#Stupid idea hastily drawn at work

[tonguetiedraven]

I would love to see your take on the classic story idea, Rin is summoned by Ryuuji during class~

Sorry it took me so long to fill this! It has gotten a bit long, so it's going to be a two parter ^^

The Circle of Strife

Part: One (you are here), Two

Ryuuji didn’t expect anything to happen. Nothing had happened in his other classes when he’d tried, but he had to do it for dragoon training, and he had to summon something. There wasn’t much point in the rocket if he couldn’t link it to a demon of some sorts. The water demons were the first on his list, and while he’d never felt particularly attached to the water kingdom, he drew the circle out, double checked the old book to confirm he’d done it right, stood up, and lifted his hand. With a quick prayer that this worked (he really couldn’t afford to fail this damn class) he cut his ring finger as neatly as he could and let a few drops of blood fall into the magic circle. 

The professor nodded her approval at his magic circle, and that was really all Ryuuji expected to receive out of the process. There was no acing this class with his utter inability to summon any damn thing. He’d have to bust his ass on an enormous and in depth paper to try and salvage his grade.

There wasn’t a lot of time left in this class, but maybe he could get another circle drawn. If something happened with that one, there was still a prayer that he could pass. 

Ryuuji shifted to grab his cloth to clear the failed circle and start on the next one, when a flicker of blue light appeared at the center of his overly complicated circle. It was roughly the size of his thumb, and was shaped sort of like a flame he’d expect to see at the top of a candle.

For a moment, he simply blinked at it in confusion, wondering if it was a trick of the lights or another sign that he really just needed glasses. He frowned, moved a little closer, and realized it was not a trick of the light. Confused more than anything, he crouched down to get a better look. 

It flared as he drew near. It was giving off the tiniest amount of heat, and he found himself convinced it was a demon, and immediately curious about the type.

"What are you?" He couldn't help but ask, intrigued by the way his breath seemed to affect the flame.

“Oh!” The teacher called, coming back his way with a small smile. "What's that?"

Ryuuji abruptly straightened and pasted on the best smile he could manage. “I’m not certain, yet. I used a, uh, modified version of Nachtnebel’s circle.” It had to be modified because this sure as hell wasn’t the nixie that circle was supposed to summon.

The instructor peered down, frowning a little. The flame had shrunk as Ryuuji drew back. He didn’t feel any different either. Izumo made it sound like summoning should make him tired somehow.

“Feed it something more. That might not have been enough to sustain it. And maybe different components.” She straightened back up. “This shows some promise, Mr. Suguro.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He waited until she’d left to look back at the demon and the circle. It took him a moment to get his phone out of his pocket, but he hastily took as many pictures of the circle as he could. He had no idea what the hell this was, but it was going to work with him and he was going to pass this damn class. Whatever this flicker was, it was his summons now.

Shifting forward, Ryuuji took a breath and exhaled slowly as he pulled a few hairs from his head. (The flame flared again with his breath.) It felt like he should say something before giving the hairs, but all he could think of was eat this and that sounded stupid and he wasn’t going to draw attention to the fact that this wasn’t a water demon any more than he already had. 

Ryuuji offered another breath instead, and dropped the hairs into the flame. It lapped them up, sparking and sizzling and burning it up.

It grew twice as large. 

“More.”

Ryuuji could hear the word in his head, a growl more than anything else. Rough and raspy and real, something he hadn’t actually expected, despite knowing that this was a summons of some kind. It had him instinctually startling a little, his head jerking back as he tensed. 

Holy shit. Ryuuji had actually summoned something. Fuck yeah!

“Hungry.” 

Ryuuji didn’t know what the flame wanted. He was a bit loathe to give it more blood, and he didn’t know if hair was what the demon wanted, so he shifted back and reached for his bag, hauling the yakisoba bread he’d packed for his after workout snack out. 

“Uh,” What did he say? Shiemi talked to Nee like he was a best friend, and Izumo summoned her familiars with a prayer (even though they talked ot her like she was their annoying little sibling.) “Try this?”

(Why had he made that a question? Ugh.)

Ryuuji set the bread down and pushed it towards the flames. They flared a bit, flickered over the edge of the bread, and then, almost as if had enjoyed the taste, it immediately spread over the entire offering, consuming it and leaving nothing behind. Not even a bit of ash. 

Then the flame was abruptly extinguished and Ryuuji swore violently in his head as the teacher came back towards him. Little bastard demon had eaten his food and not given him anything.

“Mr. Suguro?”

Ryuuji turned his head, trying to look like he wasn’t worrying, and opened his mouth, only for there to be a pop, crack, and then a bright and hot flare of fire in the circle. He sprang back and out of it, reeling in surprise. 

It wasn’t a small flame this time. It was a damn bonfire. The circle was confining it, but its flames were roaring towards the ceiling in a dramatic display. 

Accompanied with that dramatic display was a screech in Ryuuji’s head that had his hands flying up to press against the sides of his head. Something that might have been freedom! was roared in his head, and something formed inside of the angry swirl of flames.

“Suguro!” Miss Yamada snapped, “Control your summons!”

Ryuuji had no idea how to do that outside of breaking the circle, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that. It’d be as good as admitting defeat and he was going to get this summons to listen to him and he was going to pass this damn class, and he was never going to have to bother with this stupid subject again. 

“SHUT UP!” He mentally bellowed, hoping that would help something. The screaming in his head stopped, and a much angrier voice replaced it. 

“Let me go!”

Well, whatever he’d summoned was intelligent as well as hot tempered. “I can’t right now, so just calm the hell down. You’ve been summoned. Stop the screeching and flame thing.” 

There was another snarl in his mind, and then an abrupt silence. The flames receded, revealing a boy about his age. He had dark black hair, bright blue eyes, freckled skin, a long black tail with a tuft at the end kind of like a lion, and sharp claws. He was in a hoodie and slacks, barefoot, with a curious expression on his face.

Definitely not a nixie.

The books had said to introduce himself and assert his position, so he straightened up, broadening his stance and giving the demon a stern look. (Hopefully not a glare. He didn’t want to look mean. He needed this demon’s help to pass the damn class.)

“I am Ryuuji Suguro, and I have summoned you and have… mastery over you.” The hesitation wasn’t going to help anything, and those words didn’t sound right at all. Ryuuji firmed his gaze (definitely a glare now) and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me your name.” 

The demon tilted its head in assessment before promptly giving a toothy smile. “I’m Rin, Ryuuji.” 

Ryuuji’s cheeks went a bit pink. “Suguro. Call me Suguro. Now…” Miss Yamada was standing right next to him and judging him and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know anything about Rin or how to link him to his firearms. He knew the steps but it was something he had to have Rin help him with. He needed to have a connection and an agreement with this demon. 

Rin was just staring at him, that smile—smirk? Was it a smirk? —firmly in place. Rin was staring at him expectantly and seemed to know how much Ryuuji wasn’t sure what to do. 

Ryuuji swallowed and stood straight. “Can you make me a small flame?”

Rin held his hand up and summoned a flame in his hand. A vaguely humanoid looking flame. 

Ryuuji. Rin had made a small flame version of him. Cocky bastard. Damn it, that was funny and clever.

“Thank you,” he said, choosing not to acknowledge the joke in front of his professor. She was still watching them, but looked more approving now that Ryuuji was interacting with Rin and Rin seemed to be listening. 

Rin looked a bit surprised at the thanks, and Ryuuji could work with that. He could work with Rin.

Almost as if he knew what Ryuuji was thinking, Rin gave him a fang filled smile, all bright and challenging. Ryuuji was excited to meet that challenge.

— — — — —

“Alright, Rin,” Ryuuji poured the peach juice into the center of the circle. “We got a  lot of ground to cover and no time to do it.” He had two weeks before the finals of this class and they had to be impressive for him to pass well.

The flame flared and sparked and devoured the juice before extinguishing and then reforming as the demon that looked like a teenager. He was in a hooded jacket today and a skull tshirt. The jeans were ripped, and he was still bare foot. 

“Alright, you’re here. Now—”

“I’m not some kinda pet you can just call.”

Ryuuji immediately scowled. “You have to listen to me. I’m your master.”

Rin plopped down on the ground. “I may be stuck in here, but I don’t hafta do anything.” 

“Do so!”

Rin shoved his nose up in the air. “I’m not doing anything. And I’m hungry.”

Ryuuji focused his will. As long as he was resolved… “Get up!”

“No!”

“You have to listen to me. I’m the tamer and I’m—”

Rin rolled his eyes and plopped over on his stomach, curling his legs up behind himself and propping a hand on his chin like he was about to listen to the latest gossip. 

“I don’t have to listen to you. I just can’t turn on you. Now come on! Food in Gehenna is all shit. Just give me something?”

Ryuuji was not going to be bossed around by his own summons. He wasn’t Izumo. 

“Fine!” he snapped, stomping away from the circle to his bag. Rin perked up, clearly getting the wrong idea, and slouched right back down as Ryuuji sat next to his bag. He pulled a book out and flipped it open, giving Rin another glare.

“Just sit there. You can’t get out of the circle until I figure out why it summoned you, and if you’re not going to work with me, then I’m going to figure out why I got you and not a nixie.”

Rin promptly sat up and glared. “What?! You’re just going to leave me trapped in here?”

Ryuuji ignored him and flipped through the pages to reach the section on Nachtnebel’s circle. He had to figure out what he’d done wrong first.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me!” There was a blinding burst of blue light to meet the complaint, enough that Ryuuji reared back a little. 

Ryuuji had grown up with Shima, and he wasn’t about to make it that easy for Rin to distract him. He stubbornly looked back at his book, trusting the circle to hold Rin and knowing he just had to break the circle to unsummon the demon. 

It was at least ten minutes before the flames dimmed down. Ryuuji spent most of it not reading anything and just glaring at the book pages. When they did dim down, the grumbling didn’t, but Ryuuji was able to concentrate on the symbols in front of him and compare them to the sketch of his circle.

There were three symbols he’d transcribed incorrectly. Three out of a hundred, and they’d apparently summoned whatever Rin was.

He looked up, frowning at Rin, and realized the demon had gone silent at some point. Rin was hunched over, covered with flames, and miserable looking. He didn’t look entirely solid either.

Something a bit guilty twisted through Ryuuji’s gut. He was responsible for the demon being stuck here, and he was responsible for why the demon looked like he did. He’d given Rin enough to materialize, but the containment circle was also keeping him from properly absorbing Ryuuji’s energy to sustain his full self. 

Exhaling loudly, Ryuuji opened his bag up and peered inside until he found the bottle of ramune soda. He broke it open and got to his feet, immediately earning Rin’s attention.

“Don’t bite me,” he warned, and tentatively stuck his hand through the circle’s barrier. He tossed the bottle to Rin, spilling a bit of the soda, but Rin caught it and gave him a quizzical look. 

“It’s a drink.”

“Why?” Rin asked in immediate suspicion that annoyed Ryuuji.

“Just drink it!” He couldn’t do anything nice.

Rin did, and immediately sneezed before looking at the drink in extreme curiosity. “It bubbles!”

“Fizz. Carbonation. It won’t hurt you.”

Rin took another swig and sneezed again before laughing a little. He promptly squashed the happy noise and gave Ryuuji a suspicious look before downing it all.

Rin wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and gave an approving nod. Then, after a grumpy moment, he set the bottle down and crossed his arms with a glare to the side. 

“Thanks,” he muttered like it hurt a little to say.

“No problem,” Ryuuji returned, and well, it was a start.

— — — — —

The trick to working with Rin was entirely food and drinks. Didn’t even seem to entirely matter what type, as long as Ryuuji brought some. Rin got snippy quickly if Ryuuji was too ‘bossy’ but he was quick to do what Ryuuji asked when it was presented like a challenge. 

By the third summons, Ryuuji actually got Rin to summon a small ball of fire in his hands. Granted, Rin immediately threw it at him when he clapped in his approval, but he’d still summoned it because Ryuuji had told him to. Ryuuji gave him pocky for that and started to ramble about all the things he wanted to try and all the information he’d found on the blue flames (precious little) only to blush bright red when Rin laughed and called him a nerd. (But… he did it in a tone that was… friendly? Something that made Ryuuji blush a bit more and cross his arms in embarrassment and mutter about grades.)

The fourth summons was almost entirely amicable, and the fifth was entirely fun. He got another few fireballs sent his way, but they were clearly meant to miss, and Rin showed off by sending a few from his tail as well as his hands.

And then Ryuuji tried to summon Rin again in class. — — — — —

Miss Yamada was standing a meter or so away, watching as he drew out the modified circle. Ryuuji tried to appear confident, even though he was anything but. He still wasn’t even positive he was ever drawing the circle correctly. (Incorrectly? It was a modified version of a standard circle, so could it really be considered to ever be done correctly? 

There was also Rin’s wildness to consider, but Ryuuji had to summon consistently to pass this class, and he was going to pass this damn class. If Rin made too much of a fuss, Ryuuji would summon him while he did his homework, make him sit there with nothing to do, and not give Rin any of the good snacks. Just the Mephy brand rice crackers that tasted like styrofoam.  (He wouldn't. That would be cruel even for the worst kind of demon. Rin seemed pretty far from the worst kind of demon.)

Blue flames consumed his offering of blood and a pack of pocky. Rin appeared with his apparently signature scowl and a lash of his tail. There was a teasing quality to it Ryuuji had seen in their last summons (when he’d dodged the fireball) and he returned it with his own smirk, only to watch Rin eyes dart to Miss Yamada and that teasing quality entirely evaporate. Rin’s arms crossed over his chest (he was wearing the hooded jacket with a faded band shirt today) and his claws dug into his arms as he glared off to the side with a low growl. 

“Rin,” Ryuuji said as clearly as he could, confused by the obvious aggression (he’d bothered to get pocky. Rin seemed to like it best.) “Summon a fireball in your palm.”

Rin didn’t move for a very long moment. Far too long with Ryuuji’s teacher so close. 

“Rin,” Ryuuji tried again, reaching into his bag for the soda. “Summon a fireball in your palm.”

Rin’s eyes met his, flaring with flames as his lip pulled back in a snarl. “No.” 

What the hell? They’d gotten past this — or Ryuuji had hoped they had. 

“Rin—”

Rin stomped his foot against the ground and screeched a loud NO! as a wall of flames shot towards Ryuuji. They stayed in the circle’s barrier, so at least he had proof he was still doing that correctly. Still, they roared up to the ceiling, leaving singe marks on the wooden ceiling and making everyone else rear back in shock and fear.

“Rin!” Ryuuji snapped, confused and worried. (And angry because they were in front of other people and Rin was deliberately being an ass.) 

"No!" Rin growled back.

"Suguro," Miss Yamada frowned at him. "Do you not have control of this demon? You cannot waver." 

"I have control." Ryuuji said even though he was certain he didn't. "Rin's just goofing. Right?" He gave Rin a hard look. This had to work and he needed Rin to at least pretend to be civil.

(And they'd sort of been getting along. He thought Rin had understood and been willing to help for food.)

Rin bared his fangs, and Ryuuji wasn't sure if it was at him or the teacher.

"Get him under control, Suguro, or we’ll have to get someone else to study his kingdom, class, and order.” Miss Yamada snapped her book shut and gave them both a disapproving look as Ryuuji's heart thumped in alarm. “And your grade will suffer.”

#bonrin #my tumblr prompts #ao no exorcist #blue exoricst #bon x rin #bonfire #ryuuji suguro #ryuji suguro #rin okumura #ane #aoex #aoe #bon suguro #bon will do whatever it takes to pass a class #and now the stakes are higher.

[seasaltandcopper]

Crossed Lines // Intro

Toying with a new idea/setting, let me know if there’s any interest in seeing more! This is just the intro and some set up to get you acquainted with the main protagonist, a half-elf mage named Shay, but the plan is to lean hard into dark fantasy (so a lot of whump, horror, action, angst, the whole kit and caboodle. I don’t have a strong direction for it yet, but if you know my Brand it’s a safe bet it’ll touch on those themes.)

Summary: Shay flees from a pack of demons, using blood-enhanced magic to veil his presence at the cost of exhausting himself.

Rating: T

Warnings: Blood, swearing

Shay dragged the dagger across the top of his forearm and crimson beaded in its wake. Wine dark drops of blood barely showed against the low contrast of dusky skin, and the cover of an even darker night. Shay grimaced at the sting. Familiar, but still unpleasant.

And unfortunately, necessary.

Mikal cautioned against over-reliance on blood magic, spent half his breath lecturing Shay about it, but even he couldn’t deny that sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures.

In the distance, the sound of the Hunt’s cries grew louder. A furious howling and chittering and the dry rasp of chitinous legs across the cobbles. Attuned to Shay’s scent, they’d chase him tirelessly until he either managed to break the connection, or they finally ran him down.

Shay sucked in a breath through his teeth, cleaned the obsidian blade hurriedly on his ragged cloak, and re-sheathed it at his belt.

Sorry, Mikal.

Raising his dominant hand, Shay let his fingers hover over the wound and extended his senses. Opened himself to the larger network of energies woven into every organic and living thing around him. Mikal called it the Weave, likened the innumerous threads of energy to a tapestry, but Shay preferred to think of it as a web.

That’s how it felt, anyhow. Perched at the center of a great spiderweb, feeling the thrum and vibration from each thread as it was plucked, his magic giving Shay the ability to tug and alter them too. Normally, blood wasn’t a requirement to work the threads. But it was a powerful catalyst, giving a lone Spinner the ability to amplify their craft threefold.

With a deft flick of his fingers, Shay pulled at the shimmering line drawn from his blood. Other threads joined it, pulled from his surroundings, tying them together, and around himself in a ward that would last until dawn. Tucked away in his makeshift bolthole, one of many in the network of safehouses scattered across the city, Shay knew he’d be safe.

Breathing heavily from the effort, Shay tugged a few more lines, weaving them into the increasingly intricate pattern caged around himself. From the ground, the walls, the boards, all stitched together with a single thread of brilliant crimson, spun from his blood.

Just a little more…

With a grunt, Shay tied off the ward as it stabilized. He severed the connection to himself, breaking the Hunt’s tether to him in the process. The sharp sting of the weaving’s backlash hit like a slap, left his ears ringing and the taste of iron and cloying bitterness in his mouth. He blinked, clearing dark spots from his vision. Panting, hand braced against the frigid, gritty cobblestones of the half-sunken cellar floor, Shay grinned.

Something screeched, a few streets over. A shrill squeal of fury and confusion. It sent a shiver down Shay’s spine, even knowing his ward would hold.

“Dare you to find me now, bastards,” Shay muttered, pushing out a quiet chuckle. Then groaned. Exhaustion slammed down on him like a giant’s club, the immediate consequence of weaving such a powerful ward. Even with the added boost of blood, he’d overdone it.

Stupid, and reckless, Shay imagined Mikal saying.

Stupid and reckless but still alive, Shay would argue.

And he would argue with his brother when he made it back home. That was as inevitable as the sun rising. Which—Shay cocked his head, peering out through a gap in one of the boards hastily tacked over the entrance to his hideout, taking in the position of the moon—was only two or three hours away, at most.

Enough time for a nap.

At this point, Shay didn’t think he had much choice in the matter. Magical exhaustion was nothing to play chicken with. Master or apprentice, it’d still knock you on your ass if you pushed yourself past your limits.

Here, though, Shay figured he was safe. He’d have to be, because he sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere else till his legs stopped feeling like jelly and he could force his eyes open longer than a breath or two at a time.

Stiffly, Shay lay down on the stone floor of the cellar, tucked his legs close and drew his dark cloak around himself like a blanket. Drying blood fanned down his arm, itching and stinging around the edges of the wound, but Shay felt too tired to do more than dab at it with the hem of his cloak. A draft crept in through the gaps in the boarded up window wells, slipped icy fingers under the crack below the trapdoor, and ruffled hair as white as moonlight, but his cloak and hood kept the worst at bay.

Discomforts aside, sleep came swiftly; for once, Shay didn’t even dream.

#my writing #wip #whump writing #fantasy whump #original writing #salt ocs #salt oc: shay #crossed lines #magical exhaustion #I have no impulse control and too many ideas so new series time

[lotusfartstwice]

"LOOK WITH YOUR SPECIAL EYES, BOYS!"

#farty art #uchiha!lee au #Stupid idea hastily drawn at work// #team gai

[uvobreakmylegs]

Enjoy the Silence

trying to get through some backlogged requests. this one is for a vampire!Illumi that takes place in a church

title comes from Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence bc that song gives me Illumi vibes and i thought it kinda worked

Warnings: mentions of Christianity, violence, death, blood, gore, self harm, kidnapping, noncon, smut

The sun was setting fast and you had begun to panic when you realized that you had no idea where you should sleep for the night, having not thought that far ahead in this plan of yours to get away. Even with the amount you had traveled today and how far away you were now, you didn't want to be out on the road at night. Something just told you that he'd have an easier time finding you if you went as far as to attempt to drive for a full 24 hours, not to mention that attempting such a thing was just plain stupid. You needed to find something that could be your shelter, where he couldn't get to you, and when you spotted the imposing building of the large church as you sped down the highway, you decided that it was your best bet to keep yourself safe.

Hastily exiting the highway and parking on a side street, you went in through a side entrance, relieved that those doors hadn't been locked yet, and began to quietly make your way through the building. The few remaining cars that were in the lot meant that there were still people in the church building, and if this was the kind of place where everybody knew everybody, anyone who saw you would instantly know that you didn't belong there.

It'd be seen as weird for someone just passing through the area to make a stop in a place like this, wouldn't it? Making up a lie as to why you were miles and miles away from your home in a church that felt like the middle of nowhere would be difficult, and convincing anyone to let you stay in the building overnight would be impossible.

Telling the truth about why you were there was also out of the question; they'd either think you were crazy or that you were making fun of them. And then you'd have a bunch of church going people upset with you along with the danger that you had been driving away from all day.

So you kept quiet, softly making your way down the hallways you found at the back and checking to see if any doors were unlocked while keeping an eye out for whoever could've still been in the building at this time of day. It felt like the place was far bigger than it needed to be, but you found yourself grateful for that fact in this instance. Surely that would mean more places to hide for you.

When you heard a group of voices about to turn a corner, you managed to get lucky as the next door you tried was still unlocked, and you entered and closed the door behind you before any of them happened to notice anything. The voices came and passed by your location. What they were saying you weren't certain; when you pressed your ear to the door all you were listening for was some sign that someone realized something was wrong, that you were there where you shouldn't be.

No such realization came, and when they were gone completely you allowed yourself to relax a little bit, turning around to lean your back against the door. The room you had escaped into was some sort of children's play area, with toys in bins at the edges of the room and tables with chairs that were far too small for any adult.

Not the best place to hide, especially with the tall windows and the blinds that hadn't been drawn. You could've closed them if you felt you had no other choice, but the worry there was that someone outside might notice and come up to investigate. Maybe that was a long shot, but you didn't want to take the risk. A room away from the outside seemed like a better place to hide in, if there was such a place in this building.

Against all odds, you managed to find such a room when you were sneaking around on one of the upper floors. It looked to be a room meant for the church choir, probably their practice area. And beyond the seats and empty music stands stood an open door that lead into the large closet where the choir robes were kept. The black and white robes hung from either side, and most of them were long enough that they grazed the white tiled floor.

There.

That was where you would hide.

Pushing aside the robes, you found a hiding spot in the corner. If you sat in the back it hopefully wouldn't make anything look too out of place, and as long as you kept quiet from now until everyone else in the building left, you doubted anyone would have a reason to come up and check in there. Unless someone came in, no one would be able to tell you were even there.

There seemed to be a smell of incense that clung to some of the robes as you moved them aside. That indicated to you that they hadn't been washed recently, and while it felt a bit gross, you weren't going to risk being discovered because you decided to be picky about a hiding place.

Who knows, maybe the lingering smell of incense would help hide you further.

Or were you being dumb about that? Did his sense of smell even have a factor in him trying to find you? You didn't know, but you didn't want to discount that thought completely.

What were you supposed to do when a vampire said that he was going to take you away?

Despite how you had driven for hours today, that fact didn't feel completely real yet.

Up until last night, vampires had just been creatures from fiction, overused in various forms of media, too many of those stories making up their own rules for vampires just to try and stand out from the rest. Before last night, you hadn't thought about such things too much, but now you were scrambling your brain trying to remember what might be based in truth and what was likely just made up.

So far the only thing you could figure was that the aversion to any Christian symbols had the best chance of being true, given how often that was brought up in stories. Hence why you'd run into the church.

Even if he was able to figure out where you had gone, surely that man who called himself Illumi wouldn't be able to get you from in here.

At least, you hoped he wouldn't.

After settling yourself on the floor in the far corner of the choir robe closet, you pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around your legs. Your head rested against your knees, and you sighed as you tried to get just a little bit of rest, trying not to think about what you would do if you made it to the morning, how you would sneak out after, or how far you would drive away, or where you would even go.

All of this had happened because of some off-handed comment that you hadn't even meant.

You didn't get along well with your neighbor.

He was just some cranky old man who made it no secret that he had an issue with you. What exactly it was, you didn't know. But he had made it clear on that first day that you moved into the house next to his that he didn't approve of you.

That was fine. While you weren't looking to make enemies, you accepted that not everyone in life was going to be friends with you, and you figured the two of you could just exist next to each other without getting in the other's way.

Then you caught him trying to steal one of your packages.

He claimed that he wasn't, that he was just looking at it to make sure that something of his wasn't dropped off at your house by mistake. But when you came out that front door he had stepped off your porch and making his way towards his house, your package in hand.

Looking back on it you felt a fair amount of shame as you hadn't handled it well, calling him a thief and a liar as you snatched the package out of his hands, and the name-calling on your part had incensed him and caused him to scream at you.

A whole slew of increasingly petty incidents occurred after that day, and you had to admit that there were times that you were just as bad as him as you helped to escalate the feud. You tried to stop at certain points, you really did, but there was only so much you could do to hold yourself back from responding after hearing his vague threats about you dying suddenly while in the same breath mentioning the shotgun he had over his fireplace.

And then one night, when you and a friend had been sitting outside in your backyard around midnight, quietly talking and drinking, you noticed your neighbor watching the two of you from his home. There was no way you or your friend were being loud enough that you had woken him up, but you didn't want to risk him doing something as drastic as calling the police for a noise complaint, so you told your friend that it would be better if the two of you headed back inside.

Your friend noticed the old man and waved to him in a mocking manner, to which his scowl deepened and he abruptly shut the blinds.

“I hope the situation with this guy dies down soon,” your friend had said as they headed back inside.

“Yeah,” you agreed, but before you shut the back door as you sarcastically added “it'd be nice if that guy could just drop dead already.”

It was a horrible thing to say, but you hadn't meant it. The words came from a place of frustration and exhaustion after dealing with him for so long. And at worst it was more of a comment hoping that the old man's age would catch up with him soon, not that you wanted him murdered.

You hadn't meant it.

You knew that.

Your friend knew that.

But the third party that you hadn't even been aware of clearly didn't.

For about a week after that night, things had been quiet. You tried to tell yourself that days without drama were a good thing, but a part of you felt like it was the calm before the storm, and something really, really bad was going to happen soon.

Then last night happened, and it was even worse than you could've imagined.

You awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of something loud going off, loud enough that even though it came from the house of your neighbor, it had managed to wake you up.

You sat in bed confused at first, unsure of what to make of the situation or what you had even heard as your brain desperately tried to boot itself back up.

Then you heard the noise again, and now that you were awake, you were able to figure out what exactly you had heard.

