | 6,335 | Stiles wants to hurt Derek in ways he has never been hurt before. He wants to hurt Derek in ways that Stiles has only ever hurt. He wants to reach inside of Derek’s head and get a hold of his brain, he wants to replace it with tripwires and electric fencing, he wants to press his forehead to Derek’s and whisper, you can’t trust your own thoughts, he wants to show Derek his own memories and say, what good are these if you can’t even trust yourself?

"STIFF" (M) by aussiebee | 4,736 | It begins with a book about cadavers, and ends up with the sheriff thoroughly traumatised by an encounter in Whole Foods.

"Like Rain in Spring" (E) by EdgeOfMyDesiree & Jmeelee | 49,478 | When Stiles, at college on a sports scholarship, loses his leg in a car accident, he finds help in an unlikely place—Derek Hale, captain of their basketball team, who Stiles is 99% sure hates his guts.

"Notches in Your Spine" (E) by whiskey_in_tea | 8,741 | Stiles is the one who finds them in the first place, Derek’s college applications.

"That's Why He Lets Him" (E) In by alisvolatpropiis | 3,210 | “Fucking vampire,” Stiles says, running his long, strong fingers through his wet hair. “Nasty bitch too, nearly got me. Twice. Made me fight in her a rainy alley like we were in a fucking TV show. But I did my very best Buffy impersonation and here I am to live another day.” His voice sounds joking, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes. Derek has come to learn that the more cavalier about his exploits Stiles is, the more shaken he is.

"take me to church" (M) by callunavulgari | 3,129 | Derek scoffs. “You want to take me back to Quantico.” “I’m an intern, Derek. Pretty sure they’re not going to go looking for you under my mattress. Come on,” he coaxes, jostling Derek with his elbow. “You know how this works, we’ve done it before. Safest place to be is right under their nose.”

"Fools Rush In" (E) by origamifrogs | 30,673 | Stiles and Derek get drunk in Las Vegas, accidentally get married, and go on a road trip.

"copywritten (so don't copy me)" (E) by etben | 12,986 | "You have to talk, okay?" Derek had made a face, and Stiles had grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him up against the wall. "No, listen—if we're going to sell my dad on this, you have to be me, which means you have to talk, okay, because the man has spent the past seventeen years living in a house with me and not once have I shut up when he asked me to, so you are just going to have to get over your whole 'strong and silent' deal and find something to say, okay?"

"Constant Vigilance" (M) by TheVoiceofWrath | 4,079 | Stiles badgers Derek into teaching him how to handle himself in a fight and, somewhere along the way, Derek maybe falls for Stiles a little bit. Whatever, it's not a big deal. He swears it's nothing.

"Let’s Get Frick Fracked" (M) by TheVoiceofWrath | 1,927 | Derek glares down at Stiles. “I can’t believe you. I left you alone for five minutes and you triggered a witch’s trap. We weren’t even after a witch. It’s amazing, the trouble you get yourself into.” "I’m sure I can’t possibly be blamed," Stiles says with a grin. He’s lying on the floor like an idiot, right where he fell when the curse went off. "It’s your fault for leaving me unattended. But that’s okay. You’re wearing those jeans today that hug your ass just right and I wouldn’t hold anything against you on Especially Tight Pants Day."

"A Win-Win Situation" (E) by TheVoiceofWrath | 416 | Derek growls lustily and drags his mouth down Stile’s neck, bites at Stiles’s throat and yanks at Stiles’s belt. “I can’t believe you made me wait for a month…” "Lots of people take a sex-break before their weddings, dude. It’s totally normal."

"Ghost of You" (G) by Lissadiane | 22,101 | When the Wild Hunt erases Stiles on a dark and stormy night, it's up to the rest of Scott and Derek's packs to pick through the holes in their memories in search of someone they can't even remember.

"Full Circle" (E) by calrissian18 | 8,007 | Just because Stiles should walk away, it doesn't mean he can.

"Dragon's Breath" (E) by trilliath | 56,164 | Between the hunters and the monsters that have interfered with life in Beacon Hills, the pack has had to learn a lot in the last few years, including Stiles teaching himself to practice magic in private. It's not exactly a secret from the pack, but it's not something he's shown much. When it comes time to put his skills to the test, Derek is the only one who finally gets to see Stiles's wild magic put to use saving Erica's life from a new threat in town.