That was a gunshot.

Why would he be shooting a gun?

Was your neighbor under attack?

That seemed to be the only conclusion you could come to. It was the only explanation that seemed plausible. With how often the man had mentioned that shotgun of his, it seemed reasonable that it was the source of the shots you'd heard, and as unhinged that he had seemed at times, you didn't think he'd be shooting the inside of his house for no reason.

Someone had broken into his home and he was trying to fight them off.

You should've called emergency services right then and there, informed them what was going on and then hidden somewhere in your house. But for whatever reason, you ventured towards the side of your home that faced his, trying to see if you could see him or the intruder, so the police might have some idea of what they were up against when you called.

Your neighbor's body slammed against the glass of his window, making you jump as you yelped. When his eyes met yours, he began to beat against it desperately, his screams at you muffled through the sheets of glass that separated you two as he yelled two words at you over and over again.

Help me

Then he vanished.

No. He'd been..... Yanked up?

It was like something had picked him up, as he had lifted off of the floor by the back of his shirt before he was thrown to the side like a ragdoll.

You should've called the police. Should've called someone and gotten the hell out of your house and far, far away from there.

But once again, you chose an option that made little sense as you ran back to your bedroom, closed the door and jumped back into bed to pretend that you were sleeping.

You were aware that what you were doing was a more cowardly way of going about things, but seeing that old man being thrown around like that terrified you. Who – or what? – could do that to a person? You had no clue, and you didn't want to find out for yourself.

Whoever that intruder was, they wouldn't kill you if they thought you'd been asleep through the whole thing, right? Sure, the old guy had been calling out for help, but since he didn't name you specifically, maybe the person who attacked him would think that it was just a general call for help that wasn't aimed at anyone in particular. As long as they were convinced that you couldn't be a witness to any of it, whoever that attacker was would leave you alone.

The muffled noises that you could still hear despite the distance ended not long after, and you curled in on yourself while you lay in bed. It didn't feel right, but right now it was more important to look after yourself. The last thing you wanted was to do something stupid and get yourself killed.

Time passed, but you stayed in that same spot in bed, your arms wrapped around yourself as you held onto the bed sheets tight. Sleep would be impossible, but you refused to move until daylight came and you were one hundred percent certain that your neighbor's attacker was gone.

You didn't hear it when someone entered your house.

His footsteps made no noise on your floors, and he entered your room with just as much stealth, your heartbeat that was still pounding in your ears hiding the noise of the door creaking as it was pushed open.

You were only aware of his presence when he finally chose to speak.

“I can tell that you're awake.”

The monotone voice that came from behind you made your blood freeze, and you laid there petrified in your bed.

“Your heartbeat is too fast for someone who's asleep. Why are you still pretending?”

Suddenly the intruder had switched the bedside lamp on.

Admitting defeat, your shaky arms slowly pushed your upper body until you were in a sitting position, and you cautiously glanced over to the person in your room.

The man who stood before you was rather pale with long raven hair, wearing an odd looking outfit with golden pins stuck to his jacket. There was a hole in the middle, and when you looked closer, you realized that he had been shot in the chest as there was blood seeping out of the open and staining the fabric of his jacket. Yet he didn't seem bothered by it. Cold black eyes met yours as you looked over to him, and when you glanced downward, the thick crimson that dripped from both of his hands along with his chest wound made you shudder.

He noticed your reaction, glancing down himself and made a noise as if he had realized something.

“Ah. I should've cleaned up, shouldn't I? You aren't used to seeing such things, are you?” he asked.

It took you a few moments before you shook your head “no”.

He let out a small breath of a sigh.

“I suppose you wouldn't want to see what became of that man, then?”

“.... What... What did you do?” you asked.

“What you wanted.”

That statement confused you, and as you looked at his bloodied hands and remembered the last you had seen of your neighbor, you shook your head again as you told him “I-I didn't want anything.”

“You wanted him gone. Did you forget? Just the other night you said that you wanted him to drop dead,” the man answered.

The other night?

It took you a few moments to remember what you had said, and horror filled you when you realized that he was correct; you did say that.

“Do you remember now?” he asked.

You gave a slow nod.

A small smile graced his lips, and he seemed pleased with himself.

“But...” you began, “but why?”

He blinked in surprise.

“I thought it was clear that it was because that was what you wanted,” he told you, “I wanted to give you a gift when I introduced myself.”

You hadn't wanted that. You hadn't meant that. You hadn't. But at the moment you were too scared to correct him. For all you knew, saying that would make him kill you, too.

“A.... Gift?” you asked.

“Yes. The person you hate most is dead.”

Placing his hand over the hole in his chest, he continued “my name is Illumi, and I've come to take you as my wife.”

You didn't respond, and he tilted his head to the side as he looked at you curiously.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“Uh, um, a-all that stuff earlier. The way he was yelling and how you threw him around. That really freaked me out,” you told him.

“I see. That's too bad, but I couldn't have kept such things from you forever,” Illumi said, “better that you saw it now so you can get used to it. You'll inevitably see worse than what you have tonight.”

He moved then, and though you had a mind to make a break for the now open door, you stayed in place on the bed, watching and twisting yourself around so you could see what he was doing when he walked around the foot of the bed and then sat down next to you. The blood on his hands transferred over to your sheets when he leaned back slightly, but what made you feel nauseous was the shotgun hole in his chest that you could see more clearly now that he had gotten closer.

“You seem distressed,” he commented.

“.... This is a lot,” you answered. Honestly, you were amazed that you had managed to keep yourself relatively composed so far.

“For now,” he said, “give it some time, and I'm sure you'll be more comfortable with such things.”

“What, you mean... Killing people?”

He nodded.

“Why would I want to?” you asked incredulously.

“You'll have to if you want to survive.”

Survive?

“Is that a threat?” you asked.

“No. Just a fact. But don't worry; I'll help you. I can't have you starving to death.”

Starving?

Your confused expression seemed to amuse him, as he smiled again. He then brought his hand back up to his chest, his finger tracing along the edges of the hole in his chest and occasionally dipping in. That sight made you feel ill again.

“Shall I show you what I mean?” Illumi asked you.

That same hand was at your throat then, pulling down the neckline of your sleepwear as his other hand pulled you towards him. For a brief moment you saw his mouth open -

And caught sight of two long sharp canines.

And then they were lodged in your throat, his teeth easily breaking through your skin while his mouth clamped over the wound, and you felt the way he began to suck the blood from your artery.

…. A vampire?

Was this guy actually a vampire? Such things were real?

You were honestly amazed that your brain had managed to come to that conclusion despite the extreme stress of the situation.

The blood of your neighbor stained your night clothes and your skin as Illumi held you close to him while he continued to gulp down your blood. Your own hands were grasping at his clothing because in that moment you needed something to hold onto. That probably wasn't the proper response. The proper response would have been to fight him, get him off of you. But your mind went back to the bullet hole. If Illumi was able to survive a shotgun wound to the chest, what the hell would you be able to do to him?

So you let him do what he wanted while you grew weaker and weaker.

He kept his grip on you when he finally pulled away and kept you from slumping over. With how lightheaded you felt after how much blood he had taken, you felt a little bit of gratitude that he didn't just let you fall. There was something liquid running down your neck and a quick glance down confirmed that it was your own blood that trailed down your neck and now your chest.

Illumi brought your attention back to him when he said your name.

“Look,” he said, pointing to his chest.

You did as he said, looking back down and expecting to see that bullet hole again.

The hole in the shirt was still there.

But the wound was gone.

You hadn't imagined it. You were certain of that. The wound had been there just seconds ago, but now all you saw was a portion of Illumi's bare chest, and no sign of any damage save for what had been done to his clothing.

“If something like that happens to you, you'll be able to heal yourself in the same way,” Illumi explained, “but I don't expect you'll be getting shot like that any time soon.”

You looked between his face and the hole in his shirt.

“Y-you're not going to kill me?”

He stared at you blankly for a moment.

“I told you that I was taking you as my wife. Why would I kill you?”

Illumi raised a hand and poked at your forehead.

“You need to pay better attention,” he told you.

“But.... You bit me.”

“I needed to heal myself,” he explained, “and drinking your blood is also part of the process.”

“Process?”

“Of making you like me.”

Illumi pulled away from you then, holding out his wrist in front of him. On his other hand the nails grew sharper and extended, and you could see prominent veins running down his fingers that formed after.

With a single nail, he sliced open his own wrist, and dark blood quickly came bubbling from the cut.

Illumi turned back to you.

“Drink,” he ordered, offering up his injured wrist.

The urge to run from him was greater than ever. But in your current state you knew that you likely wouldn't even make it off of the bed before he caught you. Hell, even if you had been fully rested up and uninjured you doubted that you could've gotten away from him.

Resisting him would just make things worse.

He was pushing his wrist closer to your mouth, and if you didn't act now, you could see him forcing you to drink his blood.

“W-wait.”

“Why?”

His question came immediately after you spoke, his brows lowering just a fraction. You sensed that he was starting to get annoyed.

“I didn't know this was going to happen,” you said.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I-I can't just do this and run off with you. There are people who'll worry about me if I just disappear, like my friends. And my family.”

He had seemed rather unimpressed with your explanation, but you saw that he reacted slightly to the word “family”.

You latched onto that, continuing with “please, give me a day to come up with a story for them so they won't worry. So my family won't be worried that I got kidnapped or something, and I can get everything in order to make things easier on them when I'm gone. Just until the end of the day so I know that my family will be okay, then I'll go with you and do whatever you want.”

Illumi stayed silent, considering you with that same blank stare as he had this whole time. You stayed silent as well, fearing that if you tried too hard to convince him it would put him off and he'd go ahead with what he had planned. You didn't want to appear as though you were too desperate for this.

He seemed to have come to a decision when he lowered his arm.

“I suppose it is a reasonable enough request,” he began, “maybe it was wrong of me to spring everything on you all at once. Although I don't like letting you go for another day, I'll allow it if you promise that you'll be using that time to do what you say you will.”

You eagerly nodded your head.

“I promise. I'll get everything in order and I'll be waiting here for you tomorrow night.”

He was quiet again, and you worried that your response may have been a bit too forceful.

But he conceded when he told you “very well. I'll wait until tomorrow night to turn you.”

You really did mean it when you thanked him profusely.

After that you were expecting that he would leave, but he had insisted on staying with you. Specifically by spending the rest of the night in bed with you, and you found yourself pressed against his chest as he cuddled with you.

At least that wound was gone now.

“Your heart rate hasn't gone down much,” he commented, “you should be getting more comfortable by now.”

“I'm still a bit freaked out by the whole murder thing,” you answered, “I don't get why you killed my neighbor.”

“He was a threat to you and he treated you poorly. By getting rid of him I proved that I have your best interests in mind,” Illumi stated.

“Oh.... Okay.”

You felt the weight of his gaze on you after you spoke.

“Is that all you have to say about that?” he asked.

“..... Th-thank you?” you tried.

That seemed to satisfy him, as he let out a soft hum and went quiet.

Somehow, you managed to get some sleep while you were in his arms. When you awoke he was gone, and the only proof that he had been there at all was the blood that was still all over you and your sheets.

Despite how late it was when you had woken up, you took a short shower to wash all of the red off, knowing that you couldn't go anywhere looking like that. You took the time to slap a large bandage on the bite mark on your before you hastily filled a backpack full of clothes and some small sentimental items.

There was no way in hell that you were waiting here for him. You were going to run as far as you could.

The day was spent on endless driving, going as fast as you could on the highway without going so fast as to attract the attention of law enforcement. Getting caught for a speeding ticket would eat up time that you desperately needed to get away. And every time you caught sight of a police officer, another wave of anxiety hit you. You had no idea what the scene was like at your neighbor's place. Given the way Illumi looked, it would be bloody, and with the way your neighbor had been tossed around it would definitely be violent.

You didn't know how fast someone would notice that something was wrong and when the police would be called. And if they went to your home to try and get a statement, how fast would it take for them to decide to go in and look for you and then find all of that blood on your bed? You wondered if they might talk to your friend, the one who had been with you the night you made the comment about your neighbor dying, and if they would tell the police about that. You wondered if they would speak to your other neighbor's who were aware about your issues and if they might come to the conclusion that you had something to do with his death. How fast would that take? If they determined that you had run away to hide from your involvement?

The worst thing wasn't just that you were involved; you had caused that.

All because some psycho vampire overheard a comment that you hadn't meant to be taken seriously.

By the time night began to fall and you felt that you were reaching your limits, you spotted that church on the side of the road, and it had felt like a good sanctuary for you. Just for tonight.

You awoke with a stiffness in your neck, likely caused by the way you had slept and the bite from earlier. Given that you had left your cellphone back home because you were worried it could've been used to track you down, you had no way to tell what time it was. All you had was a sense that it was very, very early in the morning.

Allowing your limbs to stretch out a bit, you wondered how much longer would it be before people would start to come in for the day? Depending on the day of the week, it could be a lot of them. Maybe that could work to your advantage, if you tried to blend in with the crowd and then run back to your car. It might also be worth it to see if there was some kind of kitchen and if they had any food. While you had made a few stops yesterday, you made a point to not stay in one place for too long, so all you had eaten within the past 24 hours were a few energy bars and some other snacks that weren't the healthiest.

You'd need to stop for actual food soon if there was nothing for you here. And then you'd need to be on your way again.

On your way where?

Things that you didn't want to think about cropped up just then, questions that had been there since you had first started driving that you were now forced to acknowledge.

How far did you plan on going? Where did you even plan to go?

You didn't have an answer for either question, and you hit your forehead against your knees again as you tried to think of some kind of solution to this impossible situation. It had never occurred to you before this that you might need to pick up everything and start a new life, and you had no clue how one would go about that. Seemed likely that you'd need to go to another country, or just somewhere that was too far away from anyone back home to recognize you.

But they weren't the problem.

Illumi was.

You hadn't seen him for long enough to determine what he was capable of. Aside from healing himself with your blood and being able to take a shotgun blast to the chest with no issue, you didn't know what he could do to find you.

The thoughts you'd had when you first entered this building came to mind, and you began to wonder again; would it have been that bad to try and keep driving? Was it actually a mistake to make this stop even though you needed the rest? Or would he even go after you? He had made a point about his grand gesture of killing your neighbor being for you, but when he went back to your house last night and found that you weren't there, would he bother trying to track you down? In your mind, it seemed like it'd be easier for him if he just found another girl to fill in the role of his wife.

You felt a bit ashamed at your own callousness in that last thought, that you would rather someone else be terrorized by that man in your place. But you truly couldn't fathom what there was about yourself that would make Illumi insist on having you.

And was it really that selfish to want to avoid the fate he intended for you?

…. If it meant that someone else was put up on the chopping block, then yes.

You rested your head against your knees and wished you could go back and keep yourself from saying that stupid, tasteless comment.

Still tucked at the back of the choir room closet, you heard a faint noise that you gave no mind to at first, as you just assumed it was the building making those sounds. Older buildings creaked and settled a lot, so you dismissed them.

But after a little bit of time, you noticed that they were rather constant. Not erratically timed as you would have expected.

And they were getting louder.

…. Footsteps.

Those were footsteps that were steadily coming up the stairs.

You covered your mouth in an attempt to keep your breathing quieter while you pushed yourself further into the corner. The thought that came immediately after that realization was that it was Illumi who had found you and was coming for you.

It couldn't be him. It couldn't. How in the hell would he even have followed you here?

And after all, when he had entered your home last night you hadn't heard anything, not even when he walked over to your bed and sat down. He was completely silent when he walked, so whoever was coming up the stairs couldn't be him. It was someone checking on the building, or someone who needed to get in early. Not him.

….. But what if he wanted you to hear him?

Despite the way you tried to convince yourself that you were wrong and that it wasn't him, everything in your entire being was telling you that Illumi had found you, and because of your hiding spot at the back of a closet on the top floor, you had only one way in or out, and that exit would quickly become cut off once he came close enough.

Him finding you was now only a matter of time.

You heard as the footsteps became clearer on the stairs.

You heard as they reached the top and began to make their way down the hall.

And you heard when they stopped just inside the choir's practice room, and sensed the way a pair of eyes looked at the still opened door of the closet.

Then it was silent, and you held both hands over your mouth while you tried to steady your breathing.

It was only a matter of time, but you wanted to stretch it out for as long as possible.

The silence was broken when you heard that monotone voice say your name.

“Come out. Now.”

There was some emotion in his voice with the last word, and it sounded like he was angry.

“I will drag you out.”

Upon hearing that threat, and knowing that you had no other options, you forced yourself to your feet on unsteady legs. Pushing aside the incense-smelling robes, you stopped just short of the doorway of that small room.

There weren't any windows up here at all, so the only source of light was the glowing red exit sign at the top of the entrance.

Illumi stood before it and the light shone from behind him, the red light bathing him and leaving his face in shadow, making it impossible to make out what sort of expression might be on his face.

It was like some demon had crawled straight up from hell to collect you.

“You lied to me,” you heard him say.

…. What were you supposed to say to that? Should you respond?

“I chose to trust you, and you lied to me,” he continued, “why did you do that?”

You took in a deep breath before you spoke.

“Who wouldn't run from you after that?” you asked.

“'That'?” he repeated.

“You murdered someone! And then you bit me.”

“Biting you was necessary. In order to make you like me. I told you this.”

“I don't want to be like you,” you told him.

“Why not?”

“Why not-! I don't want to kill people!” you exclaimed, “I could never live like that.”

“You wanted your neighbor dead.”

“No I didn't!”

“You said you did.”

“No, I didn't mean that!”

“You didn't mean it, but you still said it?”

It sounded like he genuinely didn't understand.

“It was something dumb that I said without really thinking. I wasn't being serious! No one would ever be serious saying something like that!” you insisted.

Illumi let out what sounded like a scoff.

“You are incorrect on that last point. There are many people in the world who have no issues with killing,” he said, “and even if you didn't want it, you should still feel some gratitude for what I did for you.”

“I'm not going to thank you for murdering someone,” you told him, “and I'm not going to be like you. I'd rather die than be whatever you are.”

He didn't respond to that. Though you couldn't see his face, you could sense him looking at you. What was he thinking about? Probably how he was going to dispose of you, you thought bitterly. It didn't seem likely that you would live past this encounter, and you tried to take some comfort in the fact that you had tried to get away and then faced him. It was little consolation, but at least it was something.

You had tried.

“... It seems I wasted some effort on you,” he finally said.

That sounded like he had decided to kill you, and you tried to make peace with that fact.

“Clearly I should have just taken you instead of bothering with any sort of gesture.”

He was on top of you in an instant. His inhuman speed made you attempt to back up out of instinct, but just as quickly there was a fist punching into your stomach, and the pain made you double over into him.

That didn't last very long, and you soon found yourself slung over his shoulder as he carried you out of the upstairs room. You tried to get your bearings and got a brief glance at the closet you had been hiding in before he turned a corner and began to make his way down the stairs.

Your struggles to get yourself out of his grip were in vain, as no matter how much you tried to wrench his arm off of you, Illumi's hold on you was firm. Trying to attack him to make him let go of you resulted in nothing as your attempts to hurt him were clearly too weak, and when you tried to hold onto the railing of the stairway to put a stop to your kidnapping, your hands were easily tugged off as Illumi continued to walk down with you over his shoulder. He didn't respond to anything you did or said, and seemed to just be waiting for you to give up on your own.

That moment came sooner than you would've liked.

By the time he had made it to the bottom of the last flight of stairs, you had slumped over his shoulder, pain still in your gut as your head hung down in defeat. This was it. The end of the line. You had managed to bargain for an extra day and all you had accomplished was working yourself into a frenzy while you desperately tried to put off the inevitable.

“What are you going to do to me?” you asked him.

Illumi let out an annoyed grunt.

“I've told you this already. Did you forget or are you trying to make me upset?”

“.... After all of this, you still want to make me your wife?”

“Are you saying I should kill you and find someone else?” he asked.

He was walking in an area you hadn't encountered when you had first entered the church. A large room with doors on either side, and through the narrow glass windows on one side, you found yourself looking at the chapel that was still lit up. Illumi was walking you towards the other side, which appeared to be the building's main entrance.

“.... That's what I would've expected,” you said.

Illumi abruptly stopped.

Once again, now in the way he held you over his shoulder, you couldn't see what emotions he was going through, what expression may have been on his face that might have clued you into the state he was in after hearing your words. But now that he was holding you, you were able to get an idea with how his grip became so tight that it began to hurt.

“I should kill you,” he then said.

Then he turned around and began to make his way to the chapel.

“Tricking me, running away, forcing me to chase you down and all of your insults are transgressions that are punishable by death. Not to mention how much you've irritated me by choosing this place as your hiding spot, as little as it did for you.”

With one hand, Illumi pushed open one of the chapel doors, and with you still over his shoulder, he walked down the center aisle, past the rows of pews as he made is way towards the altar at the end of the room.

“I should kill you,” he repeated, “drain you in exchange for the effort that went into tracking you and then find someone more worthy.

“But I've found that I've become oddly attached to you.”

Upon reaching the altar, he ripped off the white cloth that covered the surface, causing the candlesticks and other decoration that adorned the sides to clatter to the floor. No sooner had he done that did he slam you onto the altar's surface. You hit the wooden surface hard and groaned in pain from the impact. It seemed likely he had done that on purpose.

Illumi pulled your hips to the edge as he continued to speak.

“So I'm willing to forgive you. But I'll have to punish you first.”

“Punish....?”

“Yes.”

You understood what he meant when he began to tug off your pants, leaving your legs bare in the cold, open room.

Protests immediately began to spill from your mouth, but that was put to a stop when Illumi stared at you. It looked like there was something swirling in those dark eyes, a silent warning telling you to not fight him anymore and promising even more pain if you continued.

That look in his gaze, combined with all that had happened over the past 24 hours; his invulnerability, his strength and the silent threat of something worse happening to you made you go limp, and you looked past him to the arched ceiling of the chapel. All you could hope for was that this would be over quickly.

“Perhaps a location like this one makes this a bit over the top,” Illumi continued, pulling your pants down to your ankles and stepping on them to remove them from your legs completely, “but maybe that's what you need to fully understand what your new role is from now on.”

There was no gentleness in his touch when he pushed your panties to the side and shoved in his fingers. The feeling made you yelp and grab at his arm with one hand. He ignored it, focusing instead on shoving his fingers in and out of you so as to properly prepare you. Nothing about this was being done for your benefit. He was just stretching you out so he would have an easier time when he entered you.

As Illumi continued to work on you, you felt something poking into your leg. You regretted the way you lifted yourself up slightly to see what it was, only to find Illumi's erection pushing against the fabric of his pants. How the fuck was he that hard already? Looking up, you found that his face was as blank as ever, yet he was clearly aroused by the situation. There was also no hint of his arousal when he next spoke.

“Remove your hand,” he told you.

Reminding yourself of the silent threat you had seen in his eyes earlier, you complied with his order, pulling your hand away and using both to grip at the edges of the altar.

It also struck you that he could still kill you. He'd claimed to have gotten attached to you, but it didn't seem unlikely that he could change his mind.

It felt like it hadn't taken very long before the heat began to pool at your sex and wetness began dripping out of you. You weren't sure; you were trying to avoid thinking too much.

If that was the case, Illumi made no mention of it. The instant his fingers had begun to glide in more easily, he removed them. He wiped the fluid off on your inner thigh before his hands went to the waistline of his pants, and soon enough you felt the head of his cock brushing against your folds as he took your hips in hand and guided you into a better position.

The feeling of it made you jolt a bit, though you tried to keep from moving too much for fear of Illumi interpreting it as you trying to get away again.

He paused after you did that.

He'd been largely focused on prepping you, keeping his eyes on your pussy while he ensured that you were wet enough to take him. But now that his attention was no longer on that, he seemed to just be taking you in, looking at the state he had reduced you to while you fought back tears brought about by embarrassment and resentment and feelings of utter helplessness.

He then glanced down at the band aid you'd put over the bite wound and frowned.

It was swiftly ripped from your neck and you winced at how harshly it had been removed while he tossed it to the side.

His hand was at your neck, the pads of his fingers going over the area where he had bitten you, lightly tracing over the two holes in your jugular. They had long-since closed during the time it had taken you to get here, but after a few moments of him pressing down and picking at them, you felt blood running down your neck once more.

Illumi kept his hand there for a moment, feeling as the red came flowing out of your neck as it stained his fingers.

Then he brought his fingers up to his lips and his tongue dipped out to lap up your blood that was dripping down.

He sighed a bit, as if savoring your taste.

And then his hands were back at your hips, and with one fluid motion, he was inside of you.

There was some relief in the fact that it didn't hurt that much; Illumi had done enough to make sure that he could enter you comfortably. But you were still being violated by psychotic, blood-sucking monster, and you felt more humiliation due to the fact that he was calling this a “punishment”.

You let out short whines and groans, and your hands on the altar's edge eventually found their way to Illumi's shirt, gripping at the fabric and pins just so you could have something that was easier to hold onto.

He let out a hum at that action, as though he was pleased with you.

“You aren't forgiven yet, but you may continue actions like those,” Illumi told you.

Were you trying to make him happy with you? Just to make sure he wouldn't kill you?

Didn't you say earlier that you'd rather die than be like him?

His pace was rough as he snapped his hips against yours, drawing out more moans and whines from you that echoed against the high walls. He was staying fairly silent, only letting out a few quiet sighs and humming lightly to himself whenever you did something that he liked, be it you gripping at him harder or the way your walls would clench around his dick.

Illumi began to slow a little as he leaned down, and you felt his breath hit your injured neck. Despite the re-opened wound, you felt those fangs in your flesh once more he bit down into your neck again, greedily gulping down your blood as he continued to fuck you.

Part of the process, he had said.

And then he'd have you drink his blood?

You remembered the way he'd sliced open his own wrist the night before and told you to drink from the wound. Was that what was going to happen after he finished with this?

Didn't you say earlier that you'd rather die than be like him?

You tried to struggle, to use the grip you had on his shirt to push him up and off of you, to maneuver your legs to kick him away from you, but the exhaustion of the earlier day and the blood loss you were currently experiencing made your attempts useless.

Still, it drew a reaction from him.

He pulled away from your neck and tutted, then whispered into your ear “why are you still fighting me?”

I don't want to kill people

I don't want to be a monster

I don't want to be with you

Those answers flew through your mind, yet you chose to answer with something different.

“I'm scared.”

Hearing your voice saying those words made you feel even more pathetic.

“Hm.”

He didn't say anything other than that at first. He just kept his mouth at your ear while his hips continued to roll into yours. With how close he was, you could now hear more of the little noises he was making, soft groan and sighs, things that had previously been too quiet for you to hear due to your own moans and the way they had echoed in the church. Hearing all of that just made you feel more dirty.

You wanted to tell him to back up a little, to stop breathing in your ear like that, but there was no telling what sort of response ordering him around like that would get.

“You'll get over it,” he then told you.

And with that he was back at your throat, biting down into your skin again and exacerbating your blood loss.

He kept thrusting into your pussy as he drank from your neck, seemingly taking his time with you now, making sure to push in deep.

At least his mouth on your neck meant you couldn't hear those noises anymore.

When he pulled back up, you finally saw the first signs of him being affected by this as he had a light flush on his cheeks while a thin trickle of your blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His eyes seemed somewhat glazed over as well, and the tempo slowed further until he stopped completely, and he removed one of his hands from you, bringing it up to his face.

Just like the night prior, you saw his nail extend into a sharp point and the veins that formed after, pushing out against the pale skin of his finger. When that was finished, he opened his mouth and extended his tongue out slightly as he brought the nail to his mouth.

With a single smooth motion, Illumi cut a deep line down the middle of his tongue, and his mouth quickly filled up with his own blood that came flowing from the wounded muscle, staining his teeth further and beginning to drip down his chin.

With one hand gripping the back of your head to keep you in place, he lowered his face down to yours and shoved his tongue into your mouth without much fanfare.

The taste and the smell of blood was overwhelming, and any attempts to pull your mouth away from his in order to spit it out got you nowhere. When it ran down to the back of your throat it was impossible to not swallow it, as much as you tried to cough it back out. Illumi's mouth was still sealed over yours, and he ensured that not a drop would escape.

He began thrusting into you again, still staying at that slower pace from before while he shoved his tongue down your throat.

How much longer it all lasted, you couldn't tell. Eventually he pulled away from you so he could put his mouth to your neck again, presumably to heal the cut in his mouth. And after he pushed himself up so he was caging you in again, his pace increased until his hips were back to slamming into yours.

Illumi ground his hips into yours and you felt warmth flooding your insides. He finally, finally pulled off of you. A whine escaped you when he pulled out his softening cock, and he misinterpreted it to mean something other than discomfort.

“Did you forget this was a punishment? I'm not going to let you cum after all that you did,” he told you.

One of his hands rested on your thighs, stroking the flesh softly with his thumb as you whimpered.

“I should be doing more to you, ensure that you never have the temptation to lie to me again,” Illumi said, “but since it will be painful for you when my blood takes effect and you begin to turn, I'll stop here for now. I do hope that this was enough to tame you. Otherwise...”

His thumb stilled and he gripped your thigh ever so slightly.

“I'll need to be harsher with your punishment next time. And as you'll be a vampire by then, I won't need to hold myself back. Do not expect mercy again.”

….. He viewed this treatment of you as “merciful”?

You kept that thought to yourself as he began redressing you, putting your underwear back in place before pulling your pants back up your legs. He was covering you back up?

“.... After all that, why bother?” you whispered to him.

He blinked in surprise.

“Such sights are for my eyes only,” he answered.

Ah.

It wasn't done out of a sense of keeping you from feeling anymore shame. It was just because he felt he had ownership of you now. Just in case someone happened to be out there and see the two of you.

The bite in your neck ached again, and you felt like you needed to correct yourself:

He did have ownership of you now.

Your body was limp when he lifted you off of the altar. Instead of slinging you over his shoulder as he had before, he held you to his chest as he carried you bridal style. He carried you back down the center aisle and kicked open the chapel door with enough force that it was ripped off of it's hinges and toppled to the floor.

Neither of you said anything as he made his way towards the entrance, although when you looked towards the windows and saw light beginning to peek over the horizon as the dark night sky was chased away, you felt a twinge of irritation in your being, like something that hadn't yet started to cause you actual pain, but like you were close to getting to that point.

“Ah. Whoops,” Illumi said aloud, “I spent a little too long with that. We'll need to hurry now; can't have you burning up before I get you somewhere safe.”

You gave him a questioning look as you glanced back over.

“The sunlight won't be good for you for a while,” he explained, “although most other changes take a bit of time to set in, that one is always fairly fast.”

“... I'm going to burn to death?” you asked.

“I just told you that I didn't want that to happen, didn't I? We'll need to have your hearing checked when we get back; you're making me repeat myself far too often.”

“Oh. So sorry about that,” you answered back with a healthy bit of sarcasm. It seemed likely that the last ounce of your energy was going into that response.

“You don't sound very sorry,” he said.

“Mm.”

Looking at the light of day made you instinctively want to get away from it, and despite all that he had done to you, you found yourself burrowing your face into his chest as best you could.

“.... Well, you'll get used to it,” Illumi told you.

With that, he kicked down the doors to the front entrance of the church and let the pieces clatter down the steps. As an alarm began to sound, Illumi left with you in his arms.

Your sight and vision began to go as you felt yourself slipping into unconciousness, and though you tried to fight it, your eyes closed all the same.

The last thing you thought you could hear was Illumi making some comment about increasing your stamina.

#yandere illumi #illumi x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hxh #illumi zoldyck #reader insert #yandere hunter x hunter #vampire au #monster au

[startanewdream]

Do you know when there is something you are really happy of how it turned out but you also know that you'll never finish it? So a while ago I tried to write a fic about Harry realizing a little bit sooner that he fancied Ginny and Ginny not dating Dean at the beginning of HBP. All because, really, I wanted to give them more time together and allow Harry to be more of a teenager in love.

Well, I won't finish this, but it's too long to sit unread on my desktop, so I hope you enjoy those little moments of Hinny that could have been, with a strangely romantic Harry.

The moment that Ginny walks away from him, after telling she promised to meet her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Harry feels a strange twinge of annoyance. He watches her go, her long hair dancing behind her in a way that seems to reflect all the sunlight and he thinks he has become so used to her presence over the summer that he hadn’t stopped to think she usually did not hang out with him while at school.

He wishes he’d asked her sooner to sit with him.

It’s only when he is walking along the train with Neville and Luna, and he sees Cho Chang darting hurriedly into her compartment to avoid him, that he realizes this is not the first time he has wished he’d invited someone sooner. A shiver goes through his spine as he realizes the implications.

It’s not as if he feels for Ginny as he felt for Cho, he reasons silently. When he was near Cho, he was always nervous, like if there was a hole in his chest that was threatening to engulf him.

When he thinks of Ginny, he doesn’t feel nervous, he doesn’t feel like he is missing anything. If he thinks of Ginny in those last weeks of the summer, he remembers her being brighter than the summer sun. She is lively and fiery, and Harry had enjoyed her company, had shared her jokes, had made her laugh as much as she had made him laugh. After everything that happened – after Sirius – it had been nice to feel light and Ginny had helped him.

He feels peaceful and complete around her, which Harry tells himself it is perfectly reasonable. She is his friend after all, and if he considers Ron as his brother, then she would be like his sister, like Hermione.

Except now that Harry’s mind is grasping the effects of Ginny Weasley on his life, he realizes he doesn’t really think of her as his sister, no way. He remembers watching her imitating Fleur, her long red hair dancing around her in a way that seemed more entrancing than any veela power Harry ever met; he remembers when they got caught in the summer rain and the way her clothes were glued to her body and he had hastily looked away, feeling so embarrassed at how his stupid teenage body was reacting to that vision.

But now Harry doesn’t think it was just a normal teenage reaction. He thinks about how it would be if he were in the same situation with Hermione and the thought is unappealing just because he doesn’t really see her as anything but his friend.

It’s not the same with Ginny.

He thinks about her smile, about her long red hair, about the curves of her body he’d noticed even though he tried not to and about the freckles on her face that he was once strangely attempted to count.

He feels attracted to her.

That realization comes at the same moment that Ron enters their compartment and Harry feels suddenly guilty; Ron trusts him. He remembers hearing to Fred and George teasing her about her previous boyfriend and how her brothers are so protective of her; Ron would hate him if he knew Harry was –

What? Harry doesn’t know what he is feeling. Somehow this makes him feel less guilty. So he thinks Ginny is pretty. That’s reasonable, anyone with eyes could see she’s beautiful. So he misses her presence; that’s also fair, considering how much time they spent together over the summer.

That doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself when he attends the invitation of Slughorn and his heart skips when he sees that Ginny is already there.

It’s just a silly attraction, he insists, when his fists close after hearing Blaise Zabini commenting on how good-looking she is.

Oh, I'm screwed, he admits when Hermione is explaining how Amortentia works and Harry knows exactly whose perfume he is smelling in the potion.

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

So he has a crush on Ginny Weasley.

That’s okay, Harry tells himself, I can manage it.

Except he is really horrible at pretending he doesn’t care for her. Harry knows this is stupid; it’s not like those feelings developed overnight, he probably was falling for her during the summer, but somehow realizing these feelings exist have made him flustered around her.

He nearly drools during trials when she flies perfectly and outflows all the competition, thinking that her flying is better than any dance he’d ever seen.

He sighs watching her play with her pigmy puff, and he looks around hoping that no one saw it.

Still, he can’t help but keep stealing glances at her in the Common Room, careful only to avoid Hermione’s increasingly knowing looks, and he realizes that maybe he should stop pretending he doesn’t have feelings for Ginny when he sees her talking to a boy from her year.

They could be just friends, for all Harry knows, but that’s when he understands that if he doesn’t do anything, someone will ask her out and eventually she will say yes.

He remembers how she teased a while ago that she was going out with Dean Thomas just to pest Ron and he feels suddenly happy that Dean is not on the Quidditch Team, that he doesn’t spend much time with her. He’d heard Dean and Seamus talking in low voices about her in their dormitory when Ron is not around, and he knows Dean still fancies her.

Sometimes Harry looks at Ginny and wonders what she would say if he asks her out. He remembers Hermione telling them that Ginny used to like him but she gave up on him ages ago. Indeed, now she treats him with so much friendship that Harry wonders if she will just be offended with his invitation. That fear burns inside him, but he cannot help himself from walking back with her from training – even if Ron’s there most of the time – and he doesn’t really think when he volunteers to help her with some spells for extra points in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry soon finds out it was a terrible wonderful idea to spend a few hours with her on Friday night, just the two of them, in a closed classroom. His heart is beating faster as he watches her dodge his spells and he knows it’s not adrenaline from the duel. It’s her, it’s always her.

She is strong, he realizes, when Ginny looks fiercely as she fights him, her eyes blazing with determination and she deflects spell after spell he throws in her direction. She is gorgeous, he notices shamelessly, when her face is red and sweaty from their duel, and she is beaming at him at the end of their duel.

‘You are amazing’, he says and if his eyes are shining he thinks it could be explained by the fact that she really was very good.

But what he can’t explain is how much the energy he was spending on their duel is still running through his vein, filling him with heat and desire for her, desire to do something, anything. He wonders what she would say if he suddenly acted in his urges and just kissed her – he wonders if she would hex him if he pushed her against the wall, and his lips captured hers, his body pressed against hers, feeling her curves, their hands desperate, hearing her moan into his kiss –

‘Thanks’, she says, breaking his imagination. Harry nods, avoiding looking at her. The images are still very clear in his head and he’s glad he’s wearing a cloak. It’s much easier to hide the effects of his imagination this way. ‘I thought you were going easy on me at first’.

It’s the teasing in her voice that makes Harry turns towards her and he almost regrets it. She is still breathing hard, sweat shining on her neck, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to her neckline and then lower seeing her chest going up and down and suddenly the room becomes even hotter.

It takes real effort to look her in the eyes.

‘I would never’, he promises. ‘You’d hex me if I did’.

She giggles and Harry pretends that innocent sound doesn’t fill his chest with longing.

‘Let’s go? I need a bath after this’, she says and Harry considers seriously that she has to know the effect her comment makes on him. His imagination has been working overtime lately.

‘I need too’, he whispers more to himself than her. He doubts she needs a cold shower as much as he does.

‘So’, she begins, as they walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. ‘Excited for tomorrow?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t tell me you forgot the first trip to Hogsmeade. I’ve been waiting for ages for a day-off’.

The thing is Harry hadn’t forgotten Hogsmeade. He couldn’t, not when ideas of taking a stroll with Ginny through the village were constant on his mind; he’d thought about it ever since they announced the date of the trip, but his – that one that always got him into trouble – had faltered him for once.

‘I just lost track of time’, he says, hoping to sound distracted. ‘Got any plans?’

‘None so far’, she replies, her voice sounding as distant as his.

Harry takes a deep breath and urges himself to be brave. If he can face a basilisk, he can do this.

‘You could come with me’, he says, and when she turns to look at him, Harry discovers that looking her directly in the eyes would probably be as mortal as a basilisk eye. ‘Us, I mean, me and Ron and Hermione’. Harry forces himself to smile calmly, even though his heart is beating painfully fast now. ‘You know, if you want our company’.

He glances briefly at her. Ginny is frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want to intrude’, she says finally. Harry is glad she is not rejecting the idea.

‘You wouldn’t’. He smiled as charmingly as he can. ‘Come on, it will be like summer over again, we can tease Ron and Hermione’.

She laughs. ‘I would never miss an opportunity to tease them’, she agrees, and Harry tries not to beam as she accepts joining him – them – for Hogsmeade.

But he beams later that night when he hears Dean grumbling to Seamus that he’d asked Ginny out for Hogsmeade and she answered that she already had other plans.

Plans. They have plans together.

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

The trip to Hogsmeade is an utterly disappointment, with the bad weather and finding Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius’s stuff and the curse of Katie Bell. Not even Ginny’s presence is enough to save the day and Harry is left feeling miserable the whole weekend.

The meeting with Dumbledore helps to ease his tension – never mind that they are discussing Voldemort’s past – but it’s in the next morning that Harry feels hopeful again.

First, Hermione tells him of Slughorn’s Christmas party and Harry’s mind, already exceptionally good at creating scenarios involving him and Ginny (he’s been so creative lately that he thinks he could provide ideas for Fred and George’s Patented Daydream Charm), immediately wants this opportunity to ask Ginny out. And second, Hermione invites Ron to go with her, and Ron’s subsequently bliss is enough for Harry to feel that his best friend wouldn’t mind if he asks Ginny out.

Harry tries to say to himself that it’s still early – they’ve just entered November and the party is a month away, but an unforeseen complication arrives the moment that Harry asks Dean to join the team.

He’d thought that Dean would have given up on Ginny already, but from what he collects – and Harry is becoming really good at overhearing conversations -, Dean considered that Ginny denying his invitation was not because she already had a date, just because she was going with her brother. He sees Dean is more invested than ever, and when he gives her a very nice drawing of her face, Harry feels suddenly useless.

Dean can draw. What can Harry do? Sure, he flies well, but it’s not like he could impress Ginny with that when she probably flies better than him. And it’s not like being the Chosen One is a talent – it’s more of a burden, really, and Ginny already knows him enough to see he is not a hero.

He’s feeling really dismayed after the training and for once, when he realizes he and Ginny are alone in the changing room, he doesn’t feel excited.

‘Spit it out’, she says, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, as soon as the door closes after Ron.

‘What?’

‘What’s been bothering you’. She frows at him. ‘You’ve been quiet all training. You didn’t say anything when I called Ron a prat. You didn’t say anything when Ron punched Demelza and he really deserved a call. So tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Do you ever feel like a failure?’

She blinks, clearly not expecting that question.

‘Hum. Yeah. I once opened a secret chamber, you know’.

‘That was Voldemort, not you’.

‘Well -’, she takes a step back, but she relaxes her arms. ‘But before it was his fault, it was mine. I only let him get to me because I was feeling so insecure’.

‘You were eleven’.

‘When you were eleven you were stopping You-Know-Who’, notes Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I meant is that I still question myself sometimes. And when I do, I remember that the last time I really doubted myself, I let someone control me’. Her gaze burns into his eyes and Harry thinks she never looked so fierce than now. ‘No fear will ever control me again’.

Oh, God, he feels so smitten by her.

‘Thanks’, he says instead of pulling her closer to him, which is everything his body screams for him to do. She smiles.

‘No problem, Captain. And you are not a failure. How could you be when you have me in the team?’

He laughs easily.

As they walk the grounds, Harry asks her in the most meaningless voice he can manage: ‘I saw Dean giving you a present early. You and him –‘

She sighs and Harry tries to understand if it’s a happy or sad sigh.

‘Yeah, he is – and that’s his words, not mine – courting me’.

She doesn’t sound pleased and Harry’s heart nearly bursts then, satisfied.

‘It was a nice drawing’, he says nonchalantly. She just nods. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Really? We wouldn’t work out together’.

‘How do you know?’, asks Harry, but he is not really thinking about Dean.

‘Well, for starters, he uses the term courting’, she says, making Harry chuckle without meaning to. ‘It’s just – well, I had one relationship so I’m not an expert but – he is the kind of guy who runs to open doors and I am the kind of girl who likes to open doors for herself. We just wouldn’t click’.

‘Oh!’, Harry bits his lips but the question is his mind slips through his mouth anyway. ‘And what kind of guy am I?’

She stops to look at him. They are a few steps away from the Entrance Hall and Harry almost lost his track when he sees her illuminated by the light of the castle. It feels like a vision from the heavens.

‘The kind who would let a girl open the door if she were closer’, she says warmly, but before Harry can answer, she turns away from him, entering the castle.

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

The minute the door closes on the changing room, Harry lets out a dismayed sigh. His plan was supposed to help Ron get his confidence again, to let himself back into that bliss that had accompanied him in the days after Hermione asked him out for Slughorn’s party. Now, he doesn’t even know if Ron and Hermione will remain friends.

When he leaves the changing room, there is a crowd, many of whom are congratulating him. He just nods without really listening and when someone pulls him away from the crowd, he reacts until he realizes it’s Ginny.

‘Come on’, she says and instead of taking the shortcut that every other Gryffindor is using, they use the normal stairs to go up. ‘What happened?’, Ginny asks, when the sound of the crowd vanishes behind them.

He tells the story in a low voice, not wanting to look at her as he recalls his plan, wondering now how he didn’t think Hermione would assume the worst –

‘It was a good plan’, Ginny mumbleswhen he finishes the story. They are in the seventh-floor corridor now, and she stops by a window, crossing her arms as she lays her back against the wall. The wind makes her hair flow like flames around her; this distracts Harry for a few seconds until he sighs.

‘It backfired completely’.

‘Well, yes, but only after the game’. She bits her lips, thoroughly. ‘But for your plan of helping Ron, it worked. He is a good keeper when he can keep his head in the right place’.

‘Yeah’. He sighs again, taking a step closer to her and looking at the window, trying to ignore how her scent of flowers threatens to overwhelm him. ‘Except now he is mad at Hermione and she is feeling hurt and –‘

‘They are bickering, Harry’, she notes. ‘That’s what they do’.

‘Yeah, but –‘, he remembers that day in the greenhouses. ‘- but for once they were closer to be over that phase, you know? They were going together to Slughorn’s party’.

‘They still will’, Ginny says calmly. ‘It’s just another fight for them. You could call it foreplay even’.

‘Ew, thanks for the image’, he complains, but there is a smile on his face that reveals his amusement. It’s easy to let her quiet words wash over him, drawing away the apprehension.

That’s Ginny’s power over him, he thinks. There is a lightness in her, something that makes him feel as if he had just eaten a chocolate after encountering a dementor, or as if he is as protected as if he just casted the Patronus Charm.

‘You know, I can’t still believe Hermione invited Ron’, she says almost absently.

When Harry thinks about it, he considers that maybe Hermione just lost the patience that Ron would ever ask her out; but right now, he feels envy for her courage, for her stepping over any fear and asking out someone who is one of her closest friends. If Hermione could do it, then he can too.

‘I take you are nervous about it?’, she asks, and Harry turns to her, confused to what she means. ‘About Ron and Hermione, you know, dating’.

Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

‘As long as I don’t have to see it’, he says. She raises her eyebrows, not believing his indifference. ‘Okay, I worry a bit. If they split up, I don’t know how things would be’.

‘No one knows. But that’s their problem, Harry, not yours’.

‘Our friendship –‘

‘- will survive’, she finishes for him.

‘How do you know?’

‘With the things you’ve faced together, you just can’t stop being friends’. She stares at him for a few seconds, then adds gently: ‘And they won’t ever leave you’.

He blinks, losing himself in the warm brown of her eyes, marvelous at how she always seems to read his mind. He wonders if there is more she can see through him.

If she knows how he feels for her.

‘And if they do split up, at least they will know. Not knowing is the worst sometimes’.

Harry agrees. Sometimes at night when he wonders how it would be Ginny’s reaction to him asking her out, he thinks that the agony of unknowing is worse than any rejection he could face.

‘So it’s good they have a date’, Ginny is saying, seeming to not notice any of Harry’s internal discussion. ‘Slughorn’s party looks nice’, she glances at him rather amusedly. ‘You would know if you had gone into any of his dinners’.

‘I wish I’d gone’, Harry says rather fervidly, thinking he’d enjoy that extra time with Ginny. Then he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t make sense to wish for more time and do nothing about it. ‘Are you going with someone?’

She blinks slowly.

‘Dean’s been giving me some hints he’d like to go with me, but, you know –‘

‘- you are not interested in being courted’, he remembers, with a smile that is calmer than he really feels. His heart is beating so loud in his chest that he wonders if she can hear it. ‘So if you don’t have any plans, would you like to come with me?’

The words are said so naturally that something inside him is almost applauding him, elated that he could really ask her without tumbling the words; he can still remember that Wangoballwime fiasco. But now, as time seems to stop as he waits for her answer, he thinks it’s obvious he would be better asking Ginny out.

Whatever he felt for Cho is in no way comparable to what he feels now.

Ginny is still looking at him, without blinking, and he thinks it’s the first time in a long time he sees her so quiet.

‘Just to be clear –‘, she begins, then she shakes her head. He sees her taking a short breath. ‘We could go together, yes’. There is a smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I imagine this way Romilda Vane and all those other girls will stop pestering you about’.

He could just nod. He could accept her perfect reasonable explanation for them going together to the party and that way there will be no chance of things being weird between them.

But for her, he is willing to take a chance.

‘They would, but that’s not because I am asking you’, he says, his voice low. 'I really -'

There is a high shriek on the end of the corridor. They turn around together to see the portrait of the Fat Lady opening and Hermione is leaving the Common Room. There is a cloud of birds around her head and as they watch, the birds suddenly fly directly to the Common Room; there is a scream of pain.

Harry and Ginny look at each other.

'I'll see Hermione', she says, just as Harry nods.

'I'll go check Ron', and they split.

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

There are many things Harry could've foreseen, but Ron dating Lavender Brown is not one of them.

Things between Ron and Hermione are rocky, and as he plays the middle man between them, he finds out there is not much room for telling either of them that he has invited Ginny to go with him to Slughorn's party.

He supposes Ron wouldn't be mad at him, but he only supposes because his friend is always occupied with Lavender these days - or rather their mouths are. At least Harry feels any protectiveness of Ron would be rather hypocrite considering how much Harry has unfortunately seen his best friend snogging.

And Hermione looks so heartbroken and furious these days that he doesn't have the heart to tell her about his plans with Ginny.

He couldn't stop beaming if he told her and that's not very tactful.

Sometimes he feels like the worst friend – his best friends aren't talking to each other, Ron has lost himself in a relationship and Hermione is so upset – but the truth is that the idea of going on a date with Ginny fills his heart with glee and makes him want to sing.

And if Ginny mentioned to anyone that they will go together, Harry wouldn't know. He thinks not, because he doesn't hear anyone talking about it – and between Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane, he would've heard; even Ron would return to the surface to say something, he thinks.

It's just one of these things that somehow feels weird to announce after not announcing it immediately, so he considers that people will just notice when they go together.

And it's not like there is anything different between him and Ginny. She treats him as normal as before he'd asked her out, and if their eyes meet randomly through the day – and she smiles at him – it's still normal.

But he waits more anxiously than before to Slughorn's party, imagining candle lights and romantic songs, maybe a slow dance.

He can’t dance for his life, but for Ginny he thinks he could learn ballet.

Romilda Vane keeps hinting that she’d like to go to the party with him and Hermione advices that he should ask someone else so people can stop pestering him.

‘I have’, he says finally, and the smile is already in the corner of his mouth, as much as he wants to pretend it's no big deal. ‘I’m going with Ginny’.

His attempt at apathy is pathetic and even though Hermione has not been herself lately, she is still smart enough to see right past him.

‘Oh. Finally, then’.

Harry pretends to not understand.

‘Why are you keeping it a secret?’

They aren’t, not really, so Harry just shrugs. He has dealt with the effects that being related to him have caused before, and he doesn’t want for it to happen again - not so soon, not before he and Ginny even… What?

He doesn’t know what he is waiting to happen first, but, still, it seems important to wait.

‘You better tell…’, Hermione is suddenly quiet. ‘Well, you don’t want people to know second-hand’.

Harry sighs, but he nods in agreement. Hermione is probably right, as always.

‘For what matters, Harry, I’m happy for you. I hope things go well’. They exchange a short smile, before Hermione is serious again. ‘Now, I really think you need to be careful with love potions...’

Hermione’s advice - both about love potions and telling Ron – stays in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t get the chance to tell Ron that night – Ron’s too much occupied with Lavender to notice Harry – and he promises that he will tell Ron the next day, hoping his friend won’t notice that he is telling just hours before the party.

The next morning, he waits until Ron finishes his breakfast – his humour is always better when his stomach is full – before telling him bluntly just outside the Transfiguration classroom.

‘There’s something I need to tell you. Slughorn’s party tonight. I’m going with Ginny’.

The fact that Ron doesn’t immediately draw his wand encourages Harry.

‘Ginny? As in my sister Ginny?’

Harry nods in silence, careful not to give any provocative answer. Sarcasm has always been his best defence, but he doesn't think Ron would appreciate it right now.

‘As friends?’

‘Hmmm, not exactly, we - we will see’.

‘Oh’.

And then Ron stays silent, but Harry sees him throwing glances at Hermione for the first time in weeks and when Lavender approaches him, he looks less thrilled than before.

‘Don’t mess this up’, is all Ron says quietly to him, just before the class begins, and Harry wonders if Ron is sorry for all the things he has messed up with his own love life.

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

The thing is Harry doesn’t get many moments in his life where he can feel like something has changed; well, at least not many good moments. When he found out he was a wizard is one. The first time he flew on a broomstick. When he and Ron saved Hermione and they became friends.

But he likes to think he’s in one of these moments now, as he watches Ginny coming down the stairs.

He knows she is beautiful and he knows he has been smitten with her for a while now, but still his heart skips a beat as he takes in her figure: the shining red hair, which instead of being in the usual practical ponytail is falling in delicate curls; the way her eyes are glinting, with a soft make-up that he rarely sees her wearing; and the dark green robes she wears, hightlighting her figure and showing her curves much more than the school robes.

'Hi', she says brightly, and Harry appreciates the fact that she doesn't comment on how he is blushing (he must be, his face seems to be on flames) or how he's staring open-mouthed at her. 'You look nice'.

Harry couldn't describe for his life the clothes he is wearing. He could be naked and he wouldn't notice it.

'You look amazing', he insists, and there is so much sincerity in her voice that a light pinkness arises in her face.

But all she says is: 'Shall we go?'

He nods quietly, and then he wonders if he should offer his hand - or his arm? His arm would be the respectable option, but if he took her hand, then -

Ginny decides it for him. As they walk through the portrait, in a gesture that seems more natural than breathing, she takes his hand.

Her hand is soft and warm and as their fingers interlace, it takes all of Harry's effort not to kiss her now and then, even before their date really begins.

'Who do you think Slughorn invited?', she asks, her voice casual.

Harry smiles to himself. Of course Ginny wouldn't let things get strange between them.

They talk normally as they descend the stairs to Slughorn's office, and Harry is feeling silly for all the times he has feared that something could go wrong this night. It's Ginny whom he is with.

So he talks with Slughorn and accepts being presented to anyone because with Ginny by his side, he thinks he can face anything. She makes funny comments – and Harry chokes more than once when she passes ironic comments with the most innocent face he's ever seen – and after a while he notes that even when the people they are talking to were originally interested in Harry, it's Ginny that draws the attention. She is so lively that he can't blame others for noticing it.

They talk and they laugh and they save Hermione from Cormac McLaggen.