"Thigh High" (E) by Hatteress | 763 | Funny. It was supposed to be funny. Seriously, Derek had lost a bet and Erica had been in charge of the stakes which had been awesome because Erica is the bomb at coming up with hilarious embarrassing shit and- This is all Erica's fault.

"Portrait of a Wolf" (E) by trilliath | 48,397 | In a big-city AU, Derek's a reclusive painter known for his wolf and nature-themed artwork. Stiles is a photographer and journalist who works for a magazine that is doing a featured article on up-and-comer Derek. Things don't get off to the best start, but Stiles is determined to capture the man behind the artwork. Of course, he's going to get more than he bargained for.

"Say It Again and Mean It" (E) by ladyblahblah | 39,853 | “You're talking about me making dinner at the pack meeting.” “. . . Yeah?” “But I'm not—” Not pack. It's nothing he hasn't known for years now, but somehow he still can't bring himself to say the words. They feel like a curse; as if somehow, as long as he doesn't say them, he can pretend that they aren't true. “I don't think Derek wants me there,” he says instead.

"Pinch Me" (E) by Wolftraps | 12,157 | It doesn't work. When the nogitsune crumbles to ash, he's weakened, but he's right back in Stiles head with his damn riddles. And Stiles feels like he's not just losing control, but also losing himself. But no one can lose their shadow.

"I Intend to be Independently Blue" (M) by Loz | 21,761 | Stiles is the worst thing that could have happened to Derek. He hasn't been wolfing out at inopportune moments since his teens, but only because he has a system in place. And this is where Stiles comes into play. Because he's been messing with this system, and doesn't even know. Also, there's a wendigo.

"giving up this whole lie, this whole me" (E) by Loz | 11,216 | Between his relationship with Jennifer and his dealings with Deucalion and the Darach, Derek gains a form of resolution.

"points system" (T) by preromantics | 2,815 | Stiles knows blurting things out in the middle of what could possibly be a life or death sort of situation is on absolutely no one's list of seduction techniques.

"to the shipping forecast" (G) by morphosyntactic | 1,736 | “Different like - do you mean - dude.” Stiles stares. His heartbeat picks up, his eternal giveaway, but they have an unspoken agreement now, both pretend Derek can’t tell in an instant when Stiles is worked up because of something Derek himself says. “Have you come to offer me the bite?”

"Wild and Reckless Breeze" (M) by GotTheSilver | 15,761 | Stiles is killing time working at a bookshop, Derek buys a lot of Chuck Palahniuk and they start hanging out, much to the confusion of Scott and the Sheriff.

"Lord knows it would be the first time" (E) by uraneia | 12,287 | Stiles is home from Berkeley for the summer, but only because he promised the pack. He'd rather not see Derek, because whatever the thing was that they were doing, they're not doing it anymore, and it sucks. Unfortunately, he doesn't have a choice. The betas tried a magical remedy for Derek's melancholy, and now Stiles has a three-year-old who looks like Derek.

"Grave Dirt" (NR) by Lissadiane | 1,679 | “You think there are better worlds out there than this one?” Stiles asks, stretched out on his back with graveyard dirt underneath him, grinding against his shoulder blades as he gestures up at the starry sky. He’s drunk, ostensibly over Lydia, probably actually over some existential combination of despair and terror of the unknown and maybe a little bit more of the known, now that he knows it involves werewolves and who the fuck knows what else.

"Wolves and Foxes Don’t Get Along" (G) by Lissadiane | 14,557 | The first werewolf Stiles ever sees is a goofy looking dude with floppy brown hair and a crooked smile, leaning up against a black camaro outside the high school, wearing an oversized leather jacket, surrounded by half a dozen other preternaturally beautiful girls and guys, also in leather. Also probably werewolves. They look like they stepped right out of Twilight and it’s not subtle.

"The Things That Don't Matter" (T) by Lissadiane | 2,607 | Stiles isn't sure what surprises him the most, that he survives to graduate, or that Derek comes back to see it.

"Making Space and Time" (NR) by Lissadiane | 4,098 | In which Stiles is sad and lonely until the day he finds a dog that's just as lost as he is.

"Have You Heard about the Midnight Rambler?" (T) by calrissian18 | 844 | Stiles wiggled his fingers, smiling – the left side of his mouth twitching up higher than the right. Derek didn’t remember Stiles’ smile being uneven before. “I think I killed something,” he said bemusedly.