''She'll come back in a minute, Cormac', Ginny says with a straight face when McLaggen asks them if they saw Hermione. 'Why don't you try these custard creams while you wait?, and she apparently takes a biscuit from the nearest tray, offering him one. 'Let's get some air, Harry?'

Harry nods with a smile, already awaiting. He and Ginny are already on the other side of the room when there is a sudden pop and they turn to watch a canary appearing in the middle of Slughorn's office, in the place McLaggen was.

They laugh together, but as his eyes meet hers, Harry feels the reason for his amusement changing.

Or maybe not. In any case it is Ginny that makes him happy.

But now instead of feeling joy for a prank, he feels a quiet warmth spreading through his body and when their laugh dies, the silence that fills them is not heavy; it's a silence that questions Harry and it's a silence that there is only one answer he could give.

His eyes drift to her lips for a brief second – they are pink and shiny and they look so soft – and when he looks at her again, there is a blazing look in her face that Harry wants to see forever.

Her hand is still connected with his – he realizes now that they never once broke apart during the party – so it's the easiest thing to pull her through a curtain, to a nice desert balcony and take a step closer to her.

For a moment, they stand together, looking at each other, then Harry presses his lips softly to hers.

The softness lasts two seconds as if neither believes the kiss is really happening. Then Ginny places her free hand on his neck and Harry holds her by the waist and then suddenly they are closer, their bodies together and their lips urgently. Her lips part and he can taste her - really feel the taste of the butterbeer she drank and the other flavor that is spicy and sweet and intoxicating that screams of Ginny. Her hand playing in his hair causes shivers that have nothing to do with the cold air of December.

A part of Harry wonders if maybe there are fireworks in the party, because he can hear them exploding, he can see all the colours even though his eyes are closed. He doesn't know where he is, what day it is,how long they've been kissing each other on that balcony; all he knows is that she is the only real thing in the world and he promises he won't ever stop kissing her –

Unfortunately Harry breaks this promise a second later. There is a distraction back in the room and the loud noise is enough to break them apart. Still, Harry doesn't really move, breathing hard – they hadn't stopped for something as silly as breathing –, his heart pumping fast in his chest, all his senses still concentrated on Ginny, until he recognises the voices.

Snape. Malfoy. Their voices break through his bubble of happiness and blissfulness.

His distress must be evident on his face, because Ginny takes a step back, with a knowing smile, and pulls him back to Slughorn's office.

He watches the discussion and when Snape and Malfoy are leaving, he hesitates, looking back at Ginny.

For one second his eyes drift to her lips – their lipstick is gone and he remembers his promise, wants to taste her again, wants to be lost in the feeling of having her in his arms –, but when their eyes meet, she unclasps their hands.

'Go', she says in a quiet voice. 'I'll come up with something'. When he still doesn't move, she smiles slightly. 'We'll have all winter holiday, Harry'.

It's that promise – and the ideas of being together with her for two weeks – that makes him leave her side for the night.

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

He doesn't meet Ginny again until the next morning, when he arrives to get the Floo for the Burrow.

Ginny smiles brightly at him. His body reacts as always – warmth spreads through every part, a grin comes to his face and his heart beats faster –, but it's a welcome feeling after all the worry he had been with Unbreakable Vows or whatever.

He will worry about it later; now his only concern is being with Ginny and –

His eyes fall on Ron, at her side. His best friend has his eyebrows raised, and he looks to Harry rather questioningly, but he stays strangely quiet. Then Lavender is there, kissing him as if Ron's going to war, rather than being away from her for two weeks, and Ginny rolls her eyes in disgust, but doesn't say anything.

'Happy Holidays, Harry, Ginny', he hears Hermione saying by his side, her eyes suddenly red and she enters the fireplace hurriedly.

Ginny scowls at this and throws an annoyed look at Ron – Harry sees her hand twitching to brag ger wand –, but she presses her lips firmly.

Harry feels like he's missing something.

'Hi', he begins tentatively, and Ginny turns to him with a softer expression.

'Hi. Ready to go?'

'Always. Ah - about the end of the party –'

Her smile falters for a short second.

'No harm done. I got back in time to save Hermione one last time from McLaggen, so everything worked out perfectly'.

Harry sighs.

'That is not how I imagined the night ending'.

'So you were imagining things?', she asks teasingly and Harry feels his cheek burning, but he nods, taking a careful step closer to her.

'I've been imagining them for a while now', he whispers, for once happy with all the kissing noise of Ron and Lavender behind them. There is a sparkle in Ginny's eyes now.

'Perhaps we can turn those imaginations into reality'.

He raises his hand, putting a lost strand of her hair behind her ear, and he thinks her smile is warmer than the fireplace in the room. He wonders if he'd dare kiss her now – there is certainly a challenge in her eyes – but before he can move, McGonagall is calling them for taking the Floo.

'Later then', whispers Ginny, winking at him, and Harry's heart beats faster.

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

The Christmas Holiday is anything but frosty for Harry, even though he has his fair share of stressful moments - werewolves, discussing Unbreakable Vows, unexpected visits from the Minister of Magic.

Still, if Harry had to summarize those two weeks in one word, he would say Ginny.

Not that anyone asks him about. There is some mutual agreement between Ron and Ginny, so no one knows they went out together to Slughorn's party just as Fred and George are left without knowing about Ron's new girlfriend and their activities.

That means no one – except Ron but he is turning a blind eye, albeit a slight judgemental blind eye – really understand why Harry is grinning through the holidays, why he always wakes up smiling, why he offers to help Ginny set the decorations, why he and Ginny tries to cook apple pie closed together in the kitchen (the pie ends up quite tasty if a little bit burnt).

Sometimes Harry thinks people should know – they can't be really keeping a secret from Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know things –, but most of the time his thoughts are occupied somewhere else.

Or rather in someone else.

Harry is patient on the first day of the holidays. He lets Mrs. Weasley take care of him – complaining that he is still too thin, asking how things are in school – until he drops his things on Ron's bedroom and says something about needing to take some air. Ron is not convinced, but Harry can't really care right now. Thirty seconds after leaving Ron he is already out of the house; ten seconds later, Ginny is in his arms, her body pressed against his as they kiss under an apple tree in the garden.

It's hidden there, with only the moonlight as witness, and Harry loses himself gladly in the feeling of her lips, her hands in his neck, the softness of her skin as he finds an opening in her jumper and touches her back, marvelling at the fact that she trembles upon his touch.

It's a routine they will share for the next few days. Hidden stolen moments in the garden, in the attic (ignoring the sleeping ghoul there), their lips exploring each other, discovering the best angle to kiss, until they are both left gasping for air, their lips swollen from the kisses and with that smile that Harry feels like an outdoor for ‘hey, I’ve been snogging’.

Still, no one asks him anything and for once Harry prefers it that way. They will tell people later, it’s just that for now it’s good to keep a secret that has nothing to do with Dark Arts or Voldemort, and it’s good to avoid any teasing or older brother-talking or – as Ginny says with a shudder – Mrs. Weasley’s delightful approval.

Maybe people think they are just good friends. In fact, every time he can’t be alone with Ginny without arousing suspicion, they are together, talking and discussing anything. It’s not much different from what they did during summer holidays, but Harry now thoroughly appreciates how Ginny is a good company, how he can talk to her about any subject.

Well, almost any subject. She doesn’t ask what he found out following Malfoy and Snape on the night of Slughorn’s party, and Harry doesn’t want to share with her – not because he doesn’t trust her, but because telling her it would somehow involve in that mystery and it would be too close to the fact that he is the Chosen One, and when he is with her, he just wants to forget it and be a normal teenager.

She seems to understand it. That's the thing he most likes about her, more even than the physical things he feels when he is with her; she never presses him for anything.

They kiss under the mistletoe she has left on the porch (and Harry can't help but think it's really an improvement from his first kiss), they kiss in the kitchen when they happen to meet late in the night for a hot chocolate (that he can taste in her lips).

It's the best holiday Harry ever had.

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

The night before they return to Hogwarts, Ron asks Harry nervously:

'What's going on between you and Ginny? Are you going out?'

Harry hesitates for a second.

'I don't know', he answers truthfully, but now that Ron has asked, this uncertainty bothers him. Ron frowns, his disapproval evident, and Harry hurries to add: 'I'm not messing her around. I really like her'.

At this, Ron seems to relax a little.

'Just - just talk to her, ok? I don't want people saying that my sister - well - just decide what's going on with you two'.

Harry nods in silence.

He lays in his bed for a while, hearing Ron’s soft snores in the bed next to his, before he quietly slips out of the bed. He’s careful to avoid any of the steps that always seems to resonate in the house, and before he can lose his courage, he knocks on her door.

After five seconds that seem to last longer, she opens her door.

‘Harry?’, she asks, blinking and confused. Harry doesn’t think she was asleep, but she was obviously preparing to; she’s wearing a robe, her hair wet, and he sees her holding a towel that she was using to dry her hair. When she sees him staring, a faint blush comes to her face. ‘I take a shower when I can’t sleep’, she admits.

That’s not where Harry’s mind was. He must have kissed her a hundred times by now, must have seen her blushing and teasingly and confident and daring, but seeing her fresh from a shower, with her floral scent heavier in the air, the only thing he was considering is how much he wants her, how much he is falling for her.

‘Do you want to go out with me?’, asks Harry. She blinks, surprised, and looks around quickly.

‘Come on’, she says, pushing him inside her bedroom and closing the door.

Harry had never ever seen her room before, so he is distracted for a moment, taking in the small bedroom, her decoration. Then his eyes fall on the bed and he feels suddenly very hot.

He tries to ignore the flush creeping over his neck as he turns back to her, but he can’t really meet her eyes – Ginny always seemed to read him very well…

‘Why are you asking me out, Harry?’

That stops his creative mind that was still fixed on her bed.

‘Well - because I want to go out with you?’

‘I figured that out, you know, considering how much we’ve been snogging’, Ginny points out. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question’.

‘It’s just – Ron said -’, at this, Ginny furrows her brows and Harry considers that maybe Ron is in danger. ‘I just don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you or –’

‘I believe I was having as much “advantage” as you’, she says with a grin that Harry can’t help but share too. Then he shakes his head.

‘I want to do things right’, he says firmly.

‘You mostly definitive are’, Ginny assures him, winking. ‘I just don’t know if you really want to date me’.

‘Of course I –’

‘I mean, we sort of never told anyone we were going together for Slughorn’s party and I thought you wanted to keep things private’. Harry bits his lips. She takes a step closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. ‘I know you don’t like getting attention and if we’ve dated, people would talk about. I can handle people – that’s why I learnt the Bat-Bogey Hex, but I thought you’d be stressed’.

Harry raises his free hand, touching her face, the wet locks of her copper hair.

‘I don’t like people talking about my life’, he whispers. ‘But for once people would talk about something that’s making me happier than I remember being in a while, so that would be a change. Still – if we could keep just between us – I just don’t want to seem like I’m ashamed of you or that I want to keep you a secret -’

She smiles.

‘Keeping this low was my idea as much as yours’, she remembers. ‘And we don’t need to keep it a secret forever, just, you know, until people find out. Until then –’, she approaches him, raising on her tiptoes to press her lips softly in this neck. The goosebumps erupt all over Harry. ‘– we can have some fun’.

#hinny #wip without progress #just sharing some nice moments #i like the words there #Harry feels really romantic when he is pining #and hinny is my otp #just words lots of words and feelings #for curiosity this would go until the end of the book #lots of snogging happy moments for them #some fights because now there would be time to discuss everything they don't discuss #but still they would be happy together

[lilxberry]

Dare - Maddy Perez

Synopsis;

Maddy, during a party, was dared to pull quite the mean trick on you, who everyone seems to know had liked Maddy. What comes to follow certainly isn’t that of happy endings.

Warnings: Language. Hella angst. Mentions of alcohol. Underage drinking. Maddy a mega bitch in this

Words: 1,112

Pairing: Maddy Perez x Reader

(A/N: Part 2 maybe? I’m debating it. I think I’m gonna leave it and see the response to this first before I make a decision.)

Part 2: Truth 

_______________

The music was blaring through the house as you entered. You agreed to meet the girls at the party since they wouldn’t take no to coming for an answer.

So here you were, scouring the house for your friends in, of course, the McKay residence.

As you ventured further into the house, you felt a burning gaze follow you around as you searched for your group. You shook of the uneasy feeling of being watched and soon found Rue and Jules by the kitchen island decorated with a wide variety of alcoholic drinks.

“There she is!” Jules exclaimed loudly, clearly already effected by the alcohol she’s consumed. “We thought you got murdered on the way over or some shit, bitch.”

“Hello to you, too.” You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement at the girls already tipsy state. “Hey Rue.” You greeted the other girl, focusing your attention on to the girl.

“Hey. You drinking tonight?”

“I might have a few, kinda don’t wanna get blackout drunk, y’know?”

Rue snorts and nods her head in acknowledgement. Although, it appears as something over you shoulder has drawn her attention away from you for a few seconds.

She turns her gaze back towards you with a knowing, all too cocky smirk plastered across her face. “It appears someone’s a fan of your costume.”

You brow knits together in confusion as you twist your head, straining your neck to peer over your shoulder to find the person Rue spoke of. As your gaze fell upon the crowd of rowdy, drunken teens, you noticed a certain brunette quickly look away once your eyes met.

Yet again, you decided to shrug it off, think nothing more of the strange occurrence. As you recompose yourself, you eyes linger on the counter littered with drinks and decide to help yourself.

Soon, Kat and Lexi decided to join back with Rue and Jules, greeting you as they realised you finally had arrived. You and the rest of the group decided to take a few shots before moving out back.

As you advance to outside, you risked one last glance towards the girl you connected eyes with minutes earlier and sure enough, Maddy Perez was staring directly at you, glued to Nate’s side.

_______________

The night advance and the drinks continued to slip down the back of your throat. You were on cloud 9, feeling the best you’ve ever felt. Your earlier declaration of “a few drinks” forgot after your fourth red solo cup filled with some mixed concoction.

As you sat outside in the brisk, fresh air on a sun lounger beside the pool, you took in the appearance of an equally drunk Maddy, stumbling her way towards you as her drink sloshed in her hand and giggles escaped her upturned, parted, full lips.

Once she reached the sun lounger you were currently occupied, she quickly placed herself upon your lap. “Whoops!” 

“Hey Maddy.” You drunkenly slurred, goofily grinning up at her, eyes hooded, feeling heavy from your alcohol intake.

“You,” She pointed towards your chest, long, polished nail pressed into the dip of your skin where your neck met your chest. “I want you.” She spoke in a low, sultry tone.

You surveyed your surroundings, spotting Nate too far away with the others from the schools football team. “What about Nate?”

“What about him?” Maddy giggled in response. “We can worry about him another time.” She leant in close to your ear, pulling your earlobe in between her teeth, her hot breath fanning against the side of your neck.

“This isn’t a good idea, Mads.” The low tone in your voice produced a growl from the back of your throat. Your hands came to settle on her waist, fingers digging into her flesh, your half filled cup long forgotten.

She brought her face towards yours again, lips lightly dragging across your skin as she moved to face you again. Your noses touch as her painted lips ghosted over your own. “That makes it more fun.”

With a sudden surge forward, she smashed her lips to yours, not caring about the people surrounding her, including Nate.

You swiped your tongue across Maddy’s bottom lip, asking for permission which she granted hastily. You soon took control of the kiss, tongue dominating hers as they danced around each other, saliva swirling together.

Your right hand wanders further down towards her ass and your left tightens its grip on her waist as hers latch themselves around your neck, lightly pulling at the easy accessible hair towards your neck.

A small amount of time passes before the two of you part, slightly panting, desperate to intake air. Your eyes wander to your surrounding once the loud cheering and whistles register with you. Most party goers seemed to watched the miniature make out happening near by.

Your gaze falls back on to Maddy, studying her face, trying to decipher what she’s currently feeling.

Maddy smirks before quickly standing and smoothing out her outfit before strutting back over towards the group she had originally came from. “Dare complete, fuckers!” She exclaimed loudly and another round of cheering and applause came from the group.

You looked towards with a confused yet hurt expression etched on to your face. Maddy falters for a moment as she notices your expression. You quickly switched your expression from hurt to stoic as quick as a whippet and proceeded to stand yourself, heading towards the house.

Maddy’s eyes flicker between you and the group, having a miniscule debate with herself about whether she should go after you or not. She shook her head, mind made up. You’ll surely forget what happened and realise it was all for a dare.

She turned on her heel as she strode over to Nate with a smirk that re applied itself on to her face, matching the football players’.

Meanwhile, you barged your way through the crowd, making your way towards the front door, hoping for a quick exit without further embarrassment. 

‘Of course it was a fucking dare. How could I be so fucking stupid to think otherwise?’

You felt the familiar tears sting your eyes as you finally reached the entrance of the house. You quickly rush pass the threshold and out of the party, beginning your trek back home.

Once you deemed that you’ve put enough distance between you and that stupid party, you allowed the tears to fall, cascading down your cheeks, silently sobbing with the occasional sniffle as you head back to your own house post-haste. If there’s anything you’ve learnt from tonight, it’s people are snakes and fuck the lot of them.

Fuck parties. Fuck people. Fuck Maddy Perez.

_______________

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My first official Euphoria story AND it just so happened to be focused from an LGBTQ+ standpoint

I love Maddy and we know she isn’t this shit of a person, I just felt like angst would work great with this fic rn

Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading just as much as I had writing this

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated 

If you’d like to see a Part 2 to this, let me know :D

#maddy perez #maddy perez x reader #maddy perez x #x reader #x fem #x female reader #x fem!reader #fem reader #euphoria #hbo euphoria #hbo #euphoria fandom #euphoria fic #euphoria fanfic #rue bennett #jules vaughn #kat hernandez #lexi howard #nate jacobs #mckay #chris mckay

[my-soul-sings]

kiss the girl: ch 2

Fandom: Tears of Themis Characters: Artem x Reader

Summary: Armed with a trusty book, Artem Wing attempts to win the woman of his dreams.

ch 1 | ch 2

*** 

“Surprise her with flowers.”

Artem has skipped to the second half of the book where the practical suggestions are, because he doesn’t have the patience to carefully read the lengthy explanations of the “psychology of love”. The practical tips are simple enough, but the explanations following each of them are unnecessarily long and repetitive.

Ignoring those, he highlights the ones that stand out—those that sound more doable for him, at least.

The first one he notices is a classic: flowers. Of course. He’s done it before actually—he’d given her a bouquet of garden cosmos because she told him that she liked them. She didn’t really show much of a reaction back then, but he recalls the warm smile it had put on her face for the rest of that day. He doesn’t mind seeing it again. 

But, would it be boring to do the exact same thing? Maybe he can change it up slightly… If he recalls correctly, the book said something about how to send a bouquet of flowers in a way that will “keep her on her toes”. 

It doesn’t take long for him to scan the book and find the relevant page. However, as he goes over the detailed suggestion, his brows gradually turn downwards into a frown. 

“Will this really work...” he mumbles to himself, pressing a finger to his temple. Frankly, it sounds unnecessarily cliched and cumbersome… not to mention embarrassing. No doubt, if Celestine catches wind of this, she won’t let him live it down.

But, he supposes, if he’s going to take relationship advice from a book, then he might as well go through with it fully. 

Having made up his mind, Artem picks up his phone and begins typing up a draft message. 

***

You’ve barely stepped into the office when you hear Kiki calling your name in an unusually high-pitched voice. Your first thought is that she’s managed to get tickets for the upcoming concert for her favourite idol group.

But then you arrive at your desk and realise a marked change from how you had left it the night before: your usually clean and neat desk now has a large bouquet of garden cosmos placed right in the middle of it.

Artem’s is the first name that comes to mind, but you dismiss the thought quickly. With his shy and reserved personality, it’d be strange to expect him to send you flowers out of the blue. 

Your sharp eyes don’t miss the little pink rectangular card sticking out from the side of the bouquet. Kiki spots it at the same time as you do, and her eyes widen with a playful gleam, not even trying to be subtle with the way she’s leaning over to you, to take a peek at the message.

With a cheeky smile, you lean away from her too, deliberately hiding the card from her view, which only makes Kiki kick up a fuss about wanting to see too. Thankfully, Celestine isn’t in the office yet. You don’t think you can deal with two overly-enthused friends this early in the morning.  

Ignoring Kiki’s protests, you open the folded card to read it. As it turns out, there’s not much to hide from her. The message is a simple and curt one:

I hope this makes you smile. Have a good day.

“There’s no signature,” you remark, handing the card to Kiki who practically lunges for it. Her disappointment at the short message is obvious. “Why would someone give you flowers without signing off on it?”

“Maybe they forgot?” you venture, although you carefully search the bouquet in case you missed something else.

“Don’t tell me… Did you send this to yourself?”

You’re unable to hold in your laughter at the absurd idea, and the both of you simultaneously burst into giggles. Just then, your finger feels the edge of another piece of paper hidden between the wrapping paper. You pull it out, and it’s just a small, square card with the letter ‘M’ written on it in fancy, embellished lettering.

“Maybe it’s the first letter of his name?” Kiki suggests. “Who do you think it’s from?”

The letter ‘M’... You don’t know that many people whose name starts with that letter, and a familiar face is already coming to mind—he’s the only one who would pull a stunt like this, especially after you told him specifically a few days ago that you did not want him to send flowers to you, and especially not to your workplace. You don’t want to be teased by your colleagues and worse, Artem might get the wrong idea if he sees it.

“I think I might know who the culprit is…”

With a clenched fist, you pull out your phone and search up the contact before hitting the ‘call’ button. Kiki is left behind, cleanly forgotten, as you storm out of the office to give the culprit a piece of your mind.

***

When Artem enters the office that morning, the first thing he notices is Celestine and Kiki whispering to each other at the pantry while stealing glances at a certain attorney’s way. He follows their gazes to her desk where she’s seated and doing work as always, although today there seems to be a frown etched onto her face, and the bouquet of flowers are nowhere to be seen.

He panics for a moment, wondering if something had gone wrong with the delivery, but then he notices the wrapping peeking out from underneath the table when he walks past her desk and heads towards the pantry, where her two friends are obviously talking about her behind her back—literally.

“What’s going on?” he asks in a low whisper after exchanging morning greetings with them. “Did something happen?”

Celestine discreetly points in the direction of their sulking friend with a grimace. “She’s been like this ever since she got the flowers this morning.”

Artem’s brows knit together, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally manages to piece together his thoughts into a coherent sentence. “I thought... she’d be happy to receive flowers.”

“I thought so too,” Kiki nods, “but when I asked if she knew who the sender was, she suddenly got angry. Said she knew who the culprit was and stormed off. Then she came back and she’s been doing work like this ever since.” She finishes her explanation with a drawn-out sigh, and her eyes return to the back figure of the junior lawyer who’s furiously typing away at her computer.

Artem follows her gaze, and nervously swallows a lump that had formed in his throat without him realising. As always, Celestine is annoyingly quick to catch on to what he’s thinking, and she startles him slightly with an elbow nudge to his arm. “Shouldn’t you put your things down in your office? Or are you here for coffee again?”

He’s not even in the mood to humour her right now. With an absent hum, he nods and quietly trudges towards his office.

Once he’s inside and the door is shut, his bag falls to the ground by his desk and his jacket is flung unceremoniously onto the back of his chair before he sinks into it, fingers entangling in his hair.

He’s screwed. Did he send her the wrong flowers? But she said she liked garden cosmos and he had sent her the same flowers before, so that can’t be it.

Then, was it the message? But he took pains to make sure that it was short, simple and pleasant. Or was it because it was too short? Had she been expecting more?

No, no, but Kiki said she got angry after she figured out who the sender was… which meant that she was angry at him. Had he overstepped the boundaries by sending flowers to the office?

That’s probably it. He messed up horribly. Of course she would be upset that her boss sent her flowers to the office—that was inappropriate. Entirely inappropriate. Why didn’t he think this through properly? Stupid, stupid stupid…

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even register the sound of knocking on his door. It’s only when he hears his name being called that he looks up, only to meet the gaze of his colleague whom he can’t bear to face right now.

Hastily, he fixes his hair from the crazed pulling and tugging just seconds ago, and sits upright in his chair while eyeing her cautiously. He’d better pick his words wisely here. “Yes?” The word comes out strained, as if he’s choking.

“I’ve completed the draft statement of claim for the Macrosoft employee issue—the one about the breach of restraint of trade clause and the conspiracy claim,” she says, placing a set of papers on his table. “I’ve also completed the legal opinion you requested for the resulting trust analysis on the Williams’ matrimonial property issue, and I will send you the draft affidavit for Mrs Jones’ case by the end of today.”

“Ah. Thank you…” Artem waits for her to say something else, all while scrutinising her face. She doesn’t seem as angry as before—although she does look a little confused when she meets his gaze.

“Did I miss anything?” she asks, already visibly starting to panic.

“N-No, it’s not that...” Should he just apologise right now and avoid letting the issue fester? He’s not sure if he should be happy or unnerved by how perfectly normal she’s acting. Is she not angry anymore? Or is she just doing an exceptional job of holding her anger in? All those reminders he used to give her about maintaining composure in front of clients and in court must have paid off.

“Okay. Then, if there’s nothing else, I’ll go—”

“Wait, just— just a second.” She peers at him curiously as he stands to his feet and walks over to her, all the while refusing to make eye contact with her.

“T-The morning... flowers… you...” For goodness’ sake, he makes a living off speaking before the court, and yet here he is, reduced to the equivalent of a blabbering toddler in front of his colleague.

“Ah... you saw those?” she looks away, and he sees the frustration from earlier returning to her face.

“You… don’t like them?”

“It’s not that,” she replies, twisting her lips. “It’s just a stupid prank to play on someone.”

“A… stupid… prank?” Each word is like a stab to his chest. Did he do something to give her the impression that he was making fun of her, or playing a joke? Most people think he’s too serious to crack jokes in the first place...

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve settled it with the culprit.”

For the first time in the conversation so far, Artem doesn’t sink further into his internal pool of self-pity. Instead, he’s now genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I just called him to tell him to not send me flowers to the office anymore. I’ve told him before, but he really doesn’t listen to people.”

“Who?”

“Marius. You know how he is.”

“You think… Marius… gave you the flowers?”

“Yeah. He kept denying it over the phone, but I know better than to believe him. Who else would send me flowers for no reason?”

She’s staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to laugh at her rhetorical question or respond to it in some way.

Artem doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how, because his mind has drawn a complete blank at this point, save for the one question ringing in his mind:

Where the heck did she get the idea that the flowers were from Marius?

In his stupor, Artem doesn’t realise that the silence in his office has been stretching on for far too long for it to be comfortable. And he doesn’t notice the realisation that clicks in her eyes after a while, until he hears a quiet, “ Oh .”

She sheepishly meets his eyes. “By any chance, was that letter on the card meant to be a ‘W’? As in, ‘Wing’?”

Should he admit it? If he does, will her anger shift to him? Should he just let Marius be the scapegoat and live the rest of his days in quiet atonement and regret?

Artem doesn’t get the chance to admit it, because she easily reads the answer off his very perplexed and obviously guilty expression. Obviously, he’s far better suited to defending criminals than acting like one.

“Are you mad?” he asks her, when she too, falls silent.

“Huh? No, no, of course not. Why would I be?”

“You were angry when you thought Marius sent you flowers.”

“That’s because it’s Marius. But I’m glad the flowers were from you .” Her lips spread into a warm smile, and in that instant, all of Artem’s worries dissolve into thin air. “I love the bouquet, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

A smile of relief makes its way onto his face, and he nods. “I’m glad you like it.”