"as we share this simple night" (E) by mockturtletale | 11,045 | Stiles is letting Derek in. He’s letting Derek really see him, for all that he is, all he has to give, and Derek doesn’t know why Stiles is trusting him with this, because he’s sure it’s too good to be wasted on him. He’s fractured and he’s bruised, broken in a way that has spoiled him and struck too deep. He’s bitter, inside and out, and Stiles is sweet, only learning now that that’s something that his enemies can’t resist, something that makes Derek want to sink his teeth in.

"O Father of Mine" (G) by isthatbloodonhisshirt | 5,227 | “He told me he understood, and that he was happy we were both happy, and that if I hurt you he knew how to kill a Werewolf and where to hide a body.” Stiles paused in his task of spooning rice onto one of the plates, giving Derek a weird look. “My dad had a similarly confusing discussion with me this morning,” he admitted. “Yeah, I’m not sure I understand what he was talking about.” They stared at one another for a long while in silence. “Dude,” Stiles finally said. “Does my dad think we’re dating?” “Is that what that was?” Derek asked.

"this boy, half-destroyed" (T) by M_Leigh | 25,599 | Bodies – those are something you understand, mostly; you know immediately exactly how much smaller he is than the last time you saw him. Too skinny, too pale; his cheeks cave in a little too much, from his face. He’s a shadow of something: he looks like the dead walking. His hands are stuffed down in the pockets of his hoodie and he looks tentative but not afraid.

"the blood blooms clean in you, ruby" (T) by M_Leigh | 47,813 | You don’t remember, anymore, where exactly you were when you found out that she was dead. You remember almost everything else about her dying, though.

"Crash Landers" (T) by gyzym | 31,173 | In which Stiles learns to Stalk That Stalk. (Or, how to accidentally woo your unfriendly neighborhood alpha in roughly five hundred handwritten steps.)

"Reason to Believe" 🔒 (E) by whiskey_in_tea | 17,304 | Their pack, their family, is hard-fought and tight-knit, and no one knows or cares how to let Derek back into the circle he started, the pack he took with his teeth. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need your help,” he says now. “Peter—Peter’s gone.”

"Work In Progress" (G) by JenNova | 7,856 | “What are you trying to do?” Lydia asks finally. “Fix Derek,” Stiles says, not bothering to dissemble – Lydia's been lied to enough. “You know, before someone or something else tries to use him.”

"Play Crack the Sky" (M) [122,787] and "Sowing Season" (M) [253,020] by WeAreTheCyclones | Stiles had gotten Derek into a lot of trouble. He’d been a bad influence. And that was just before the first album dropped. He’d reshaped Derek’s life into something a little bit more spectacular and then when things went wrong… when things started to change… when Stiles and the band moved to LA to record a second album and Derek didn’t want to be a part of it and Stiles didn’t fight for him… well, Derek was left behind, confused and utterly lost in his wake.

"i have always been the storm" (E) by stilinskisparkles | 25,251 | Stiles is a storm chaser and Derek is a NatGeo photographer.

"Amor Fati" (E) by alocalband | 42,812 | When Stiles gets thrown into the bank vault about twenty minutes after him, Derek isn’t even surprised. As it turns out, neither is Stiles.

"Jumpstart My Heart" (M) by calrissian18 | 743 | There’s no way to hide it now, Stiles is too curious, too sure there’s something to be curious about. Derek says bluntly, “You died in Gerard’s basement.”

"you're the message i was heeding" (T) by magneticwave | 12,057 | “I miss you every day. It’s worse than when I lost Mom. There is this big fucking hole in my fucking life because the best friend that I have ever had decided to go on a run at ass o’clock in the morning and some drunk fucker was playing live-action Mario Kart on I-5. But you’re alive here, so you are going to be fucking happy if it fucking kills you.”

"California Kings" (E) by Rosada | 1,171 | For Stiles’ nineteenth birthday, he gets five videogames, two hundred dollars, a tire iron, a leather-bound journal, a book on Celtic symbols, and an argument with Derek.

"Hibernation Station" (E) by calrissian18 | 72,965 | Stiles meets his future husband on a rather unspectacular Wednesday. The day’s blah-winter bleak, the subway car cold and rattling on its tracks but Stiles has somehow slouched into the best seat in the house. He’s asleep, Stiles’ future husband, cramped into a corner seat next to one of the doors and pressed as far up against the plastic and glass as possible.

"Unspoken" (E) by sori | 6,925 | Billy was Stiles second roommate, but he’s hardly worth mentioning because he was there less than four hours. Unfortunately for him, he moved in on Derek’s third visit to campus. It didn’t go well for either Billy or Stiles.

"I'll Bleed, Babe" (E) by Whispering_Sumire | 15,250 | It feels like it's been years stuck in this neverending nightmare-hell—he's barely able to come up from it anymore, and the few times he has, all he gets are glimpses of the nogitsune using his body to take advantage of Derek, listening as it whispers ridicule and blame in his ear, taking all that weight Derek carries and coating Stiles' tongue with it, torturing him with its knowledge.

"Radio Silence" 🔒 (M) by saintsideways | 21,112 | “So what’s it like?” Scott asks, as if Stiles hadn’t sent him texts at the end of Basic along the lines of My whole body hurts just like that time with the Chimera, or Fuck, I never knew snow was this fucking cold, and by the way I think Yetis are real, after a week of mountain warfare exercises. “It’s a lot like high school,” Stiles says.

"Definitely Not Fish Demons" 🔒 (T) by saintsideways | 2,596 | Your father wants to take me fishing. Derek looks at the message before he sends it, wondering why it’s so difficult to convey deep discomfort with just text. His phone buzzes in his pocket a few minutes later. Uh oh, says Stiles’ reply.

"Hot Nerd Alert" (E) by alisvolatpropiis | 25,115 | Derek can't believe he's actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move. Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share. In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.

"Accident (Waiting to Happen)" (T) by Jerakeen | 1,247 | “You’re just jealous of our friendship,” Stiles says cattily, butting the top of his head more firmly into Derek’s armpit. “Right,” Scott says, putting his jacket on. “I’m jealous that I don’t get to snuggle on the couch with the two of you.” “Obviously,” Stiles agrees.

"Liability" (M) by anonymous | 17k+ WIP | “Your virginity has become a...liability,” Deaton says, and fuck him, he’s trying not to laugh.

"you can leave your hat on" (E) by forpony | 4,864 | “You have got to be kidding me,” Derek mutters, closing his eyes and pinching his nose in frustration. “Laura!” He yells. “Oh, is the stripper here!?” Laura thumps over from the party area as she’s dubbed it, and skids to a stop next to Derek, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Heeeey, Stilinski. Looking good, kid.” “Uh,” Stiles, the Sheriff’s son, blushes. “Laura, you said this was for a friend of yours.”

"Whispers in the Dark" (E) by weathervaanes | 6,943 | Stiles Stilinski would call himself a starving artist except for the simple facts that he is neither starving, nor does he know anything about art (unless you consider a novelist an artist, which Stiles only does sometimes). So when his best friend insists he accompany him to a show in the city, Stiles thinks it will probably be the most boring evening of his life.

"Sharing Food" (E) by aussiebee | 9,564 | Derek is pretty much absorbed into the Stilinski family, one meal at a time.

"Cripple and the Starfish" (T) by Rena | 2,819 | “It’s not what it looks like,” he squeaks, voice promptly skyrocketing into the highest tenor a boy his age is physically able to produce without tearing his vocal chords out. “Actually,” Derek cuts in smoothly, “it’s exactly what it looks like.”

"Inertia" (M) by apocryphal | 21,608 | The last thing Derek and Cora are expecting to find outside their motel room is a gaunt Stiles Stilinski, lacrosse bag on one shoulder and the weight of the world on the other.

"the projectionist" (M) by sunsetpanic | 6,190 | "This is the part where the cavalry comes, right?" Stiles asks, drumming his hands against the floor while Derek searches fruitlessly for anything that might actually keep the Alphas out for another few minutes. "The cavalry doesn't come for us," Derek says wearily.

"Differential Equations" (T) by hedgerose | 5,170 | Stiles has all the variables, but he doesn't even know that there needs to be an equation yet. It's simple math, really. Twenty-one minus six is fifteen, and fifteen-year-old boys are easily swayed.

"Howling around your kitchen door" (T) by sloganeer | 3,762 | It’s been months since Stiles last saw Derek, when they waved across the street and were on their way. It’s been longer still since they spoke. Stiles hasn’t had much to say since he told Derek how he felt and Derek told him he was wrong.