So there is some truth to the book that Celestine gave him after all.

In that case… maybe next time, he can send her roses. He hopes he’ll have the occasion to, anyway. For now, he’ll take it one step at a time.

#artem wing #tears of themis #artem fanfiction #artem fanfic #tears of themis fanfiction #tears of themis fanfic #my writing #this is up on AO3 as well if u wanna read it there! #my handle is morninwarri0r #kiss the girl

[thegirlwiththeblush]

Death Trap

Yelena Belova x Fem Reader

Word count: 1,156

T/W: Language (but in Russian ;))

Translation guide: Котенок = kitten, Сука = b*tch, ЕБАТЬ ДА= F**K YEAH

Summary: Reader, you need to assume the role of a veloxrotaphobe, but you'll soon come around when Yelena accompanies you on the Highway To Hell :) (I love being mysterious)

R/N: @jinxs-gf is an amazing human being and I love them so much 🙄 also thank you for proofreading it, bro 😌

Roller-coasters are one of man's most stupidly dangerous creations. Did you know, every year, roller-coasters injure around 30,000 innocent victims? I've never intended to leave my life in the hands of such a machine, preferring to control my method of death.

So tell me why, when my friend Yelena cries, "A ROLLER-COASTER! WE SHOULD RIDE IT!", I hastily agree with, "Let's go then!"

She doesn't even look behind her to make sure I'm following. I've never seen her this excited about anything. Yelena is the most skilled fighter I've ever met, despite us both working for a team of many other highly trained agents. I've now met her sister Natasha, but I still prefer Yelena's techniques and styles. Perhaps this is because the slight crush I've been developing on her acts as a bias, but the fact remains.

"Yelena, I maybe can't ride this, I'm holding our bags," I call to her, the lame excuse making me cringe even as I say it.

She slows a little, looking back with her eyebrows drawn. "They have the compartments, for the bags," she replies. "Besides, I don't want to leave you alone with the contents of my bag."

It's my turn to draw my eyebrows together. "What's in the bag?"

She merely smirks back at me, and continues running.

I take off after her, the mysterious backpack jostling alongside mine on my back. She'd left me with hers when a strongman at a carnival stall had challenged her to an arm wrestle (she'd absolutely thrashed him, of course, causing the burly man's eyes to well with tears) and hadn't taken it back since. I don't mind, really, for obvious reasons.

We arrive at the base of the ride as a child who has just disembarked from it wails to his parent, "DADDY, DON'T EVER LET ME RIDE A ROLLER-COASTER AGAIN!" I turn to Lena with an incredulous look as she bounces on the balls of her feet, full of beans and ready to go. This woman is insane.

"You want to get on?" she asks. For whatever stupid reason, I follow her up the stairs to where the coaster awaits. It's designed to resemble a hot rod with flames, which is already pretty ominous to me. I place our bags in the assigned box. I'm practically signing a death certificate. The cart literally says, Highway to Hell. These theme park junkies rigged us up.

"What's the matter, y/n?" Yelena calls from where she has already buckled herself up. She pats the seat on her right lovingly. "Waiting for a legal safety contract?"

I know she's being sarcastic, because she has no idea. What am I supposed to do, ditch her and let her think I'm a wimp? What'll that do for my career as an agent? I can see it now. Yelena turning to her friends, guffawing, and saying, "SHE COULDN'T DO THAT, AND SHE THINKS SHE CAN TAKE ON GOVERNMENTS! WHAT A JOKE!"

"Y/n, seriously, are you daydreaming about that Stifles guy again?"

I blink out of my nightmare, and grin at Yelena. "You mean, Styles?" I sit down next to her, momentarily distracted as she gives me the goofiest grin.

"Styles, Stifles, Mendes, Chalameugh, they're all the same to me."

I choke on a laugh. "What was that last one?"

"Chalameah?"

"It's, Chalamet."

"Why does it have a t then?"

"You weren't even saying it with a t!"

"It is still a valid question!"

Suddenly, the overhead belts lock in over us as the loudspeaker gives us warnings and instructions on how to possibly not die. I can't believe I let Yelena distract me. She's in the middle of talking about how she quit learning French after a month and doesn't understand their pronunciation when I emit a small whimper. Her head spins round to face me.

"Котенок. Are you okay?"

I avoid her gaze, keeping my eyes on the Doc Martens she bought me for Christmas. "I'm fine."

"And I'm the Queen of Switzerland. What's wrong, y/n?"

I squint my eyes shut, afraid of how she's going to react.

"I hate roller coasters!" I whisper cry. "I'm scared, and I get motion sick, and, I could fall out because I'm so small, and so many things could go wrong-"

My eyes fly open when I feel a hand slam down on my shoulder. Yelena is staring daggers into my gaze.

"You think I'd ever let that happen to you, Сука? Hell no, I would snatch you back in and put you right here next to me where you belong."

I feel a blush creeping down my face and neck, but stay silent, my eyes locked on hers, as she moves her hand from my shoulder to my face, her thumb brushing my cheek. Then she turns to face forward again, a staunch but eager look to her.

"Also, if you puke, you better turn the other way."

I giggle at her joke, despite genuinely fearing this may happen.

The ride starts.

The coaster gives a small jolt, and an infinitesimal movement backwards, before slowly chugging forward. Some song I remember hearing on a Fast and Furious movie starts up, and a revving car engine sound erupts from the front of the cart.

We're going uphill. The sky seems far too close for comfort, and the ground so distant. I wonder how safe it'd be to jump down now. I clutch my overhead belt until my knuckles are white.

Until I feel another hand on my left.

I glance over. She's not looking at me. There's no sign on her expression that she's doing this on purpose.

But there it is. Her hand holding mine. Finally.

In the worst of circumstances, but, still.

Time seems not to exist as the coaster rides up the hill, comes swooping round a bend, and throws itself down a slope into a loop. I hear Yelena yell something like "ЕБАТЬ ДА!!!", so I join in, screaming whatever comes into my mind.

"LESHGO!"

"HELL YEAH!"

"WE'RE GONNA DIE!"

"NO, WE'RE NOT!"

"I KNOW!"

"OKAY!"

"CHALAMEUGH!"

Before I know it, the coaster screeches to a halt, before gently rolling down the last of the slope and coming to a stop right where I was panicking only three minutes before. My heart is racing, and not just from the adrenaline. Yelena removes her hand, grimacing a little at the sweat that's gathered on it, before smiling at me to let me know she's joking. She unbuckles herself and offers me a hand.

"You wanna go find some other death trap to ride?"

I grin a little and bite my lip.

"Actually, could we ride this one again?"

She stares for a moment, before giving a deep-throated laugh and rejoining me.

"At least I know this time you won't puke."

"Oh, I might."

"Do it, and I won't ride another coaster with you ever again."

"Okay, sorry."

"You know I'm kidding, Котенок."

#yelena x y/n #yelena mcu #yelena boleva #yelena belova #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena fanfic #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #black widow #black widow fanfiction

[secondhand-trash]

Heart of the Ocean

A/N: this is an idea I’ve had for months and finally started working on a while back^^

Pairing: sailor!Dabi x reader

Description: You had met many sailors in your life growing up by the sea, but there was only one like him.

Warning: Dabi is Touya, drunk sailors being assholes, plot with some sort of porn (public sex, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, oral (receiving))

Word count: 10732 (omg a long boi)

Playlist:

The Sailor’s Wife//Birdeatsbaby

Playing Love//The Legend of 1900 soundtrack

Friday I’m In Love//Phoebe Bridgers cover

-

For your entire life, you had never been able to stay far away from the ocean. The saltiness in the air in your nostrils was the first smell you know, the horns blown from the ships every morning being the sound you woke up to each day. It was not like you ever thought of leaving the town, but there were times when you stood on the sand, feeling the tides brushing past your toes, and you wondered who you would be if you were no longer near the sea. 

Night  had drawn upon the little harbor town you called home but the day had barely started at the tiny tavern you spent your every waking moment in. Roars of men arm wrestling at the corner. Obscenities and vulgar slurs from drunken seamen. Loud thumps of jugs banged down onto wooden tables. The pub owner yelling at you to get faster on your feet. Your own voice that was worn out from the busy night calling back and sliding past the thin gaps between chairs.

There was nothing grand about working at the tavern by the port. Your apron always started the day clean and ended with splatters of stain on it, your arms were sore from carrying the dirty dishes, your hand wrinkly from being soaked in soap water for too long. It wasn’t a fancy job by any means, but it was a job no less.

You let out a heavy sigh as you slammed down the large basket of water, grimacing at the greasy dishes in it. You were shooed out to the alleyway behind the tavern to rinse out the dishes, the noises from inside reminding you that you either work quick or get a round of scolding from the chef. He was a nice man, but he did not tolerate anyone slacking on a busy night. 

The tavern crew called it the alleyway, but it was more like a small part of the deck. If you took one wrong step, you would end up in the icy water. The only illumination you had was the dim light leaking from the window and the lamp post lining along the coast with flickering flames. It was only the sound of waves washing up against the shore, the sound of people singing from inside drowned out by the ocean water. It was only you and the moon, looking upon you as you grabbed a wooden crate lined up at the side and pulled it by the basket.

Sometimes, you wondered if this was all there was to your life, destined to grow old by the sea and never ridding the smell of salt water in your hair.

“Miss me, doll?”

You yelped, lips pursing into a frown when you heard the laughs from the man who startled you. 

You had no idea what, and why Todoroki Touya liked to mess with you so much, but at that moment when you saw his stupid grin after sneaking up on you in that dark alleyway, you were sure that the reason didn’t matter. 

Touya first showed up at the humble port on a summer afternoon, when the smell of sea water and the moist in the air made fabric stick to your skin. You hated summer by the sea. You had dreaded being dragged to the port but your friends insisted that you went with them. The glaring sun didn’t seem to bother them as much as it did to you when they nudged you to look at the pier, where sailors from a merchant fleet were unloading the cargo.

It did not take you a second glance to spot the fiery shade of red, standing out from the meek colours of the cotton of his shirt. He was not from here, no one around this area had hair like that. Auburn was the shade of fire, of autumn leaves shining under the sun, and the water was not forgiving towards things that burn.

Ships come and go, you had seen your fair share of pretty faces turning ugly the moment booze land on their tongues to be blinded by the thin lips and sharp jaw.

You did not expect him to look up and stare right at you, blue eyes piercing into yours as you stood there uninterested. For a while he watched, waiting for you to look away first and join in on your whispering friends. But you didn’t, you crossed your arms and tilted your head, unimpressed.

And he smiled, a glint in his eyes like a ripple in the night shore, before turning away like nothing had happened.

That night, the group of men, like any other who stopped at the harbor, barged into the pub right as the sun sank. The lean boy was held by a man much larger than he was with an arm swung around his neck, an amused smile tugging on his lips as the elder man yelled about how it would be a disrespect if he didn’t get drunk at the night of his first voyage. You had tried to pretend that his presence didn’t stand out to you that whole night but the moment your eyes stopped at his table and you saw him looking right at you. When that same sly grin slowly creeping onto his face the moment your eyes met, you knew that you were not getting rid of him anytime sooner.

He would drop by the bar every night whenever his crew anchored at the port. Sometimes with the other men of the ship, sometimes alone under the dimmed lights and waiting to hop out of his hiding corner as you show up. He was charming, a bit too try-hard at that to the point where you no longer feel even a hint of fluster under his flirtatious remarks or narrowing gaze. 

There were plenty of people like him around the port. People who tried their hands at sweeping young girls off their feet and left early in the morning as their ship sails, never to come back the moment they get what they want. There were plenty of people like him, and you were smart enough to brush past your heart stammering at his colourful words knowing that there was nothing more to it than just that.

“I’m busy.” you clicked your tongue, scrubbing at the back of the plate with the sponge even harder as he kneeled down next to you.

“We haven’t seen each other for weeks and this is how you greet me?” he said, his smirk badly concealed under his forged pout, “You wound me, doll.”

You sighed, “If I don’t get back in there soon I’ll get yelled at, so I really don’t have the time to play your little games right now.”

“Games?” he said, his eyes squinting together and his expression unreadable, “I wasn’t-”

“If you’re not gonna help then please just leave.”

He huffed, but still picked up the drenched towel in the basin despite his own unwillingness. You snorted as he started scrubbing at the plates, mumbling about how he could never get a break even after leaving the ship.

“The things I do for you...”

You were expecting him to be relentless with his attempts to rekindle the conversation as he always did but somehow, he was fairly helpful in getting work done for you. It was just the two of you, crouching by the basin as the waves washed by down below the deck. The noises from within the tavern drowned out by the water. 

You had met your fair share of sailors with pretty faces to not be bothered by his smooth words, or at least so you thought. There were numerous times when your eyes would wander to his hair, his nimble fingers dipping into the water and making some of the soap spill onto the wooden platform. It was an incautious slip of mind that took you to places where you convinced yourself was not worth the risk travelling to, one where fire burns bright and you wonder if his hand would feel just as hot as the flames in his eyes.

But it was best for thoughts to remain as such, sea water would only scorch you even more after you were burnt.

“How do you fancy sitting down with me after your shift ends?” Touya asked as he trailed behind you, his hands inside the pocket of his pants while leaning down to be at your level.

You scoffed, trying to keep your pace as the heavy basket of now cleaned dishes weighed you down. “As if you would wait until I can finally leave after the tavern closes up.”

He laughed, ignoring your protests as he took the basket off your hand with a yank. “Aw, you know I won’t mind waiting if it’s you.”

“Why don’t you just go find someone else?” you said, failing to take the plates back as he skillfully dodged your extended arms with a swift turn, “Plenty of people in this port would die to have you even look at them, you know that right?”

“Well, I couldn’t care less about other people. I’m still holding out for the day you look at me the way I look at you.”

You snorted. “How do you look at me then?”

“With nothing but fondness and adoration, of course.”

You could hear the bell from the light tower offshore as you walked. He looked away with a breathy laugh, seeing that you were not buying any of it. If you had done so little as lift your head up, you would see the way his eyes dimmed. But you didn’t, as always. You never looked at him when he wanted you to.

“Oi!”

A slurred yell from the other side of the road caught your attention. You groaned internally when you saw the few men sitting on the steps of the tavern door. Their hats were crooked on their heads, the top buttons of their shirts hastily undone and their faces deeply flushed. You did not need to even look to know that these men were nothing but a drunken mess. They were all wearing the same pin on the chest of their jacket, one with a crown at the top and a ribbon dangling from the edge.

The pin was a sign that these men were under the crown. You grimaced, holding back the urge to roll your eyes. Even when they were a slobbering mess, they would still wear that pin like it was a badge of pride, like that shining piece of metal made them any special than those who couldn’t afford to have a gold lining on their hats. 

“Ignore them.” You whispered, your pace quickening as you beckoned Touya to catch up.

“Oi!” the man shouted again. You froze in place when you saw him standing up with a glass jug in hand from the corner of your eye. “What’s the rush, pretty thing?”

Your skin crawled when you heard his companions laughed wolfishly. 

“Aren’t you a lovely one?” he swung the jar around as he slowly paced closer, forcing you to take a few steps back to distance from the drunken man, “Why don’t you come with us? It’s a long night and I’m sure we can have a lot of fun together...”

Touya was quick to react when the man was about to reach his hand out, pulling you by the arm so that he could shield you.

“Ah, what’s this?” the man snickered before letting out a choked hiccup, “Some cheap seaman protecting his whore?”

He didn’t budge even as you clutched his sleeve, trying to pull him away. “Leave them alone.” He spoke in a tone that you had never heard from him before. His voice was low, each word dripping in sternness. 

“Touya, let’s just go...”

“Why don’t you let them speak for themselves, hm?” the man mocked. You watched in fear as Touya clenched his jaw when the man tried to look past his shoulder to stare at you with a creepily wide grin, “I’m sure me and my men can pay you way better than whatever this lowlife is offering you-”

You gasped when Touya lunged forward and punched the man square in the jaw. The man was too drunk to react, stumbling a few steps back before looking up with blood-shot eyes. You were too stunned to object when Touya pushed you out of the way as the other men stood up. You winced when they rolled their sleeves up. They were drunk and barely walking in straight lines but even in that state, they could still easily put Touya in a tough spot just by outnumbering him. 

Your heart was leaping in your chest as you watched him threw himself into the fight, one that he could have avoided easily if he didn’t try to defend you. You barely had the heart to look as the sound of punches and grunts of pain echoed in the night street. You clutched your hands, cursing yourself for not being any more helpful.

Please be ok, you bite your lips and prayed, please be ok...

You breathe stopped when you heard the sound of glass shattering. Your eyes widened when you saw Touya barely able to stand up, the men scurrying away and leaving the sharp pieces of glass on the floor. Rushing forward, you tried to support his frame when he collapsed onto you. 

All you could see was red as the smell of rust invaded your senses.

He forced out a chuckle from the back of his throat as his hand gripped your shoulder for leverage. “Don’t look so worried doll... I’m alright...”

“No you’re not! You... you...” you stuttered as you watched more blood seep out of the busted wound at the side of his head. His skin was tainted with it, blurring away the red of his hair as the strands were soaked with a darker, more gruesome shade.

“It’s just blood-”

“You’re coming in with me.” You said, trying to walk towards the door with his weight on you.

“You’ll get into trouble for it-”

“Did I ask?” You hissed, immediately softening your voice after realising that you were near yelling at him.

“Alright, alright...” he mumbled. 

He stared at you the whole time as you tried to carry him into the tavern. Your brows were locked together and lips pursed into a thin line. He could see the way you struggled to walk with him latching onto you like that but you never stopped your steps. The pain was pulsing through his body and he could feel his head pounding. But at that moment, he could swear that the warmth that was erupting in his chest was close to resembling joy.

“Wow,” he said in a whisper and you glanced at him. He smiled when he saw the unmasked worry in your eyes. “you’re even prettier up close...”

You sighed and he laughed, as struggling as he was. “Shut up,” you said, ignoring that way you could feel his heartbeat at the side of your ribcage, “you are making this worse for yourself.”

Your skin heated up when he leaned down at your shoulder, his lips almost touching the skin of your neck.

“Now that’s my feisty doll...”

-

Even as seasons changed, the little town by the sea you lived in never showed it all that much. Birds started travelling down from the northern seas and sometimes you would shiver a little when you went for a stroll by the port without a shawl on but other than that, autumn was just like any other time when you were near the sea. You heard that in some places, all the trees would turn into shades of red and yellow by the time wind started blowing, but that was something you could only imagine. 

You decided to leave our house a bit earlier than you needed to on this windy day so you could make it to the tavern way before you were needed. It was a pain to have your hands soaked in water and scrubbing with all your might when the weather gets cold, you much prefer taking your time instead of rushing.

Turning into the corner of the alleyway, you jumped when you felt a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around your torso from behind your back.

You melted when you heard the familiar voice of your lover.

“Miss me, my love?”

“Touya!” you beamed. Spinning on your heels to leap into his opened arms, yours immediately flung around his neck as he held you tight, lifting you up to do a little swirl before putting you back onto your feet again. You held his grinning face in your hands as you pulled him in for a much waited kiss. 

It had been too long since you last saw him, and every time you thought of the red leaves from the faraway lands it only fueled how much you wished he could be there with you every day instead of having to wait weeks between each time you could be in his arms like this.

Touya chuckled as you pecked his face all over. First his forehead after you brushed away his hair that fitted perfectly for the season, then his nose, and along his jaw as you stood on your toes.

“So you missed me that much huh?” He laughed when you playfully hit his chest before pulling you in to taste your lips again. You sighed as you leaned against him, feeling his warmth as he wrapped his arms around your frame, hugging you close with your face snugged closely against his neck.

“It has been too long...”

“I know, love...” he muttered against your hair, placing a small kiss at the top of your head, “I know...”

He wished he could just stay at the port with you, he truly did. But he needed the money he could get from the voyages the ships made. It would take him much longer to make the same amount of money if he stayed on land, given that most of what he knew had to do with sailing the high seas. For a little longer, he thought to himself as he inhaled the sweet scent of your hair, just a little more until he could finally ask the question that has been suffocating him every night he was away from you...

“How long will you be staying this time?” Touya could feel the knot in his stomach tightening when he saw your smile after pulling away. God, how he wished he could see that every day. The guilt of what he had to tell you was forming a lump at the back of his throat, but he knew it would only hurt you more if he hide it from you.

“Actually,” he took a deep breath, “the ship is sailing out tonight.”

“What?” your eyes widened as you gasped, your grip at his forearm tightening, “So soon?”

He did not say a word. The truth was, he wasn’t even supposed to be here. He had sneaked out when the rest of the crew was loading the ships despite knowing how much trouble it would cause him if the captain finds out. He just had to see you before leaving this time, it would crush him if he couldn’t even say a proper good bye.

You caressed his chin with your thumb, staring into his eyes even as he looked everywhere but you. “When will I see you again?”

“In three months.”

He could not bring himself to look at you as he heard you gasped. “That’s so long...”

“I’m sorry love,” he brought the back of your hand to his lips, kissing every knuckle as an attempt to soothe you even just a little, “but what they are offering is far too good for me to turn it down. After I come back, I’ll have made enough to stay in town for longer than I had ever had.”

He bought your hand to his cheek, leaning into your touch as you cradled his face. You knew that there was nothing you could do to stop him from leaving. That was his job, it was destined that the sea would be the biggest obstacle between you and him but that didn’t mean you would just let him leave for months without giving him something to remember you by.

His hands were immediately on your waist when you latched onto him again, kissing him again and again near frantically without a care in the world that you were at the back of a tavern where someone could walk by at any given moment. 

Decency be damned, for now all you could think about was how perfect his lips molded against yours.

Touya’s breath hitched when he felt your hand trailing down his chest, “I won’t be able to contain myself if you keep doing that.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered against him, feeling his boiling his burning skin under your palm as you tucked at the linen of his shirt, “I want you now. Don’t make me wait another three months, please...” 

He growled before pushing you up against the brick wall. How could he say no when you begged so sweetly like this? His hands were clawing and grabbing at anything he could reach as his tongue salvaged your mouth, drinking in all of your scent as if he was trying to get it ironed into the back of his head. 

You never pulled away, even as you were panting and gasping for air from his heated kiss. You needed to make every second count, and you wouldn’t mind suffocating yourself with all of him if it meant that you would have something to hold onto for the time he was away.

Your toes were barely touching the ground as he hoisted you up, your fingers tangled in his auburn hair for leverage as his hands fumbled to pull at the vest you were wearing underneath your overcoat. 

“No. Leave it, leave it-” you panted as you hastily pulled at his belt, “we don’t have time...”

He chuckled, the rumbling of his chest hitting you in full force from the close proximity you were in. You were in an alleyway and luck was all you could count on for no one to pass by at this hour to see the scandalous act you were engaging in, but right now you just wanted to feel him, to feel his warmth on your skin and his touches on your body.

Lifting you up, he pushed down the collar of your shirt and sucked at the exposed skin of your neck as he sat you on one of the barrels by the wall. His grip on your knee was near painful as he pushed your legs apart, pressing himself snugly against your sex as he left mark after mark on your soft skin. He could feel his cock throbbing at the sight of your reddened skin, knowing full well that the bruises would be enough to tell the entire world that you already belonged to someone for long enough even though it would fade by the time he stepped on the land again. 

Bunching your apron and dress up around your waist, you arched back as his hands rubbed against your sopping folds, your head hitting the brick wall whilst biting your lips to stop the moans from slipping out. Your shaking hands flew to his pants and messily pushed it down, freeing his hardened cock from its confines. 

No amount of self-control could stop the mewl he ripped from the back of your throat as he hilted inside of you with one swift movement of his hips. Your legs clutched around his hips, pulling him as close as you could. It would be long until you could feel the delicious stretch only he could give you again, and you wanted your body to remember everything. 

You tried to have everything printed into your mind as he snapped his hips up against you in a relentless pace. His grunts as he bottomed out inside of you. The vein at the side of his shaft that made your mind hazy every time it rubbed against your walls. The way his fingers dug into your thighs. His voice getting breathier and breathier as his climax approached, incoherent mumbles of how much he loved you again and again right by your ear. You were sure you would still sense the lingering heat of his breath at the tip of your ears even after he left you, even after he sailed away.

The smell of sweat and sex filled your senses and the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the empty alleyway. The barrel you were sitting on creaking with each thrust and your body shaking with it as his tip hit the spongey spot deep inside of you. Jolts of pleasure made every hair at the back of your neck stood up as your toes numbed at the sensation. With one final push, he brought you to ecstasy as strings of hot cum filled your insides and he moaned at the way you clenched down on him. 

For a while you just stayed there, with him still inside you and your face buried into his chest. He was so warm, you closed your eyes as you drown in the bliss of having your lover’s body against yours for as long as you could have it for. He could feel his chest tightening up when you whined the moment he pulled away. He did not want to let go of and neither did you, but you had no choice.

You whimpered when his nimble fingers pushed back the leaking cum inside of your pussy. If he could, he would mark you up in every single way possible, inside and out. That way even when he was away, you would still have something of his in your every waking moment.

“I’ll miss you...” you muttered, pressing a soft kiss against his lips one more time.

“Me too, love...” He said, trying to force s smile onto his face as he soothed the wrinkles on your apron, “But I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

You did not seem to believe him but nodded nonetheless. He did not have the heart to look back as he walked away, knowing that he would be swayed the moment he saw the look in your eyes. Saying good bye was always difficult and the only thing that could make it hurt less was for him to keep reminding himself just exactly why he was boarding the ship.

One last voyage before he settles down, he thought to himself, then he would not have to spend a day away from you ever again. He smiled when he thought of how wonderful it would be to wake up next to you every morning, the way you would lean towards his side even in your sleep because you were always saying how he radiates warmth. Maybe he would take up some job in the seamen’s guilt, or a clerk in the store. Hell, even work in the tavern with you if that was what he could find. He couldn’t care less as long as he could go home to you every night when the sun sets down the horizons of the sea, how beautiful it would be as the golden light shines on the water, each ripple looking like gold on top of the ocean.

Gold, like the band of the ring he saw in the shops the other day. When he got back, he would have enough money to buy you that ring.

Todoroki Touya smiled at the thought of it, and how wonderful everything would be when he came back to you.

-

He never came back.

You were always thinking of him whenever he was away, always. No matter how long his voyages were, one day or one month, there wasn’t a moment when you shivered at the thought of what might have happened to him on sea. The ocean was a vast place, one that was mysterious and unforgiving. The only thing that kept you going on with your life like there wasn’t a looming concern at the back of your head each day was the knowing that with each agonising day passed, the time when you would be together again gets closer and closer. 

The first three months were painful, but nothing you couldn’t manage. He had been away before, it was just that this time it was longer and as the temperature dropped, your mind always wandered to a time when he would hold your hand and keep you warm. 

You waited for the ship to come into the port the day he was supposed to be back. Your head immediately snapping up at each blow of the horn that signaled a new ship was coming in only to lower your gaze in disappointment when none of them was the one that had your lover on deck. You waited until the town was turning dark, but there was no sign of the sailor with red hair anywhere on the otherwise blue sea.  You told yourself that it would be alright as you went home with a heavy heart, that ships had to change their schedule all the time. Nothing would happen to him, it would be fine.

You struggled to fall asleep when you were tossing and turning in your bed that night, the unnerving feeling of something going wrong stuffing your chest until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

You went back to the pier the next day, and the day after that, and the many many days to follow, but the ship never came. You could not shake away the gut feeling that something must have happened no matter how hard you tried. Each morning as you went out the door, you thought to yourself that this is the day. He would be back today and everything would go back to normal, it must be it. But alas, time flew by fast since the day that marked the end of the supposed three month sail yet you never once spot even a fragment of Touya anywhere.