"Taking Off The Edges" (E) by Ark | 8,797 | Scott's regard turning completely away hurts more than the wounded, incredulous eyeballing. He's bright red to the tips of his ears, and his hands are balled up tight into fists. “Tell me what the hell you were going to tell me, then,” Scott says. He's not looking at Stiles anymore, so Derek's the one who answers. “That we're paired,” says Derek, calmly and decisively, from over Stiles's shoulder.

"Kiss Me on This Cold December Night" (E) by Leslie_Knope | 18,975 | The hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck tingle, and he swallows hard against the unmistakable sensation of someone staring at him. He’s tempted to just ignore it, but after a few seconds, his curiosity wins out and he looks up from his phone instead. He doesn’t notice anything right away, flicking his gaze along the people on the other side of the intersection until he suddenly stops and backtracks. It’s a little hard to see, what with the thick drizzle and the cars whizzing between them, but he would recognize that glorious bearded face anywhere, even after six years. Holy shit.

"When You're Close I Feel the Sparks" (M) by Leslie_Knope | 39,671 | The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles' poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year. “We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

"Mated" (E) by otter | 37,712 | Stiles already had a history with skin magazines for werewolves. It wasn't like he was new at this, even if his modeling portfolio was completely pathetic. He was cool and collected. He was a jaded professional. He was not at all prepared for working with Derek Hale.

"You're a Dream to Me" (M) by lady_ragnell | 11,810 | Derek has the first dream in a shitty motel room just across the Nevada border, when his clothes still smell like smoke.

"good, giving, and game" (E) by verity | 5,385 | They've been together long enough now that they don't have arguments over the big stuff anymore: there's a few things they've each accepted as fact. Derek hates Olive Garden. Stiles refuses to let Derek work on the Jeep. Derek doesn't dance. They're never going to get werewolf-married because Stiles is never going to do the thing where Derek locks his werewolf dick in Stiles's ass and jizzes all up his colon while they lie on a bed of rose petals and listen to mood music.

"will to follow through" (T) by owlpostagain | 42,411 | “I’m only going to warn you once,” Stiles says quietly to Danny, dropping two plates of sandwiches on the kitchen table and gesturing Danny towards an empty chair. “This is one of those things that once you know, you know, and there’s no going back. You can’t unknow, or unsee, and it’s not exactly a picnic in the park.” “Are you offering me the blue pill?” Danny asks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a halfhearted smirk.

"i thought it make believe" (T) by blinkiesays | 2,631 | "I totally saved a girl's life once. From a werewolf." Oh crap, he's totally drunk. When he's not drunk he remembers to leave out the part about werewolves. "It's like, less impressive when you know that the girl I saved was an even more powerful werewolf? but I still saved her! Me! I was 16 and I hit a werewolf with a tree branch."

"go home, or make a home" (T) by lady_ragnell | 7,437 | In a world where Derek lets Scott kill the Alpha and get the cure, he has to figure out how to rebuild his life, with help from Stiles.

"Happily Never After" (T) by isthatbloodonhisshirt | 13,715 | Someone was saying his name, but it sounded like they were speaking to him from underwater. His brain felt foggy, there were hands on his shoulders, and the voice was getting louder. Derek forced his eyes open, everything blurry and faces hovering over him. “Derek,” one of them said urgently, and he winced when a flashlight was being shined in his eyes. “Derek, can you hear me?”

"Indefinable" (M) by calrissian18 | 3,447 | They didn’t fit a definition, just each other.

"Smoke is Just the Air Remembering Fire" (E) by alisvolatpropiis | 8,482 | Derek has cried three times in his adult life: when his sister died, when the alpha pack used him to kill Boyd, and when Stiles Stilinski broke his heart.

°°°°°°

That's 100.

#stiles x derek #stiles & derek #derek x stiles #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fics #sterek recs #sterek #teen wolf fics #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf #fic recs #fan fiction #fanfiction

[zaceouiswriting]

The jock brother

Character: Liam Dunbar x brother, Theo Raeken x male reader, Jordan Parrish x male reader

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

A warm summer breeze surrounded the entire Beacon Hills area. But especially the lacrosse field neat the high school. Hundreds of people gathered there to finally see the lacrosse team, win against their rivals the Devenford Prep private school.

They always were the underdogs, never getting into state semi-finals or anything of this kind. Rather pathetic. But now finally, they had a new star player. One who actually can change the tides for this always losing team.

It was shortly before the last whistle would sound over the place. All onlookers were in shock, at how well the Beacon Hills high school team was beating Devenford. Never in their history was it so close, for either of them to win. Normally Devenford would be in the lead by multiple dozens of points. Now they needed a miracle to still win.