You were starting to grow paranoid as the weather got colder and colder. Whenever you spot a flash of red out from the corner of your eye, your mind would instantly raced in false hope only to be let down even more when you realised that it was only your longing messing up your mind. Everything reminded you of him The dark alleyway where you last felt his lips on yours, the sound of men yelling as they unload the trunks onto the pier, the ripples in the night shore that brought you back to the first time you ever looked into his eyes. 

There were rumours that the merchant’s fleet was attacked by pirates on the high seas, that all of the men were slaughtered for the stock that was at the bottom of the ship. Some said that it was a storm that sank the ship to the depths of the cold water. Stories floated around the small town by the port, but the only thing in common about them was that none of the crew survived the voyage. Some days you would walk into the town square or pass by a group of chattering people only to see the look on their faces as they spotted you. It was a look of pity as they bite their tongue in your presence, an act out of kindness but only served to nail the possible truth you tried so hard to avoid deeper into your head.

At heart, you knew the bit of hope you were clutching onto was near delusional, a blind lie to yourself to keep you going. But you did not want to just let it be, you always felt a pang of guilt straight into your chest whenever your mind did so little as start to believe that he was dead. You did not want to believe that he was gone. Because if you started to move on, who would remember him when there was no more talk of the ship that never came back?

You went and sat by the port every day without fail even as everyone around you tried to stop you, until the day you fell terribly ill. It was the wind from off shore, the doctor said to your family as you laid on the bed. You were burning up, your head pounding like drums and a dull ache shooting through your system with even the slightest movement. You could barely open your eyes without seeing white, and there was a moment when you thought that it was it. Your parents clutched your hand when they saw you weep, cooing about how it would be alright and that you would be cured in no time. But was not death you feared. Oh no, you didn’t mind the idea of your consciousness drifting away. But what if he made it back? What if one day, after spending so long floating on the sea or struggling to even survive, your love made it back to the small town only for you to be nowhere to be seen? It was the thought of him pushing open the tavern door or walking into the alleyway at the back frantically searching for you that made the droplet of water rolled down your chin.

When you closed your eyes, it was his face you see in the faint hue of white.

Much to everyone’s relieve, you recovered. They banned you from going to the pier again despite your relentless begging. No amount of tears could let them budge. They nearly lost you once and they would do anything to stop it from happening again. For a while, they did not even let you go into the tavern, fearing that you would do something impulsive and irreversible with it being right next to the shore. If you were constantly clouded by sorrow before, now you were a body without soul as you were trapped inside the house with nowhere to go.  Your eyes were hollow, and often it would take several calls of your name for you to even react to anyone around you. Some days you would just sit by the window and stared outside for hours, listening to the faint sound of the ocean and the ships as your dying heart swayed to the waves crashing onto the shore.

Eventually, you returned to the tavern. Life had to go on somehow, and money didn’t grow on trees. It did not take much observation to know that you had changed. You did not have the same life to you as before, only nodding silently at whatever command that was thrown your way. Days flew past without you even trying to count it, and soon it was years after you last saw him. Many had tried to sweep you off your feet, people who did not know that your heart had already left with the young sailor with red hair who never returned from his voyage. You always turned each and every single one of them down with a smile, claiming that you already had someone in your life.

You had met plenty of sailors with pretty faces in your time by the sea, but there was only one like him, even though he too left and never came back.

Then the king’s men came.

The entire town flipped upside down when the Royal Messenger’s horses and carriages stopped in front of your humble house. The group of knights and servants filling up the streets as the horns blown. Your small town had never seen something as grand and extravagant as the march of men crowded into the narrow streets, silk flags and the finest horses looking out of place in the brick road with mosses between the gap of each tile. Your parents gingerly opened the door when the heard the messenger calling out your name with a scroll in hand. Why, of all the people in this place, would they be looking for you?

You felt nothing when you were told that the crown prince of the kingdom wanted to marry you. Told, not asked, royalty did not need to ask for permission to marry a commoner who worked at the seaside tavern. The messenger claimed that the prince spotted you by the pier when he was travelling through the kingdom in his disguise and fell head first in love. You did not look shocked, and the man with the scroll and gold badge on his chest eyed you with a sense of bewilderedness on his face, as if he was expecting you to laugh, or even cry at the news that such honor as the prince taking a liking towards someone like you would happen to you.

Your parents eyed you in fear as you stayed silent, nervous that you would say anything to offend the crown. You lowered your head, letting out a shaky breath as you shut your eyes tight. Your body resisted the thought of marrying someone that wasn’t Touya with every fiber of its being and your mind was screaming at you to say no. But you couldn’t do that, your answer was not needed as a reply to a request that was never raised to you as a question. It was a demand, a notice that you must comply with the decision that was made for you.

So you nodded as you curtsied, and you could hear the sigh of relieve from everyone around you. The man rolled up the parchment in delight before leaving, and the streets were as emptied as nothing had happened in no time. You grimaced, but hid it well under a smile. They did not need to know that your heart was ripping into a million pieces, and it was not like they cared. 

You cried over your lost love for the last time that night, knowing full well that the luxury of grieving would be taken away from you the moment you were sent away to the court.

Everything was a whirlwind from there onwards. The prince sent an entire band of men to pick you up from the town and guard you on your way to the capital. As the horses trotted away and you could no longer hear the sound of waves or seagulls flying atop of your head, you realised that this would be the first time you were so far away from the sea. The court sat in the middle of the entire kingdom, surrounded by land in all four directions. You stayed in a large chamber, one with the biggest bed you had ever seen and four posts on the corners. You slept on linen and sheets made out of silk, the mattress softer than anything you had ever felt in your entire life. Yet there were numerous nights when you just lay there on the bed with our eyes wide opened. You did not know that you were so accustomed to the sound of the sea and the distant bell of the towers that sleeping in absolute silence felt absurd. 

Every day you would be wakened up by a handmaiden, who will proceed to inform you of all the things you need to tend to while dressing you up. It was always things you needed to try on, fittings you needed to go to, people you needed to meet. Everything was already planned and going smoothly according to the royal family’s wishes, and you were just a doll in this game of dress up. Your opinions on the wedding were never asked for, all you needed to do was be there in your dress and walked down the aisle for the entire kingdom to see.

You met the prince several times, he would often stop by to inspect on the preparation of the wedding when he was free of his princely duties. He was nice, charming and courteous but that was about it. You did not feel anything as he looked into your eyes, or when he kissed the back of your hand. They felt like nothing but mere gestures, with no warmth to it and no meaning behind. He would often try to tell you about his day, and proceed to ask if the servants of the court were treating you well, as if he did not appoint every one of them himself. He did not seem to be interested in asking about you and you could swore he seems more confused than anything else when you brought up the way people do things back in your small town by the sea.

Sometimes, when you were shoved around in dresses and trying to laugh at unfunny jokes made by people you could not fit into, you wondered what your wedding would be like if you were marrying him instead.

-

You woke up at daybreak on the day of your wedding.

The noises of people rushing down the halls and the chaos in the court apparent even when the sun had barely risen. It was a big day for the kingdom. For after today, the country would have a new princess.

You were hurried off to get dressed the moment you opened your eyes. They leathered you in soup and warm water, putting fragranced oils on your wrist and your neck, where the prince would near when you danced that night. It took an entire group of maids to put you in your dress. It was a beautiful gown, made out of pearly silk and every inch of the fabric covered in gold embroidery. When you moved, it was like there were jewels all over you, a careful illusion by the finest craftsmen of the court. You sat there like a lifeless figurine as they put on jewel after jewel onto your neck, before finally placing the gold headpiece on top of your head. You looked like a princess, even you had to admit that the court’s seamstresses and jewel makers did a wonderful job at making you more glamorous than you probably were. 

You stared at the reflection in the mirror that was you but didn’t quite feel like you, and felt shivers on your skin when the reality that this was what your life would be like from now on settled into depths of your soul.

“Can I have a moment to myself?” You asked, wishing to treasure the last bit of time you had still being yourself and not princess of the kingdom.

You sighed in relieve when the maid bowed before exiting the chamber, your face falling the moment the heavy wooden doors slammed shut.

How was it that it was already this time of the day? You thought as you stared at the golden light shined onto the walls through the window. In midst of the chaos of it all, you had lost your concept of time. Your heart fell when you realised that this meant it was getting closer and closer to the moment you were to walk into the cathedral and lie in front of the gathering crowd that you loved someone when you were certain that it was not something your half-dead heart was capable of doing anymore. A lie that would carry on until your final breath the moment you uttered those three words at the end of the aisle and sealed it with a band on your finger.

Your thoughts was interrupted by a frightful cry from the hallway. You snapped back, froze in fear at the unknown screams from down the halls as you stared at the door, wondering what you were supposed to do.

“The pirates are breaking into the castle!” Your blood curled at the shouts and the panic of the people outside, “Guards! Guards-”

Looking out of the window, you could see flames rising from the castle walls. They had set fire to the gates. People ran to take cover in the court as the invaders broke down the door and you did not have the guts to keep looking. You wanted to crawl into the ground when you heard the sound of weapons unleashing. The heavy steps of men rushing down the court echoed through the wooden doors and followed by yells, grunts, until you heard the thump of bodies fallling onto the floor.

“Princess!” It was the same maid that had just dressed you screaming at the top of her lungs, her voice almost breaking as she squealed, “Do not come out!”

You were just as horrified of metals clashing and men shouting as you were of silence. You had no way of knowing what was going on, no method of keeping yourself safe except staying inside and wait for everything to unfold, You felt defenseless, and in a sense, you were. 

“Hello princess.”

You grabbed the closest thing you could get from the vanity as a chilling voice rang from behind your back. You spun to face the owner of the voice, gripping onto the candle holder you could get your hands and pointing it at whoever it was that broke in. 

It was a man. A lean man, with a mask covering his face and a sharp blade in hand. Unlike you, he seemed to be oddly relaxed in the situation, as if everything was under his control.

“Do not come near.” You tried to hold back the shaking of your voice but the man only let out a roaring laugh at your pitiful attempt at sounding threatening. 

“Oh, aren’t you a feisty one...” He mocked as he took one step forward. You stepped back, dreading as you felt the cold hard wall behind your back.

“Who are you?” You questioned, not putting your arm down even though you knew the piece of metal in your hand was no match for his sword.

“Does it matter?” He sneered. “Why would the precious princess want to know the pirate’s name?”

He snickered as he brought the blade to your face, lifting your chin up by the tip of his sword. You froze in place, one wrong move and he could easily slit your throat. 

“Such a pretty face...” he taunted as he turned your face to the side, “The face of someone who spent their days breaking hearts...”

You felt your skin heating up. Not from fear but from anger. How dare this man who did not even bother to tell you his name came in and mock you? 

“You know nothing about me.” You did not budge from the cold metal beneath your chin, staring straight at the man behind the mask as you spoke.

“Oh, but maybe I do,” he said. You wondered what look he was wearing as he speak, each word dripping with poison. There was an eerie feeling at the pit of your stomach that you had heard this voice before. “tell me, what poor man did you leave anyone behind when you went off to marry the prince-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” Your own coldness was a surprise even to you, and the man seemed to be taken back by your sudden outburst, “You think I want to be here? You think I want to leave everything I know? I loved one man and that man is gone. I spent days, months even, crying over him but he never came back.” you swallow the bitterness at your tongue, “So don’t you dare come accuse me of breaking hearts when the only heart that was shattered was mine. if you want to kill me, make it quick.”

The man stayed silent, you could feel him looking at you even though you couldn’t see his eyes.

“You’re coming with me.”

“No-” 

You tried to fight back as he went to grip your wrists. You were no match to his strength and your arms hurt from the way he was twisting it behind you but you did not give in. He would not hurt you for whatever reason it was, that was one thing you came to understand because he had have many chances to just slit your throat but he didn’t. He let out a painful yelp when you bite his hand, successfully forcing him to let go. With your racing mind, your hands went right towards the edge of his mask in midst of your panic.

You gasped when you tear the mask away.

There were scars littering all across the lower half of his face, staples holding up the rough muscle from the corner of his mouth all the way to his eats. His hair was black like burned coal, like what was left after a fearful fire raged through the woods.

Nothing about him was the same as you remembered from years ago. But those eyes... Oh, those blue eyes that reminded you of the sea, of your home. You could recognise those eyes wherever you go.

“Miss me, princess?” He sneered, a million type of emotions lining his words until you could not make out what it was.

Your voice came out as nothing more than a whisper.

“...Touya?”

“No,” he grimaced, not wanting to read the look you have on your face as he watched your eyes widened, “Dabi.”

You had heard that name before. You had heard about the pirate that roamed the high seas together with his merciless crew. People of the port spoke of his name with fear and horror, about how none of his targets ever lived to survive the slaughter.

He was waiting for some hint of rejection, a look of disgust at what he had come to be like from you. He was not the same man who left you on the port years ago now, he had seen the world and how cruel it could be. There was blood on his hands and he did not wish to taint you with his filth even as he wanted nothing more than to reach out and feel your skin under his palms again. He was speechless when you crashed into him with full force, not being able to react when you wrapped him tight in your arms with your face buried into his chest.

Dabi regained his senses as your body shook with the first sob that leaked from your throat. Even after years apart, his reflex was still quick to react at any hint of your distress. You melted into his touch as you felt the pair of strong arms you had missed so much around your frame, not being able to contain your tears as you wallowed in the joy of being together with the man you loved and the pain when you imagined what he had gone through.

You were still heaving when you pulled away, and his heart broke into a million pieces when he saw your swollen eyes. You clutched his hand closed to your face when he brought it up to wipe away the tear in your eyes. “I thought... I thought you died... I-” you hiccupped, struggling to stop yourself from welling up again.

He pulled you close to him, his hand soothing your hair as he sucked in a deep breath to contain the wave of emotions that was threatening to break loose in his own head. “It’s alright,” he cooed, fingers threading into your hair as he pressed you against him, “I’m here now.”

You had thought that you would only hear those words in your dreams. Your hands gripped his arm tightly as if you were afraid that he would again like he was nothing but a fragment of your imagination if you let go. But he never did, and the pirate held you tight as you weep, reassuring you time after time in the softest voice that he was right there with you now. 

A loud bang on the door interrupted you. You looked up in fear when you heard the sound of guards trying to bust the locked door open.

“Leave with me,” he whispered, looking into your teary eyes as he tilted your head up to look at you. There was nothing but fondness and affection in your eyes when you stared at him, just the way he had dreamt that you would be when he was floating on the cold sea after his ship had sank and even after he was picked up by passing group of pirates who let him live on a moment of mercy, “I’m no prince but I’ll treat you like a princess.”

You would go to the edge of the world with him if it meant that you could finally be together as one again, he never needed to ask. 

He knew he had his answer the moment you swung your arms around his neck and kissed him with all these years of longing sealed into your lips.

-

Dabi’s hands were on you the moment the cabin door slammed shut.

His men were already waiting by the castle grounds when he sneaked you out from the window, groaning in complaint about how excessive those “filthy rich bastards” were with their jewelry and dresses as he bunched up your dress to help you on the horse. You only chuckled when he leaped up himself, your back against his chest as you made the run towards the closest shore where his ship anchored down to wait for its captain to return with his bride.

The king’s fleet was probably on its way in full force to chase after you right now, but that was none of your concern when your mind was fogged over by his hot lips against your neck. You could feel the rigid scars and the staples that were warmed up by his skin, and when your hand pulled at his hair there was still some part of you that had yet to get used to the black. But when you tasted his lips, it simply felt right. 

Your Touya, finally back to your side even with a different face and a different name. 

His hands were rough on you, puling and yanking each piece of jewelry that got in his way off your body all while never letting go of your lips. He pulled back to admire his work, feeling the rush of adrenaline through his veins at how disheveled you looked. Your faces was flushed and your lips swollen from his ruthless assault. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils blown out in lust and want as your hands grabbed at his shirt. 

He climbed on top of your like a predator ready to devour his prey the moment he threw you on his bed. The frame creaked at the sudden weight on top and the linen of his sheets were rough against your skin. You could feel the ship swayed with each crash of waves against its body and the dent on the thin mattress when he perched on top of you. Blue eyes roamed all over your body, and you chuckled at how he was now taking the time to admire your form when he was just clawing and tearing at you like an animal just seconds ago.

Your back arched up subconsciously as he trailed his hand down from your heaving chest down to your stomach. He allowed himself the luxury to drink in the way you look in your wedding dress before he tear it to shreds, watching your every move as the calloused pad of his fingers traced the delicate gold lines on the fabric. You were so close to wearing this dress for someone else, he felt a pang of jealousy rose in his chest at the mere thought of another man seeing you like this. If he had not make it in time, there would be another person who got to have you beneath them, who got to touch you in places only he was allowed to touch, to hear the sweet noises you made as you were stretched out in bliss. 

The more he thought about it, the more he felt his blood boil. As if feeling his rage, your hand reached for his face and forced him to look at you. Your thumb caressed the staple at the side of his cheek as you leaned up to kiss his scarred jaw, his head tilting back as you pressed wet kisses along his neck. 

If it was anyone else, they would probably carefully undo each lace of the dress and store it well. It would make sense that way, each thread of the embroidery and the silk were probably worth more gold than someone would have ever obtained ever in their lives. But you were his bride, you wore the dress for him, and he would do whatever the fuck he wanted with it.

Pulling out the dagger by his belt, he held the collar of your dress and slit the fabric right at the center with one long drag of the sharp blade until you were left bare in your underthings. He licked his lips at the sight of your body that was barely concealed by the thin cotton chemise, his cock aching at the thought of what lay underneath.

He stopped you when you tried to push away the ripped silk from you. “Leave it on,” he said, pushing himself down so that he was leaning his jaw right at your pelvis. His breath fanning your lower stomach as he speak, his gravel tone sending heat right to your core. “I want to have you crying for me in that dress.”

A loud moan was ripped from your throat as he latched onto your pussy, his hand hooking your legs onto his shoulders so that his tongue could salvage you deeper and hit all the right spots. He groaned at the first taste of your arousal. 

“Just as sweet as I remembered...”

His tongue was working wonders on you. Even after years since he last touched you, he still remember what to do and how to do it to get you singing for him. He knew your body like the back of his head, and each whimper from you was making it harder and harder to contain himself. 

But it had been too long, and he did say he want you crying for him.

Your thighs clenched around his shoulder with each skillful flick of his tongue against your cunt. Your hand clawed at the sheets beneath you as he circled your puffy clit, sending numbing shocks of pleasure down your spine. This felt too good to be true but here he was, between your legs and devouring you like it was the first meal he had in days. 

The loud slurping filled the cabin and your hands tugged his hair to beg for more friction. He was glad to comply, thumb pressing against the sensitive bud as his tongue dived in to rub against your walls. You could feel every hair on your body standing up as the first wave of pleasure washed over you, your scalp tingling as he licked and drank in your juices that was gushing onto his face.

Your shaking hands reached for him, and you moaned as you tasted yourself on his lips. You could smell the moisture of the wooden walls of the cabin and the sound of waves clashing against the ship as the saltiness expanded in your mouth. 

You were desperate to make up for the lost years as your tongue danced with his sloppily, your hands tugging his pants down as he pulled down the sleeves of the dress of your arms and ripping the smock off of you. He let the image of your exposed form laying on top of the white silk soaked into his mind, his cock painful to be inside of you as beads of pre leaked from the tip onto the fabric you were laying on.

He let out a choked grunt as your finger trailed along the vein of his cock.

“You made me wait for years, don’t make me wait any longer.” You mused at his reaction, a sigh slipped past your lips when he lined up at your entrance. He brushed the tip past your folds but didn’t push in, making you whine as he spread the shiny liquid all over your cunt.

“You think I don’t miss this?” he let out a dry chuckle, moaning out at your warm wrapping tightly around him as he pushed in. It felt like your body was lit on fire as he leaned down to weave his fingers with yours as he started setting a vigorous pace to his thrusts. Each slap of his hips against yours had you seeing stars and your legs hooked around his waist to pull him in closer.

“When I’m alone at the bottom of the ship,” he emphasised each word with a thrusts, “cold and lonely,” he leaned down to suck at the supple skin of your neck, “this is that I think of to keep myself sane.”

You mewled when his free hand pinched your hardened nipple. “The thought of going back to you was what kept me alive.”

You were panting against his lips as he pressed against you, the tip of his pushing in and out of you driving you wild. “So when I hear that you are marrying off to the prince,” he growled, “I knew that I need to do whatever it takes to get you back.”

You could smell the sweat on his body, his hair smelt of the sea as he buried his face at the crook of your neck and leaving bite marks everywhere he could reach. “You are mine,” you whined under him as he pressed up against you, his chest right on top of yours when he pushed his cock as far as it would reach and hitting that spongey spot inside of you, “all mine and I don’t give a fuck if I have to burn down the kingdom. No one can ruin what we have.”

The coil in your stomach tightened at his possessiveness. You had made your mind up that you were all his years ago and you never truly let that thought go even when all hope of him being alive had died. You would never love anyone like you had loved him, and now it was the two of you against the world.

“Yours,” you whimpered as he swallowed your moans with a searing kiss, “all yours.”

His thrusts got sloppier as you clenched around him, your pussy fluttering from the orgasmic bliss that you were drowning in. He clutched your hand tightly as ropes of his release unloaded inside you, never once letting you go even as he slowly calmed down from his high.

It made his chest swell when he saw drips of his cum oozing out from you onto the wedding dress, your wedding dress. Your were finally his and his alone once again, and he had the evidence for it. 

You clicked your tongue when he pushed the tainted fabric off to the floor as he flopped next to you, holding you close to him as he inhaled the sweet scent of you that he missed so much.

“That thing is worth more than my entire life’s worth of salary at the tavern you know-"

"Sh,” he shut you up with a peck, “you’re not the bar maid anymore, love.”

You chuckled, burying your face deeper into his chest. He was so warm, or was it the euphoria catching up to you?

“I love you.”

His gaze on you was soft, like the surface of the sea on a sunny day. Serene and lovely.

“I love you too.”

As you fell asleep in your lover’s arms that night, surrounded by the waters that raised you, you felt like you were finally back where you belong.

You could never stay far away from the ocean.

#dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi imagines #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha smut

[sixtyeightdays]

The Queen

She is not playing dolls. She is stalking the halls; living off thrill of the kill. Marinette can smell fear.

this mini speech drabble is inspired by HBIC by @unmaskedagain and The Pigtails Are Off by @para-dox-normal

WARNING: MILD VIOLENCE , SLIGHTLY GRAPHIC

Marinette left the class, after depositing ribbons into the hands of a few of her classmates.

Alya turned to face Nino, whose hat was still drawn down, covering the upper part of his face. 

‘What was that all about?’ She demanded. Nino sunk lower into his seat, casting a look towards Chloe, who huffed and stood up.

‘You all made a huge enemy today,’ she began.

Alix scoffed. ‘We’ve dealt with you a lot, we aren’t scared of you.’

This time, Sabrina spoke up, which clearly shocked the rest of the class who thought she was a spineless servant of Chloe’s.

There was a glint in her green eyes that wasn’t there earlier, making a shiver run down the class’ spines.

‘Oh, who said anything about Chloe?’

Now it was Juleka who spoke up, looking away from Rose who was grasping at her arm for answers.

‘You have no idea what kind of protection you just threw away.’

Ivan, fed up, slammed his fist into the table. ‘What the HELL are you guys even talking about?’

Nino looked up and smirked, which shocked Alya and made her take a step back, after noticing the sinister glint in his eyes.

‘You all are... new here. You don’t know how the Queen works.’

Kim stood up from his desk proudly, puffing his chest out. ‘I’ve been in this class one of the longest! 3 years!’

Nathaniel looked to him like he was stupid before shaking his head.

‘No. We have. I’ve been here 6 years, Chloe 5, Sabrina, 6, Juleka 5 and Marinette? 8.’ 

Juleka, Nino, Chloe and Sabina all spoke up in an oddly monotonous voice, walking towards the front of the class.

‘She is not playing dolls. She is stalking the halls; living off thrill of the kill. Marinette can smell fear.’

The class broke out into laughter. ‘Marinette? What can she do?’ Alya wiped a tear from her eye.

The others stared at her coolly and waited for them to stop laughing. Chloe stepped forwards and smiled.

The class was taken aback.

‘I don’t like any of you, so let me make this clear. Watch your back when you get to school tomorrow. Like Juleka said, you have no idea what kind of protection you just threw away. Marinette has been protecting you guys for ages, since the first minute you stepped into this school.’

‘Just because we don’t like you, doesn’t mean we’re evil enough to leave you..without a warning.’ Juleka smiled, cold flashing over her features.

‘I may be dumb, stupid, even. But I’m not that dumb to get on the wrong side of the Queen.’ Sabrina laughed.

Nathaniel made his way to the front before stepping next to Nino and in unison, they said;

‘Good luck. You’re going to need it.’

-

When Marinette reached home, she immediately shrugged off her regular grey jacket before digging into the closet to the item she had left behind for 3 years.

She reached to the black box sitting innocently at the back of her closet and pulled it out.

She opened it and unfolded the outfit that was inside, looking at it with a evil smile on her face.

Inside, there was black combat boots with silver studs, a black leather jacket with light pink and grey highlights and dark blue ripped jeans.

Marinette grabbed the clothes out and spent the night altering her old clothes, making it bigger and adding a small pocket in her jacket for Tikki to comfortably sit in.

The kwami knew of Marinette’s past of course, it was one of the first things the bluenette had confessed to the kwami about. Tikki was supportive of the old Marinette surfacing again. She was irritated by the way her class treatedher chosen, and wanted it to be over once and for all.

That hatchet was long forgotten, although the way Marinette ruled the school went unnoticed by the imbeciles in her class.

Marinette was--still is-- the Queen of her school. When she arrived in the beginning, she was not to be taken lightly and she earned her place at the top of the food chain.

There had aways been some sort of invisible barrier between the other students and Mlle. Bustier’s class. No one could get in, mainly due to Marinette’s influence.

Everyone in the school apart form that class knew about the Queen who sat in the sidelines. Marinette had some sort of protection over that class and if anything happened to them, you’d had to answer to her.

This made many of the students stay away, although they still made friends with the class.

-

The next morning, Marinette was early. Surprising, I know. But she knew her class always sat together in the courtyard until everyone arrived, and 15 minutes before school started, they would head up to the classroom.

If anything, Marinette felt rather relieved at not having to hide her status anymore. Word had spread, and there was whispering everywhere, glances at Mlle. Bustier’s table, who didn’t notice.

Alya heard many people whispering around her. 

‘I must say, I’ll be happy to see the Queen in action again. It was a golden era.’

‘I know right! I feel sorry for the poor people who invoked the wrath of the Queen though.’

The doors slammed open, ad a tall shadowy figure strutted in as if she owned the place. Lila regarded her carefully.

Once the shadowy figure took enough steps forward, she stopped. Light illuminating her features to reveal Marinette.

Gone was the happy go lucky expression on her face, replaced with a steely determination with no trace of her usual smile. 

Her hair, free from her signature pigtails, flowed freely down her back, wild, as if she just came back from the club with her boyfriend.

She wore her leather jacket and ripped jeans. She wasn’t even wearing a shirt, opting for a black sports bra. She zipped her jacket up till the bottom of her bra, before letting the sleeves of the jacket fall back on her shoulders.

She was wearing black pumps, almost 6 inches tall, which made the class’ jaws drop. Clumsy Marinette wearing heels? That almost spelled disaster.

The class could’ve sworn the temperature dropped as soon as she looked in their direction. A cold smile graced her lips, which were stained a blood red.

She lifted her right arm slowly, all the while still smirking at the class.

Everyone in the courtyard slowly raised their wrists, Nino and the others included. With sick dread pooling in their stomachs, the class noted with fear that everybody except them were wearing a red hair ribbon on their wrists.

They never took it off. Kim remembered asking Ondine why she wore it, even while swimming. She had looked to him before changing the subject hastily.

Alix recalled her brother, Jali, wearing one on his wrist, before Alix had gone to school at Francois Dupont.

Marinette walked slowly towards their class, swaying her hips with the aura of cool confidence surrounding her. Lila stuck out her foot to trip Marinette, who noticed and gave Lila a smile, before stepping directly on Lila’s toes, crushing it with her heel. 

Marinette grinded her heel into Lila’s foot, and she could barely keep herself from yelling. Soon, she did and the class turned on Marinette, screaming profanities at her. 

Lila’s toes were now bent in ways that shouldn’t have been possible, a sickening purple color. Surprisingly, no blood was exiting the toes, and Marinette internally rolled her eyes at how careless the class thought she was.

She whispered to Lila, although the whole courtyard heard.

‘You wanna fake an injury, Lila? I’ll give you an injury.’

Alya snarled and tried to slap Marinette.

‘What is wrong with you, you bitch!’ Her hand swung out, intending to meet Marinette’s face. And though no one blinked, Marinette’s hand caught Alya’s. Her fingers wrapped around Alya’s wrist almost seductively, before she smiled.

The smile reminded of the class of the old times, when Marinette used to have fun with the class, laughing her heart out when Kim snorted milk out of his nose.

That was how the class knew Marinette enjoyed breaking Alya’s wrist.

The bluenette squeezed Alya’s wrist with surprising strength, causing Alya to let go of the phone clenched in her hand, letting it fall to the floor, where Alya’s wallpaper glowed for a soft moment, showing Alya, with an arm wrapped around Marinette, before the bluenette stepped on the phone like she did with Lila, causing the screen to shatter and Alya to call out in anguish.

That call turned into a scream as the class watched Marinette mercilessly twist Alya’s wrist, breaking it with one resonating snap.

Marinette let go and watched amusedly as Alya flailed around, grasping her broken wrist in her fine one.

Marinette watched it all with a smile on her face, an exact replica of the happy, warm smile she gave when she hung out with her friends.

The class looked around and realised that none of the students around them looked the least bit shocked when the situation was occurring.

Adrien let out a quick breath. This was what Chloe meant by Queen.

And as Marinette turned to fix her cold eyes on the class, they knew they was done for.

-

Sabrina watched from afar with Chloe, smiling sickeningly as everyone in the class took their turn to get something of theirs broken.

Marinette saved Adrien for last. He smiled charmingly at Marinette, inching backwards, trying to use the fact that she had a crush on him in his favor. As Marinette paused, he exhaled quickly, thinking it was over.

Marinette took a step back. If she were to hurt Adrien, his father would most certainly murder her and Marinette wasn’t willing to waste more time on the blonde model than she already had.

Until Adrien called out.

‘Mari this isn’t you! Come bACK TO US!’

The courtyard swiveled their heads to look at the boy and no one flinched as her heel found his stomach.

There was a smile on Marinette’s face even after Adrien lost consciousness. 

its kind of a bad ending but i couldnt think of how to end it with and im sorry bc its kind of violent but i think this is okay for now

#marinette #HBIC #not my idea #okay its not mine

[jensungf]

𝐌𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 🌌 𝐡.𝐫𝐣

summary: he was your best friend. you should’ve been happy when he went to go ask that girl whether or not she was his soulmate. so why was the universe pulling at your heartstrings now?

pairing: reader x best friend!huang renjun genre: fluff + soulmate!au word count: 1.6k warnings: none

6:23pm. you rolled your eyes as you read the time. where the hell was he?

your focus drifts to the onyx swirls dotted on your wrist, and you subconsciously trace all the scribbles making up your tattoo. you had been impatiently tapping your foot for what felt like forever, but in actuality, was about ten minutes. maybe i should just leave, you thought ruefully as the digit on your lit-up phone screen changed once again.

you had been through this too many times for you to simply count with your fingers. it was almost like clockwork at this point. despite this only beginning months ago, you knew the cycle. renjun would encounter someone, and would feel compelled to chase them down and ask if they were possibly his soulmate. unfortunately, it always ended in rejection.

you were always the one to comfort him when he returned with the same answer like always— that they had found their soulmate or they didn’t feel any connection at all. despite your annoyance of having to be inconvenienced at random hours of the day and having your quality time with him interrupted, you knew deep down it hurt you just as much as it hurt him.

yet you never once considered the reality that perhaps he would actually find his soulmate one day, and how that mere possibility would change your entire life.

if renjun was seriously going to confront that girl with a simple question of whether or not she was his soulmate, what was taking them so long? surely he would’ve texted you by now if he was successful, knowing you were still waiting for him. or at least let you know he was on his way back.

you winced at the thought that he might be too busy engaging in other endeavors, ones that involved less talking and more touching. you shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of those thoughts, burying the odd feelings that made your stomach twist and turn. no, that wasn’t the renjun you knew. he wouldn’t be as daring as that despite his growing impatience to find his soulmate. besides, you wanted him to find his soulmate. there was no reason for your heart to twinge at the chance that maybe this time was the right time. you were his best friend. you were supposed to be happy for him, and hope for the best.

you hastily unlocked your phone, typing out a very annoyed albeit passive aggressive text to your heck of a best friend who decided to abandon you in the middle of your weekly dinner date to chase down a girl. you should’ve just left him moments ago, yet your feet stay planted in your spot outside the moomin plushie store.

“stupid renjun,” you muttered under your breath as you realized that the sky was beginning to settle into a hazy cloud of purple and pink. dusk was always your favorite time of day, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit embittered that renjun wasn’t here with you to enjoy the view with. just when you were about to click send, a shadow casts over your figure and you lift your head.

“hey,” renjun says simply. his hands are shoved deep into his cream-colored denim jacket and he gazes at the sky instead of at you, causing you to stare quizzically at him.

“so....” you cock your head at his silence and wait for him to answer the obvious question. however, he makes no move to look you in the eyes. you hesitate, unsure what to do at your best friend’s abnormal silence.

usually he would be telling you that it wasn’t the right person and he had made a fool out of himself again or something along those lines, but this time, he remained silent. his eyes still avoid yours and you feel panic bubbling up in your chest. why was he acting like this? had something gone wrong?

“can i... try something?” he breaks the silence, asking quietly, almost as if he would break glass if he spoke any louder. he leans in slowly, and you freeze, your breath hitching. your mind screams for you to move away, to question what he was doing and whether he was in his right mind. yet your heart palpitates erratically and you make no move to turn away. his dark brown eyes gaze into yours, and you feel your head spinning.

despite your daze, you somehow feel your head nod ever so slightly, almost out of pure instinct with no control of your own body.

albeit with great reluctance, renjun takes this opportunity daringly. he closes the gap separating you both and gently presses his lips against yours. you melt into his warmth, closing your eyes as your hands subconsciously reach up to pull him in closer by gripping his jacket. his hands raise up to gently cradle your head and his lips feel like velvet, pliant against your own. the kiss is delicate yet firm, all hesitance dissipating as the seconds pass. you both pull away for air, but it felt as if you had just taken a deep breath of air for the very first time in your life.

people had told you about how they felt when they found the one, and you had never understood what they meant about how one person could make them feel just right until that very moment. how complete you had felt. your heart tugs almost as if you had finally crossed the thin line separating you from friends and lovers, something you never knew your heart had been aching for until now. you had always had renjun in your life, but you never knew how much he made you feel whole until this very moment. like he was the last missing puzzle piece that had finally found its place in your life, and nothing more could rival the feeling of this very moment.

he rests his forehead against yours and smiles meekly. your head was still reeling, and renjun moved his hand to gently cup your cheek. your mouth opens ajar, as you wrack your mind for the right words to say. “i… what? injunnie—”

he cuts you off by pressing another soft kiss to your lips. your eyes widen at his impulsive action, taken aback by how uncharacteristic that was. “i know you have a lot of questions, but i couldn’t resist,” he admits as pink dusts his cheek.

he entwines his hand with yours, fitting like two puzzle pieces as he leads you to the park bench. he looks up at the hazy sky once again with admiration before explaining.

“i never understood why it was so difficult to find my soulmate, when my tattoo was one of the more common ones,” he confesses as he glanced down to his moon tattoo. although it was indeed not as uncommon as yours, you had always admired the beauty it held, how beautifully and different it was drawn compared to the generic crescent symbols you had seen before.

it was as if renjun had drawn it with his own hand, with every tiny detail matching precisely with his art, his masterpieces. you look at yours, your wrist adorned with tiny scribbles of planets, stars, and even the sun scattered around all in one area.

suddenly it dawns on you. the space separating the sun and planets and stars is no longer empty, instead replaced with a replica of a moon. 

renjun’s moon.

“ever since we reunited with each other, i’ve been feeling more and more desperate to find them because i couldn’t help but feel something towards you, and i couldn’t live knowing you weren’t mine. at least— not until now.”

renjun is absolutely glowing when you look up at him.

“i guess you’re my universe, y/n,” he scoffs with a smile. his eyes meet yours, but despite the firmness in his voice, his telltale signs of embarrassment say otherwise.

and you believe him, because when he smiles at you, it’s as if you were the one who put the sun and moon and stars in the sky, as if you were the center of his galaxy. as if you were his universe.

“i never realized how much i needed you, until i saw that girl. she told me that she was the sun to someone else’s galaxy, and that’s when i realized that i had been trying to push away the pull towards someone who was always beside me for too long. somehow who should’ve been with me all along.”

you both locked eyes before bursting into laughter at his cringeworthy yet heartwarming confession. “when did you become such a cheeseball?” you snort. he locks you in a loving chokehold and your heart nearly skips a beat.

“we both wasted our time, didn’t we?” you remark with a carefree smile. all the worries, the gut feeling that made your head spin, the questions of why you couldn’t feel happy when it came to not having him, disappears within a simple kiss. the puzzle was done. the masterpiece was completed, but what was funny was the mere fact that you had no idea anything was even missing in the first place. you looked down at his wrist, now full with doodles of your galaxy. it glowed just like yours.

“we can make up for lost time.”

you nod and bask in his presence, gazing up at the stars scattered across and the luminescent moon peeking out against the darkness of twilight sky.

soulmates were an odd thing— to simply leave it up to a mere tattoo to connect you both when you had been connected since the very beginning. but you couldn’t have asked for anything more, when fate had already decided that you were his universe, and he was your moon.

you completed each other.

author’s note: i wrote this for @yongiefilms to thank her for being such a good friend and also bc i needed an excuse to post smth while i work on my main wip! i seem to have a curse where i cant write blurbs cus they end up turning into drabbles. oops? also i spent wayy more time on the header than the actual story lol ANYWAYS yay to my first renjun fic <3

#neowritingsnet #kwritersworldnet #renjun scenarios #nct-writers #nct dream scenarios #leyna writes #renjun x reader #renjun fluff #nct dream fluff #nct renjun #nct fluff #huang renjun

[youbloodymadgenius]

Stuck with you (Modern!Ivar x reader)

wA/N: This is for @lisinfleur‘s Quarantine Challenge. Thanks love 💖

I’ve been very inactive lately, my mind filled with worries... Stuck with you is not my best work, but at least I’ve been able to write again. Writing sex is not my strong suit. Sorry.

the gif belongs to @honestsycrets​ 🌻

@inforapound 🌺💐🌺 Thanks my friend ❤️

Summary: Your roommate swearing and screaming at the top of his lungs, you end up coming out of your room and going to see him. What happens next is... out of control.

Warnings: explicit sex; swear words; no plot AT ALL.

Words: 2745

"FUUUUUCK!!!"

Exasperated,you roll your eyes before immersing yourself again in the captivating historical novel you're reading. 

Less than five seconds later, your attention is drawn away by a heavy thud – no doubt some kind of object crashing into the wall – shortly followed afterwards by another loud "FUUUUUUCK!"

Sighing deeply, you place a bookmark between the pages of your book, put it on the night table and eventually get out of bed, checking the time on your clock.

7:45am. Certainly too early for you to silently tolerate your rommate's screams.

Crossing hastily the room dressed in nothing but your panties and a long t-shirt, you take in a big gasp of air before opening the door.  

"FUCKING BULLSHIT!!!"

Your hand still on the doorknob, the door ajar, his scream this time causes you to jerk. 

Reaching the living room, the first thing you notice is the remote control, or maybe it's a phone you're not sure, on the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces. The next one is that Ivar is screaming again. "FUUUUUCK!! I JUST CAN'T FUCKING STAND IT! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!"

You then spot him, sitting on the couch in gray sweatpants and a withe t-shirt. Furrowed brows, clenched jaw, tensed features… If you still had any doubts, you don't have any now. He's angry. Very angry. 

Taking two cautious steps forward, you know better than to get too close to him, so that you can avoid any unexpected flying objects. Hands on your hips, the strong breath you release gets his attention. "FUCK Y/N!"

Knowing his outburst isn't actually directed at you, you keep calm, speaking softly. "What's wrong, Ivar?"

"WHAT'S WRONG?? YOU'RE FUCKING ASKING ME WHAT'S WRONG, Y/N?? I'M SURE YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT'S WRONG! FUCK!!!" He spits at you, his hands waving all over the place, and you can physically feel his wrath. You’ve never seen him like that. Of course, Ivar is often quick-tempered, but that… that is something else, and it's quite unsettling.

Still, you force yourself to stay calm, inhaling deeply before answering, your voice gentle. 

"No Ivar, I don't." 

You're not exactly lying. Of course, you have some idea, but you can't be sure. The truth is, you two barely know each other. If you've been living under the same roof for almost six months, it's not really by choice. You were desesperate to find a room and Ivar was looking for a roommate. Or more specifically, Ivar had to find a roommate. He lived alone for two years, but after a nasty fall that put him back in a wheelchair for weeks, his overprotective mother decided it was her job to interfere. The deal was this: find a roommate or come back home. When you met them – yes, his mother was there, after all, she owned the apartment – your conversation sounded weirdly like a job interview. After two hours and a lot of nosy questions from Aslaug, you got the job, huh sorry, the room, the fact that you're a nursing student surely helpful. 

And frankly, living here turned out not so bad.

The huge apartment is perfectly equipped, its furnitures luxurious, the fridge always full, thanks to  Ivar's mother, and your room probably bigger than your parents' house. Ivar is certainly not the most congenial person but he's mostly never around. Between his doctoral thesis and his unofficial involvement in the family corporation, he leaves most of the time at dawn and doesn't return until late at night, except on days when his legs hurt too much. On those days, he usually locks himself in his room. The few times you run into him in the apartment, he barely acknowledges your presence, doesn't really talk to you – you're well aware that he'd prefer to live alone – yet he's never directly hostile. 

Plus, you would be lying saying he's unattractive. Truth be told, Ivar is a sight to behold. Gorgeous blue eyes, strong features, sharp cheekbones and high forehead, sign of his obvious intelligence. Ivar is, plain and simple, stunningly handsome. 

So yeah, all in all, living with him isn't hard. Ordinarily. But now, the ordinary is not part of your lives. Because of this virus, schools, theaters and shops have been closed for two weeks and you and Ivar are mostly stuck at home. He's been grumpy ever since, but you've managed to keep him pretty calm, at least enough for your new shared meals to go well.

Right now, you're not sure there's anything you can do to avoid the upcoming storm. 

As Ivar glares at you, eyes wide open, obviously bewildered, you simply repeat, "I don't." Grabbing his crutch, you think for a moment he's going to stand up, and maybe that's what he was going to do, but finally he just throws it angrily accross the room, still being careful no to aim it at you, shouting again,

"FUCK YOU DON'T!!! HAVEN'T YOU HEARD THE FUCKING NEWS, Y/N???" 

You give him a confused look. "What news, Ivar? It's not even eight in the morning, I woke up not long ago and I was reading." Explaining yourself is useless but you feel compelled to do it, for whatever reason.

"YOU ARE FUCKING STUPID, AREN'T YOU? YOU SLEEPING WON'T STOP EARTH FROM FUCKING SPINNING, YOU KNOW THAT?" His tone scornful, pointing to his temple with his index finger in a universally obvious gesture, he's slowly getting on your nerves. 

Getting closer, you take advantage of the fact that he's sitting and you're standing, hovering over him, one eyebrow raised. He's clearly not impressed, but it feels good anyway. Small victories are victories nonetheless. "Don't give me shit, Ivar. I'm not dumb and you know that. Just spill the f–", biting your tongue, you stop before saying what seems to be his favorite word today, "spill the news Ivar!"

"TOTAL LOCKDOWN!!!" 

Shocked, you fight the urge to take a few steps back while his screams don't stop. He doesn't notice your discomfort, caught up in his own anger. "THAT'S WHAT THE FUCKING STATSMINISTER ANNOUNCED LATE LAST NIGHT!! A FUCKING TOTAL LOCKDOWN! FOR AT LEAST THREE FUCKING WEEKS!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO GO OUT AT ALL, EXCEPT FOR GROCERY SHOPPING. WHICH DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING SINCE I DO IT ONLINE, I KNOW! STILL, I WAS SUPPOSED TO FLY BACK AND FORTH TO LONDON THIS WEEK BUT THE PLANES ARE GROUNDED. ALL THE FUCKING PLANES! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? WE'RE FUCKING STUCK HERE, Y/N, 24/7!! ALL BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKING CORONABULLSHIT!!"

Waiting to make sure he's done with his rant, you give him a disapproving look. "Ivar, this is not fucking bullshit. This is a life-threatening virus. People are dying all over the world and the quarantine is the only way. You know that. We knew it was coming. You can't be selfish, not in such circumstances."

You know he knows you're right. Ivar may be mad right now, but he's still smart enough to undersand the urgency of the situation. Yet, he's not quite ready to admit it, at least not entirely. 

Even so, his voice is soft at first. "Yeah, yeah, of course you're right." Running his fingers through his dishelved hair, he sighs before getting carried away once again. "But fuck Y/N!!!" Ivar takes an heavy breath and releases it loudly, shaking his head frustratedly.

And here we are again. Three-two-one-zero… Go!  "BUT FUCK Y/N! FUCK!! IT FUCKING SUCKS, CAN'T YOU AGREE? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO, HUH? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? WE ARE STUCK HERE, LIKE WE ARE IN A FUCKING PRISON!! WE ARE FUCKING STUCK HERE TOGETHER AND THE FUCK IT SUCKS!!"

Hearing his words, you're not sure if you should be amused or rather offended, finally opting for irony. "Sure, it's true that's I'm so lucky to be living with you, while you're stuck with the most boring rommate. I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to apologize for existing, right?"

Ivar freezes, speechless. Wow. It's not something that happens a lot. Small victories blah, blah, blah… Nervously wiggling his fingers, he gives you a constrained, almost apologetic look while biting his lower lip. "Fuck Y/N," his voice speaks softly, "I didn't mean it like that." He lowers his gaze, his hands now rubbing his thighs. You can tell he tries very hard to stay calm and you can't help but think it's adorable. "You know that… Fuck! Y/N, I'm not good at that, and we both know that we didn't choose each other, but I'm fucking grateful it's you who's living with me, and not some dumbass. And even though I'm a spoiled brat and probably a fucking pain in the ass, I know being stuck here with you won't be hell on Earth. Still, just being stuck here sucks. IT FUCKING SUCKS!!!"

That's the exact moment when something switches in your mind. It all comes up out of the blue and you're suddenly aware of the warmth in your lower belly, of your increasing heart rate, of your clammy hands… You have to make a prodigious effort not to lick your lips. Ivar is… flustered, akward, still angry and cocky yet soft and almost sweet and seeing him like this makes you feel things. Unexpected things.  

You can't think straight anymore. Maybe lockdown is driving you crazy too, after all. Or maybe it's because it's been months since you've… Or it's all Ivar's fault. Yeah, that's it, it's got to be his fault. Because with is huge blue eyes, his reddened cheeks, his chiseled upper body and the anger still flowing out of him, he's… he's… he's…

… insanely hot. So FUCKING insanely hot.

Checking discretely with one hand that no drool is leaking from the corner of your mouth, you go on right after. "Maybe you should stop talking about it and just do it, Ivar. You know, to take the pressure off." Your words are rushed and you know you're blushing, but you can’t control your brain anymore. It's probably not really functional right now anyway. 

Baffled, Ivar looks at you without understanding. "Wh- What? What are you fucking talking about?" His scowl is back, and you realize it makes him even more attractive. 

“Oh Ivar, don't play dumb, you know what I'm saying, don't you?  Fuck and fucking… Those are the only words you seem to know. Stop saying them. Do it. Just do it. I bet you'll be more relaxed after." Okay, you're obviously out of your mind. You couldn't care less though, your only focus at the moment being the sparkle in your inner core. 

"What-?" His chocked voice gives away how stunned he is. "But… with… with whom, Y/N?"

The answer is an obvious one, right? At least to you, but probably to Ivar too, since he's stuck there with you and only you. You can see in his eyes that yes, he knows what you're implying. Still, the bewilderment written all over his face a clear indication that he can't bring himself to believe it. You don't blame him. The impression you give is always that of a (too) serious person. Ivar doesn't know who you really are. You're not even sure you know it yourself… And right now, it doesn't matter. 

Because yeah, disbelief is obvious on his face, but lust even more so … oh gods… Gods… Slightly confounded and blinking a few times, but looking at you like you're a prey, Ivar is, if at all possible, even hotter than before. And that's what matters.

 Winking at him, you quickly take off your t-shirt, swinging it accross the room. His mouth ajar, his gaze is that of a toddler, sitting under the tree, contemplating his gifts on Christmas morning.

"What do you think, Ivar?" His eyebrows furrowed, you don't allow him time to respond, straddling his lap. You're not sure he's breathing, clearly incredulous, almost skeptical. And gods, how beautiful he is. You can't resist. You won't resist. When you crash your lips together, you stop thinking. 

The akward moment disappears quickly, replaced by a shared eagerness. Ivar kisses you back, his need now as great as yours, his tongue invading and claiming your mouth. You can't help but moan while feeling him growning against your clit. "Fuck Y/N!", he mumbles as you rock your hips purposefully against his. Rewarded with a loud growl, you smile, never breaking the intense kiss. 

All off a sudden, you don't know how he manages to do so, you're lying on your back on the wide couch, Ivar's body all over yours, warming you from the inside out. His shirt gone, his callouse hands are everywhere, roaming your body – your jaw, sides, belly, neck, navel, even squeezing your cheeks as you raise your hips – his mouth on your tits, nibbling and sucking. Digging your fingers into his back, you release a gasping breath before kissing each and every part of exposed skin he has to offer, his taste so overwhelming, you can't get enough, moaning and panting endlessly, your heart already pounding hard in your chest.

As he slips his fingers under your panties, your breath stutters, your whole body jerking and tensing when his fingertips brush over your clit. You can feel him smile against your skin, proud and smug, huffing a small snort just before parting your folds.

Slipping a finger inside you, a low moan rattles in his throat, his wonder at how wet you are obvious in his eyes. When his middle finger begins to glide in and out, you grab his wrist hard, a frustrated growl escaping your mouth.  

"Stop it, Ivar." Muttering against his neck, you put your free hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly, his gaze an universal what-the-fuck-gaze. Without loosening your grip on his wrist, you let your fingers run down his chest, your hand grabbing his waistband. 

"Don't waste our time with foreplay." Rushing your words, you give him a short yet rapturous kiss. "Save it for later, will you? We'll have a whole lockdown to do that." Yanking his pants and briefs down his hips, you then slip off your panties, Ivar leaning on his forearms, his biceps flexing. Looking at you with desire in his blackened eyes, he releases a husky whimper of yearning as you grab his hard length. "Fuck Y/N!" he hisses, panting and shivering. 

"That's it, Ivar! Do it. Fuck me. I need you inside me. Now!"  Your breath coming in shallow gasps, you squeeze his cock, brushing it against your core.

That's all it takes for his control to snap as he drives into you, stroking you from the inside. He thrusts straight away into you, hard and heavy. It's not gentle, it's rough and primal, exactly what you need. Grasping and squeezing handfuls of his ass, your hips snap upward and you groan against his skin and into his mouth as he hits you from all angles, going deeper inside you than you thought possible. Your body jerking back, your hands cling to his shoulders, allowing you to feel his quivering muscles under your fingertips. Your skin feels like fire as he keeps pumping relentlessly, his tongue thrusting into your mouth. 

Your breathing uneven, you know he's as close as you are as your walls clench around him. Pushing your hips upward and back, faster and faster, his thrusts become erratic. "Fuck!", he roars once more, your hands back on his ass again, your body starting to shake. 

Crying out, your body bows upward. The muscles of your inner walls constrincting tightly around him, you scream his name, exploding all around him, his thick and hot seed spilling inside you, your orgasm hitting you in strong waves as his mouth seeks yours for a final sloppy kiss.

Sated to the point of exhaustion, Ivar falls heavily onto you, shaking and sweating. Not letting himself slide out of you just yet, his hands lazily stroke your sides as your fingers run along his back. 

Out of breath, you both need a few minutes to come down from that high, Ivar being the first to talk, his voice still shaky. "There's no fucking way we're not fucking doing this again!"

Bursting out laughing, you give his cheek a peck before leaning on one elbow. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gently push a strand of hair away from his forehead. "You're fucking right. But for now, Ivar, you know what?  Give it a rest and just fucking shut up!"

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @saldelys @waiting4inspiration @lisinfleur @hecohansen31 @a-mess-of-fandoms @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @lonewolf471

#ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings imagine #vikings #ivar fanfic #lisinfleur #quarantine challenge

[stonecoldsilly]

Domestic Bliss

Chapter One - The Bonds Of Matrimony

(( TW: lots of swearing, lots of derogatory but joking uses of the word 'fat' ))

Geralt is sitting at the bar about three bottles down when Jaskier walks in behind him, and as soon as he smells that familiar lemon-polish and honeysuckle scent, he looks about wildly and genuinely considers jumping the bar to escape. He really does just want to drink alone and be miserable for a bit, but Jaskier will insist on cheering him up, and what’s worse is that it will probably work too.

Jaskier spots him and makes his way over, but he doesn’t look his usual bouncy self.

‘One more for me and my pal here,’ he says to the innkeeper, and pats his shoulder in greeting before sinking down onto the stool next to him.

‘Fuck off Jaskier.’ Geralt says, and Jaskier just stares him down.

The innkeeper returns with a fresh bottle, and Jaskier says waspishly ‘Actually, just my drink, if you don’t mind, see, I thought this was my good friend Geralt, but I’ve mistaken him for whoever the fuck this miserable twat is. I’d cut him off if I were you, those Witchers get a bit bitey when they’ve had a few.’

The innkeeper looks between them, nervously.

Geralt sighs. ‘Fuck off, please?’

‘What crawled up your arse and died? I only left last week.’

Geralt looks into the bottom of his empty glass and contemplates his place in the universe solemnly. Jaskier relents eventually and beckons the innkeeper back for a refill. When the innkeeper fucks off again, Geralt downs his glass, and Jaskier leans closer.