The crowd was cheering, loudly and with full enthusiasm. Chants for Liam to bring the win home could be heard through all the people watching. 

But one voice broke through all the others. „Sappy, concentrate and win this game!“, you screamed, with your hands around your mouth. Before the next round began Liam looked over to you, shocked but smiling. He dipped his head and the whistle could be heard. Never in your life did you ever see someone run so fast and pass like a champion, just to throw it into the net.

And shortly after, the enemy team wanted to do the same, and the referee ended the game. It went dead quiet as everyone tried to comprehend what just had happened. Except for you. Pushing yourself through the crowd, running onto the field, directly to Liam, you pulled him into your arms. „Great job, Sappy!“, you whispered down to him. After patting him slightly on his head, you pulled him up, as if he was nothing and sat him on your shoulders. Presenting him to the audience. Just for everyone to explode in congratulations and the team to celebrate their first victory. This meant, that they now would drive through the entire state to win more games and hopefully, win the first lacrosse trophy for the school in a decade.

Even though your face could be seen now, that your snapback fell down, your hold the attention at Liam because he deserved it.

It was when he and his team went into the locker room, that everyone outside besieged you. Asking for autographs and photos, which you gave me with excitement. At least until Liam came out with damp hair, seeing you doing all kinds of things. He did not even need to say a word, for you to see him. Excusing yourself you immediately ran up to him and brought him into a headlock. „My good my baby sappy is getting so old!“, you cried dramatically.

„What are you doing here? Did football season not just start?“ A wide smile on your face, you nodded. „Then why are you here?“, he asked further.

„I took time off, more or less willingly. I had an injury a while back, that somehow flamed up again and now need to get rest for a month or two until I’m allowed to play again. And I thought, why not surprise my little sappy at the most important play for him and his school? And now I will take time off for each of your games!“

Liam groaned and whined a bit, but would lie if he had said, that he didn't want you there. In reality, he freaking missed you so bad.

„Now come on, Mum and Stepdad, are waiting, they threatened me with disowning, me after I asked them if I should live in a hotel for the time being, because apparently one of your friends is living at our house?“, you wiggled with your eyebrows, thinking that there was more to the story.

„He is only a friend, I’m not into guys!“

„Whatever you say, Sappy. Now let’s get going!“

When you came home, you eat as a family, Liam’s friend was not there yet and as he came he ate alone and shortly after vanished into the spare room. You were just able to see his shirt, as you wandered out of your room, completely wet, to ask Liam if he had seen some of your shit.

„What are you guys doing here?“ Liam was rather confused as he saw his entire pack at his front door. His parents are already away.

„We wanted to celebrate with you man! You have beaten the Devenford Prep, with ease, you are almost a hero at our school now!“, Scott told him while hugging him.

But Liam felt something was off. They intensively looked around, as if they were searching for something or rather someone.

„You are here because of (Y/N), right?“, he asked with a heavy annoyed sigh. Most of them sheepishly looked away. Getting caught was at no point something amusing.

He opened the door further, so everyone could get in. With a warning glare, he looked at his friends, „Don’t be weird around him, okay?“

Just as he had said this, you already came downstairs, „He Sappy, who was at the door?“, you asked, without looking up from your phone. Just after you hadn’t gotten an answer and felt multiple pairs of eyes on your body, you finally looked up. Only to see the living room packed. Feeling naked out of a sudden, it was then that you realized that you weren’t wearing a shirt.

„Do you have a girlfriend?“, one of the girls asked you directly. You could see Liam facepalming himself before you even could react to it.

„No sweety, I’m playing for the other team, which people who watch my sport should know.“ Your passive aggressiveness, made some of them chuckle, even the girl that had asked that question.

„Sappy, they are here for you, right? I really don’t want to interfere in your great victory yesterday,“ you asked him feeling guilty. Eyes narrowed onto your little brother, sadness deep within them. Even the group could tell it immediately.

Liam on the other hand was conflicted, as he did not know if he should lie or tell the truth. But you always could tell when he was lying so this wasn’t really an option. Just then another knock could be sound from outside. Without a word spoken, you walked over and opened it. To your surprise, a man in police attire was standing outside. A prime example of a hot, handsome police officer.

„Is this the Dunbar residence?“, he asked confused.

„Yes, officer, can I help you?“

„I got the message, that a pack meeting was here, right now-“

Before he could finish. Liam came to his rescue, „Come in Jordan. The rest is already here.“ So you stepped away from the man, who shamelessly checked you out.

„A pack, really? Don’t tell me, you are werewolves too!“, you overly dramatic threw these words around.

Shocked faces all around, as nobody really knew what to say. Except for one, „Not exactly, it’s a weird mix of everything under the sun.“ An even more handsome young guy told you while he descended the stairs.

„Oh my god, are you hot… Wait how old are you?“ The panic was evident in your voice.

„Almost nineteen,“ he answered truthfully.

„And you are not mounting my brother, little puppy, right?“ From panic to seductively in seconds. A talent only people with confidence and a big ego like yours could do.

„No, we are just friends. Your parents let me stay here until I can get onto my own feet.“ You could see the embarrassment on his face, but you could not see, where this should’ve come from.

You shook your head. „There is no need to be embarrassed. You are freaking hot, it would be easy to get you a modeling contract or football? You played right? I remember your face vaguely. For some time my boys and I went to high school plays to look for talents.“

He got even more embarrassed as he heard that and that you remembered him. You two had talked before, but now it felt different. 

„So if you see my door open, just come in.“ A little wink told him everything he needed to know. And he actually blushed.

„Them same to you officer.“

All people there looked dumbfounded that you flirted with two guys at the same time, without any consideration for anyone's feelings.

„He only has two partners at the same time. In the beginning, it was weird, to see him with two guys all three of them in the same relationship, but like with everything else, you can get used to it.“

„That’s right Sappy. And now I know, why you never told me who lives here because you knew he is my type, right?“ And Liam nodded defeated.

„I just wanted to protect him from your grabby hands.“ Fighting back was something new for you. Until now he always was rather passive with you.

You almost wanted to get a dog ball out but thought that most of them, would not understand the joke, like your teammates.

One of them, a skinny almost sick-looking dude, was glancing around, obviously confused. „Do we all ignore that he told us that he knows about werewolves?“, he asked in disbelief, nearly exploding.

„Does any of you really think, that all football players could play like this when they are humans? Of course, many like me have trained our whole lives. But there are also a lot who never needed to do anything, because of their werewolf powers.“ It was visible and audible, that this was a sore spot for you. And how couldn't it be? It was unfair.

„And why are you calling Liam, `Sappy´?“, the handsome guy living in your parent's home asked you. 

„Well, sit down, maybe even in my lap if you want and I tell you.“

Despite your generous offer, he decided to sit on an armchair, to your right. But you did not let it get to you, instead, a wide grin appeared on your face. „NO! You won’t tell them! It's embarrassing!“ Liam tried to persuade you to not do it, but you just put a hand over his mouth, as he tried to punch you from the side.

„It was eight, almost nine years ago. Liam always was a naive person. But then he believed everything I said…“

As you ended your story, the room erupted in laughter anew. With Liam giving up, hiding in your massive arm. You stroking his head, to get him to calm down. An ability only you had. He loved you too much, to even think of hurting you in any way.

„But now I believe you should go. I did my job in embarrassing little Sappy here and now I need to get him to love me again.“

They instantly understood that this wasn’t a request but an order and slowly left one by one. As you had given your brother to the handsome guy living under the same roof as you, you walked them all out. But the officer stood behind. For a bit longer.

„Here,“ he told you, as he had given you a piece of paper. A number on it, which only made you smirk.

„I knew you would have a taste. I hope you would not have anything against more partners?“ 

Now it was on him to smirk at you, „If I had would've I given you my number, hotshot? Just that you know, besides my career as a police officer, I also trained masseur, you know for the injury you inquired.“

He had known you were from the beginning and still hadn’t said anything. You liked that man very much. „I keep that in mind… We will see us, officer.“ As you closed the door, a sigh came from your dry lips. Seeing Theo cradle your little brother, was cute as nothing you have ever seen. Hopefully, they really were only friends. You wanted him for yourself.

Only time will tell, what happens.

[Masterlist]

#Theo Raeken imagines #Theo Raeken #Theo Raeken x male reader #Liam Dunbar #Liam Dunbar x male reader #Liam Dunbar imagines #Jordan Parrish x male reader #Jordan Parrish imagines #Teen Wolf #Teen Wolf x male reader #Teen Wolf imagine #x male reader #male reader #male reader imagine #x male reader imagine