‘Come on Geralt, talk to me.’

‘I went to see Yen for a few days, but she kicked me out this morning. Said she was done with me.’

‘Oh, fuck buddy, that’s rough.’ He snags the bottle and refills their glasses. They look at the drinks. They drink the drinks.

After a suspiciously long silence Geralt looks at Jaskier, who is slumped on his stool, not even attempting to catch the gaze of any of the pretty girls eyeing him.

‘What about you?’ He tries.

‘The Countess said about the same thing to me, what, about half an hour ago?’

‘Fuck.’ Says Geralt, as sympathetically as he can manage.

They look at the drinks. They drink the drinks.

Geralt is sunk deep into appreciating the little corner of sullen silence they are radiating when Jaskier slams his palms on the bar and hisses ‘Fuck this.’

‘Jaskier-‘ Geralt tries, valiantly, to cut him off before he reaches full steam.

‘No seriously, fuck this! We are two of the most attractive men on this thrice-accursed Continent, those fucking bitches…we didn’t need them anyway! I mean look at you, you’re decent enough when you’ve had a bath, you’re great in the sack, you’ve got all your own teeth, what’s not to like?’

‘Thanks.’ Says Geralt, drily.

‘Throw Roach in to sweeten the deal and I’d marry you in a heartbeat, I don’t know what’s wrong with that witch.’

‘We always end up fighting.’ Geralt says, glumly.

‘Yes, and we always end up fighting as well, but I wouldn’t be stupid enough to kick you out of bed.’

Horrifyingly, his eyes feel a little damp at the reassurance.

‘Thanks Jaskier, you’re a good friend.’ He manages. ‘You’re pretty great too, as well.’

‘I’m the best fucking bard Oxenfurt has ever seen!’

‘Too right,’ says Geralt, warming to the subject. ‘And you have your teeth as well.’

‘Don’t have a horse though.’ Jaskier looks rather dejected at the thought, and Geralt slaps his own palms on the bar.

‘Hey, you’ve got your lute, haven’t you?’

‘Marissa said she’d rather listen to a badger being waxed than any more of my songs.’

Geralt is struck with a deep and intense surge of fellow-feeling for the Countess but hides his laughter in his glass before Jaskier catches it. The bard swings his leg morosely, kicking at Geralt’s already scuffed boots under the bar.

He offers up his own lover’s parting words. ‘Yen said she’d portal me straight into the sea if I showed up again.’

‘Gods, what a world.’ Jaskier looks even more upset at this, and horrifyingly, tears start brimming in his eyes. ‘It’s just not fair Geralt, you poor sod, I really thought you and Yen would work out.’

‘Hey, Jaskier…er…don’t cry.’ He pats his shoulder but that only makes things worse.

‘You both liked black so much!’ Jaskier wails, downright weeping now.

He’s seen Jaskier on the outs with his Countess before, and it usually manifests in the poet vacillating wildly between outright misery and righteous fury. Come to think of it, Jaskier’s seen him through a few of him and Yen’s more turbulent patches as well, but they’ve never managed to sync up before.

‘Hang on a minute. They don’t know each other, do they?’

‘What, Yennefer and Marissa? I dread to think. They both like to stick their noses everywhere they can, that’s for sure.’

Geralt lets that rather terrifying thought slide, and flags down the innkeeper again, rummaging for Jaskier’s coin purse at his hip. Jaskier lets him, well used to sharing everything they own save their shoes, if only because Jaskier has remarkably dainty feet.

Jaskier perks up when the drinks arrive, and Geralt lets him, reasoning that if at least one of them is miserable at a time then the evening won’t be too bad. He sighs, but Jaskier is relentless.

‘You know what we should do?’

‘What?’

‘We should go dancing.’

‘What.’ He says flatly.

‘Dancing! You and me, painting the town red. C’mon, like the good old days.’

‘When have we ever danced?’

‘Exactly. You never take me dancing. I love dancing. I used…I used to dance with Marissa.’

Tears threaten to spill again, and Geralt hastily agrees before Jaskier starts bawling properly.

He downs his drink, and completely fails to notice Jaskier’s grin as they leave.

Three taverns, four inns, and what appears to be a secret speak-easy later, Geralt is treading beyond pissed and tipping straight into the drunkest he’s ever been. Jaskier dangles off his arm, very thoroughly danced with, covered in remnants of makeup and looking flushed and debauched. Jaskier passes the pipe back to the kind prostitute he found, and they are commiserating about lost love and smoking their way through what looks like an entire bag of pipeweed while Geralt watches the room spin and hiccups into his enormous cocktail of spirits.

‘And then, I said, of course I’d marry him, the daft sod.’ He tunes back in to hear Jaskier yelling in his new friend’s ear while she nods fervently, although how an ordinary human can hear anything over the thumping music and shouting going on, he has no idea.

‘Why don’t you?’ She screams back, and Jaskier grins wickedly and kisses her hands fervently.

‘Good idea!’ He bellows back, and turns back to Geralt.

‘Geralt!’

‘I can hear you, you don’t need to shout!’

‘Gerallllllt.’ Jaskier sways towards him. ‘Listen, listen, listen, yeah? Fuck. Those. Bitches. We don’t need them, not even…not even a little tiny bit. Me and you, the lads, yeah? Fuck them, right? We should get married!’

Enough alcohol has reached his brain that the idea sounds absolutely hilarious.

They stagger back through the cobbled streets to the inn, hours later, arms round each other’s shoulders and making very little progress.

‘I’ve still got a pair of her knickers.’

‘You sad cunt.’ Says Geralt.

‘All I’ve got left in the world. Pair of her knickers. Not even good ones.’

‘Stop fucking whining. D-don’t need her anyway, you’ve got me. And Roach.’

‘Because we’re married!’ Jaskier shouts, and then turns on him. That familiar gleam lights up in Jaskier’s eyes.

‘Geralt, I’ll give you ten crowns. Right here. Right now.’

‘Go on.’

‘If you put them up there.’ And he points to the flagpole next to them, proudly displaying the flag of the Free City of Novigrad.

‘Fuck off.’

‘Nah go on. Ten crowns. Get yourself a new pair of...fucking...massive shoes. Or can the big old Witcher not make it to the top?’

‘Go on then.’

Jaskier presents the Countess’s stolen knickers ceremonially, and Geralt bats his hands away when he tries stuffing them in his mouth.

‘Well you’ll need your hands won’t you, you daft cunt?’

‘They’d better be fucking clean.’

‘Not at liberty to say, mate.’

Geralt lists to the side and stares up at the flagpole blearily. Jaskier takes advantage of his silence and sticks them on his head.

‘Go on then!’

Geralt hiccups, and then makes his way up the pole, creaking under his weight. Jaskier is doubled over with laughter on the ground, tears in his eyes and trying to keep quiet so the patrolling guards don’t hear.

He pulls the knickers off his head and waves them triumphantly in the air before hanging them off the top of the pole and letting himself slide back down to the ground jerkily.

Jaskier wheezes, and Geralt has to bend over and put his hands on his knees to muffle his own laughter. He goes for Jaskier’s coin purse, and Jaskier jabs him in the gut and cackles.

‘Alright, go on then,’ Jaskier says, ‘double or nothing.’

‘There is no way your fat arse is getting up and down that pole.’ Geralt says, judging the height again.

‘Your dad said that last night.’ Jaskier elbows him again in exactly the same spot.

‘Fuck off,’ he says, and slaps his hands away. ‘Go on then. Bet you can’t.’

Jaskier grins wickedly, and proceeds to shimmy up the pole, heaving for breath but making it to the top. ‘I’m King of Novigrad!’ He crows, voice echoing through the empty square.

The flagpole creaks ominously, and snaps.

Jaskier squeals as he drops, and Geralt has a moment to panic before he lifts his arms and catches him. Jaskier shakes with glee and kicks his feet happily, wrapping his arms round Geralt’s neck and pressing a sloppy wet kiss to his cheek.

‘My hero!’

‘Oi!’ Four guards enter the square from the other side, drawn by all the noise. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Geralt bolts, Jaskier still in his arms, creasing with laughter and making rude gestures at the guards over his shoulder as they make their escape.

They reach the inn, and Jaskier demands to be carried over the threshold, properly. Geralt smiles and kicks the door open with his foot. He wobbles as he walks, and Jaskier howls vengeance when he bangs his head on the wall.

‘Oh fuck off you fat cunt. Next time you can be the one carrying me.’

He tosses Jaskier on the bed, and then passes out next to him, still in all his armour.

Jaskier wakes up the next day too hungover to breathe. He whines, and keeps his eyes as tightly closed as possible while he reaches for a pillow to smother himself with. Geralt kicks him, and he decides to smother Geralt instead. Ten seconds of feeble flopping later, Jaskier gives in and just swears at him vehemently.

‘What?’

‘Wake up you idiot.’

‘What?’ Jaskier says, louder.

‘We got fucking married.’

‘Fuck off did we.’

‘Well it wasn’t my idea!’

Jaskier opens his eyes at that and tries to work out which Geralt he should be shouting at.

‘You’re chatting shite again.’

‘We got married.’ Says Geralt, and this time he sounds like he can’t believe it himself.

Faint bells ring in the back of his head, and he sits up, horrified.

‘We got fucking married?’

Geralt just nods, and stares back at him, eyes wide and panicked.

‘You limpdick fucking wanker!’ Jaskier shouts and throws a pillow at him. ‘What the hell did you want to marry me for?’

‘Oh well, I’ve secretly always wanted to be a fucking Countess, and then you went and proposed to me so nicely!’ He says, getting wound up.

Jaskier laughs despite himself, and then raises an accusing finger.

‘I knew it! I knew you were after my money.’

‘You gigantic fucking tosspot! You were the one who was all,’ Geralt raises his voice several octaves, ‘oh Geralt let’s be together forever, we don’t need women, we have each other.’

‘In all fairness, these are still valid points and I stand by them. However,’ and Jaskier raises his eyebrows, ‘why the fuck did you say yes?’

‘No idea. Thought it’d be a laugh, probably.’

‘Geralt!’ Jaskier honestly has the nerve to sound outraged. ‘I’m the one with the mad ideas, and you’re supposed to be the voice of reason! How the hell are we going to get anything done if we’re both going round having mad ideas? We’ll be dead by dusk if you carry on like that, honestly.’

‘You want a divorce then?’

‘No way in hell, this is the funniest thing that’s happened to me in years. You?’

‘I hear it’s pretty expensive to get all the paperwork done.’

‘You soppy cunt.’ Jaskier flops back down on the bed and giggles. ‘We’re not having our fucking honeymoon in Novigrad though, I’ll tell you that now.’

‘What am I going to tell Yen?’ Geralt says mournfully.

‘Well, if you see her again, and that’s a big fucking if, I’d go with something along the lines of ‘Yennefer, the ardent passion I’ve hidden for my beloved Jaskier could be denied no longer, and now we are bound forever in holy matrimony.’ You can do it, I believe in you.’

Geralt sits on him.

‘Off off off, gods, not a good start to domestic bliss!’ He wheezes, and Geralt relents.

‘I’ll fucking burst you, you jumped up little bastard.’

‘Do it tomorrow. I feel like shit.’

‘Yeah and you look like it too.’

‘Fuck off,’ Jaskier says affably and rolls over to look at him, ‘and fetch me a bath would you, husband dearest?’

Geralt actually turns pink, and Jaskier has never been one not to pounce on any weakness he finds.

‘Won’t you make me the happiest man on the Continent and fetch your poor aching husband a bath?’ He pouts as prettily as he can, and Geralt blinks at him, and actually does it.

This is going to be brilliant, Jaskier can tell.

‘Cheer up, you miserable fucking scrote.’

Geralt is walking sullenly next to Roach, and for once Jaskier is riding, pointedly displaying his correct posture after years of horsemanship drilled into him as a child, and hoping husband privileges mean he gets to ride more often.

‘Shut up.’

‘C’mon, it’s not so bad as all that. You’re married to your pal, your buddy, your main boy Jaskier! We already fuck like rabbits, we already travel together, it’s not actually all that different from what we already do.’

Surprisingly this seems to work, and Geralt seems to relax a little.

Jaskier waits a minute, for Geralt's mood to lift properly, and then adds, ‘When you die, does that mean I get Roach?’

He slumps again.

Jaskier stops Roach dead in the middle of the road and groans in realisation.

‘Fuck.’

Geralt halts as well and looks at him, worried.

‘What?’

‘You know that night we don’t ever, ever, ever talk about? On pain of instant death? Where you said something really stupid because you thought it would be funny? And gosh, speaking of, thought you’d have learned that lesson by now.’

Geralt grunts at him disapprovingly.

‘Don’t get me wrong, it was fucking hilarious, but I just realised my parents are going to absolutely shit themselves with glee. For fuck’s sake.’

‘What.’ Says Geralt, caught out.

Jaskier looks up at the sky, praying for aid, and then decides restraint has never really been his thing anyway.

‘I’m going to be a shit step-mother, I hope you know that.’

Geralt whistles once, and Roach careens instantly into a gallop beneath him. Jaskier slides straight back out of the saddle and lands flat on his arse in the dirt.

Geralt finally laughs, and Jaskier grins up at him, too relieved to be pissed off.

They make camp that night next to a little stream, and Geralt hunts them a brace of pheasant. Jaskier smiles up at him coyly, and Geralt just stands there awkwardly and clears his throat, flapping his hands as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Jaskier gives in and throws a pheasant at his face, and they settle down to plucking peacefully.

‘So this whole marriage thing,’ he begins, and Geralt groans, ‘I think we need some rules.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, obviously we’re still fucking other people as well.’ Geralt nods, looking vaguely relieved.

‘But I thought, now that I’m your husband and all, is there anyone off-limits?’

Geralt stares at him baffled.

He tries again. ‘Now that you’ve the sole claim to my heart, as it were, is there anyone you definitely do not want me to fuck? And the same goes for you.’

‘Yen.’ Geralt says instantly.

‘Deal, I don’t want frostbite on my dick. Although technically, she did touch my cock before yours, if we’re being pedantic.’

Geralt huffs and tries his best glower, but that has never worked on Jaskier.

‘Let’s make it fair, we each get five people, that the other absolutely cannot fuck, on pain of death.’

‘Why do I only get five? You fuck so many people I can’t possibly pick just five out of the entire goddamn Continent!’

‘Fair’s fair. Five, or else we’d be here all day.’ Jaskier thinks for a moment, eyes darting about sneakily. ‘So mine would be, you cannot fuck the Countess de Stael, or Valdo Marx, or either of my parents, or Queen Calanthe.’

‘Calanthe?’ says Geralt, voice cracking in surprise.

‘Yeah I’m doing you a favour here mate, if that whole suspiciously prickly incident hadn’t happened she would have had you right there on that table.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Just saving you from vaguely incestuous hate-sex at this point, buddy. And I want the chance, should the opportunity ever come my way. You know I like it when they walk in covered in blood.’

Geralt winks at him, and now it’s Jaskier’s turn to go pink.

‘So mine would be Yennefer, obviously.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Er…Triss Merrigold?’

‘Isn’t she the Temerian mage? Why?’

‘She’s nice and I don’t want her pissed off at me.’

Jaskier laughs and nods in agreement.

Geralt sits bolt upright and says ‘Jaskier, you cannot fuck my brothers.’

‘That’s a shame, Eskel’s quite fit. And I always thought Lambert was sweet on me.’

‘No.’ Geralt says, carefully and explicitly stern.

‘Fine,’ Jaskier huffs, ‘You’ve got one left, choose wisely...’

‘Coen, then.’ Jaskier eyes him carefully. ‘He’s a Griffin, winters with us sometimes.’

‘Okay. Final answer?’

Geralt nods, looking pleased with himself, and they shake on it.

‘The pact is sealed. No take-backs. I will not fuck Yennefer, Triss Merrigold, Eskel, Lambert or Coen.’

And Geralt huffs and says ‘And I will not fuck your Countess, Valdo Marx, your parents or Queen Calanthe.’

They settle down to eat their dinner and then enjoy a lazy shag by the firelight.

Jaskier waits until Geralt is closing his eyes to sleep and leans up on his elbow to watch his face.

‘Just out of interest, how old is Vesemir?’

Geralt’s eyes slam back open and he grabs for Jaskier, who just cackles helplessly, even as Geralt picks him up and dunks him in the river.

He snorts and splutters, and then sings ‘I’m going to fuck your dad,’ and Geralt holds his head under, ‘and then I’m going to divorce you,’ another dunking, ‘and marry him,’ another much longer dunk, ‘and I’m going to send you to bed without any dinner!’

Geralt gets him in a headlock and he splashes in retaliation, and they end up wrestling in the stream until Jaskier is crying with laughter and they are both thoroughly soaked.

They reach the next big town by the end of the week, and Jaskier is pleasantly surprised by how well married life is turning out. Geralt hasn’t gotten used to being called husband yet, and Jaskier has been milking it for all he’s worth, fluttering his eyelashes mercilessly and getting extra breaks and more rides on Roach whenever he asks for them.

As soon as word of their arrival in town spreads, Jaskier is requested to perform at the Mayor’s house for his daughter’s nameday. He drags Geralt along to the tailors, and delights in dressing them up in as much finery as Geralt will allow.

He swaggers, triumphant, from the dressing room in his beautiful new ruffled doublet, and preens for Geralt to admire.

‘You look like someone vomited on a pastry and then gave it legs.’

He snaps his head round to where Geralt stands, looking very uncomfortable in a tight brown tunic.

‘You look like somebody shaved a bear and then told it a shit joke.’

‘That actually sounds about right.’ They grin at each other as the seamstress stands between them looking shocked.

Jaskier performs as fantastically as he always does, maidens swooning and fainting all over the place, thrilling with the cheers and applause he receives after his encore. He makes his way back through the crowd to Geralt, who is standing awkwardly and gripping his ale for dear life as the Mayor’s daughter backs him into the corner.

‘Darling, are you alright?’ He says, and Geralt smirks at him.

The Mayor’s daughter turns on him, and squawks ‘Darling?’

‘Yes, my lady, this fine gentleman is my husband.’

Geralt tugs him closer, and kisses him, very showily. Jaskier sighs into the kiss and loses himself in it a little, restless energy from his performance sliding easily into languid heat.

They resurface, and the simpering bitch has fled for safer ground.

Jaskier drapes himself across his Witcher, and pointedly asks ‘What did you think of my performance?’

‘You sound like a weasel trying to have an orgy by itself.’

He stamps on Geralt’s boot, feigning outrage.

‘Oh, and you’re familiar with weasel orgies are you?’

Eyes all over the room are drawn to them then, as Geralt hoots with laughter and utterly fails to conceal his snorts.

Jaskier grins up at him. Really, the first time he introduced Geralt as his husband couldn’t have gone better if he’d tried.

Geralt fires a bomb at the nest of Nekkers, and Jaskier whoops from the safety of his tree. ‘Fucking shit shot you are! My fucking granny could hit better than that and she’s fucking dead!’

Geralt glances back at him, holding off three at once at the end of his sword, and shouts ‘Yeah and you can tell her I said ‘fuck off’ in a minute when you fucking see her again!’

Roach just snorts at them, and Jaskier belts out his latest composition at the top of his lungs while Geralt finishes them off.

Geralt squelches back to Jaskier’s tree and huffs up at him as he climbs down, grumbling impatiently.

‘Can’t believe that took so long, some fucking shite wolf you are.’

‘That last song sounded like someone playing catch with a hedgehog.’

Jaskier wheels round indignantly and goes for the low blow.

‘And you are getting too fat for those trousers.’

Geralt gives chase, sword raised, and he flees into the woods, screaming over his shoulder, ‘Be careful running, don’t want to rip them!’

The Witcher catches him and smacks his arse with the flat of his blade, which quickly turns into an impromptu spanking and some light roleplay. Jaskier’s third outfit in a week ends up covered in viscera.

When they finish and catch their breaths, Jaskier looks down at the mess they’ve made of his clothes and says, ‘Hang on, are you doing this on purpose?'

Geralt just grins at him.

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#geraskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #accidental marriage #lads on tour #lads lads lads #established relationship #jaskier is a little shit #and an enabler #bickering and bantering across the continent #the bants #original british patter

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero, @magic713m, @aubsenroute, @ccboomer, @somebodyswatson

Chapter Eighteen Privet Drive

Harry couldn’t bring himself to sleep in a bed. Though he was grateful for the house, he felt uncomfortable, like he was intruding on someone else’s privacy. He supposed there was some truth to that feeling.

On his first night in Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry had carefully checked every room to confirm that the house was empty. He found no sign of life except the occasional spider scurrying for cover under the rug. Once he was sure that he was alone, he used one of the spells in his Defense Against the Dark Arts books to Charm all the windows with Breach Brooches. He didn’t know why the book said brooches made the best vessel for the spell, but he raided his Aunt Petunia’s jewelry collection for brooches and pins. She hadn’t had enough for every window, but there were a few earrings and, structurally, how different was a brooch from an earring? He hoped it would be enough.

Once each window was protected, he closed off the rooms and sealed the doors with Proximity Peals, just in case. Since then, the only parts of the house Harry had entered were the downstairs bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room.

He always slept behind the sofa, so that if someone did enter in the middle of the night, he had cover for a duel. It was the safest he could be, all things considered.

After getting off the train, it had taken Harry nearly a week to find his aunt and uncle’s house, and in that week of searching, Harry had decided that he did not care for the suburbs.

Foraging for food in the wild had been challenging, but it had not felt dangerous to slip away from camp, especially with the help of the Cloak. And while the crowds in the city had been stressful, there had been so many people and so many places to find food, Harry had not worried so much about someone noticing if he snatched a few bread rolls.

Here, Harry found it far more difficult to go unnoticed. Without the protection of the Cloak, he was not sure how long he could have gotten away with nicking food before some nosy passerby thought it was their business to recount the pastries on display. In London, he could even have blended in without the use of the Cloak, as he had briefly in Knockturn Alley. There were no such options here.

He also had a harder time finding places to sleep. There were very few places to find shelter, not like London where there were plenty of trees, bridges, and alleys to hide in. Occasionally, he would stumble across a children’s playground and at least felt somewhat protected, but otherwise, Harry had not truly felt comfortable sleeping until he had finally arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive.

He hadn’t remembered the exact address when he had first set out, only what the house had looked like when he had arrived on the night of his twelfth birthday, and a street name: Privet Drive. He did remember his Aunt Petunia’s perfectly manicured garden, and though she had not been around for the last few months to tend it, Harry thought it still looked rather lovely. He wondered if his aunt and his father might have more in common than they realised.

Harry had taken to tending the garden when it was dark out, since he did not know how else to repay his aunt and uncle for using their house. Gardening was the most pleasant thing he’d had to occupy himself since he, Ron, and Hermione had fled Bill and Fleur’s wedding. It felt productive, it helped him feel closer to home, and, when he was pruning his aunt’s potted roses, he didn’t think too heavily about the diadem.

With the loss of the diadem, the urgency of his quest had evaporated. He had reviewed his weeks in London as thoroughly as possible, and he had no explanation for the missing Horcrux. The only times his pack had not been physically on his person since he had left Ron and Hermione had been while he was in the lake, but even at those times, he had used the Cloak to hide his pack, and it had never been truly out of his sight.

The only thing Harry could think of was that it had been removed between the morning he had put it into his pack and the night he had left. But it seemed absurd to him that Ron or Hermione would take the diadem without telling him. He couldn’t fathom it.

With no leads on the diadem and no leads on the cup, Harry’s perspective on the situation was rather hopeless. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, passing his days on Privet Drive, but he didn’t know what else to do. Even if he wanted to reconnect with Ron and Hermione or the Order, he wouldn’t know how.

So he read his books on Defense Against the Dark Arts, practiced what spells he could, and tended his aunt’s garden.

He was practicing his Human Transfiguration using the mirror in the bathroom, hoping he could get good enough at changing the shape of his nose that maybe he wouldn’t need Polyjuice Potion, when he heard the click of a deadbolt sliding out of place.

A high pitched whine filled Harry’s ears as someone crossed the threshold of the kitchen door. He was simultaneously glad that his alarm system worked and annoyed with himself for setting it on the door itself. It occurred to him that if he’d thought to set it on the edge of the garden, he could have bought himself more time to escape.

“Bloody hell,” someone hissed, “why won’t the damn thing shut up?”

The high-pitched whine of Harry’s alarm system stopped abruptly.

“Thanks.”

So there were at least two of them. Harry pressed himself against the wall of the bathroom and watched the hallway through the mirror. He readied his wand. He’d gotten much better at silent spellcasting in these last few weeks of practice, and thought even if there were multiple Death Eaters, he could take them one at a time, without alerting the others.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand as the footsteps grew closer. He focused on the Body-Bind Curse with every thought he had, prepared to cast it before they had a chance to fight back.

He moved suddenly, quick as he could, and fired at the figure in the hallway. His spell crashed into a hastily conjured Shield Charm and Harry ducked as a Stunner shot past his ear.

“Wait!” a familiar voice shouted, and Harry froze.

It wasn’t a Death Eater at all that he was aiming his wand at. It was Sirius. Behind him stood Regulus, also with his wand drawn.

Though they had ceased firing at each other, none of them lowered their wands.

“You are Harry, aren’t you?” Sirius asked.

Harry searched his memory desperately for a question, something only Sirius would know the answer to, something that would let Sirius know he really was Harry. He had never been good at coming up with the right sort of questions, something Lily had often reprimanded him for. James had done all the interrogating at the Burrow. All he could manage to recall was the very stupid joke that Sirius had once used with James and Tonks.

“What do you call my mum?” Harry asked.

A grin broke out on Sirius’ face, which was confirmation enough for Harry. “Lily. Or Evans when she’s especially cross. What do you call mine?”

Harry couldn’t quite bring the punchline to his lips. Not that he had any affection for Walburga Black nor any fear of swearing in front of Sirius, but he was too overcome. He threw himself into Sirius’ arms. Though he tried to hold it back, at least one choked sob broke through. Sirius pulled him close against him.

“Merlin, Harry, you have no idea how glad we are to see you, but what the hell is wrong with your face?”

Harry laughed weakly. “Practicing,” he mumbled into Sirius’ shoulder. He supposed he must look odd, with a misshapen nose, and Sirius had never seen him unshaven before. It was no wonder Sirius had cursed him back.

“If we’re going to stay for a while,” Regulus said, “then perhaps we ought to reset the alarms.”

Sirius did not release Harry. If anything, he seemed to cling more tightly. “No one’s stopping you, Reg.”

Harry, too, did not want to let go. He could not quite believe this moment was real.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“You sure as hell didn’t make it easy,” Sirius grumbled. He finally released Harry from the hug, but only to hold him at arm’s length and take a good look at him. “Are you alright? Truly?”

Harry nodded.

“You gave us a real scare with your run-in with Greyback. I thought your mum and Remus were going to tear London to pieces looking for you.”

Regulus returned from resetting the kitchen door. “Could we at least do this somewhere more comfortable than halfway into the bathroom?”

They moved the reunion to the living room. Harry took a moment to return his nose to normal while Regulus examined the fireplace.

“I tried putting a fire in there my first night,” Harry said. “It doesn’t work.”

“Looks like one of those electric contraptions.” Sirius moved aside some of Harry’s books and cast a Non-Flammable Flame on the table. Regulus pulled the armchair closer.

“Is it just you here?” Sirius asked as he settled into the sofa beside Harry. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

Harry bit down on his tongue. “We split up,” and he could tell by the dark look in Sirius’ eyes that this wasn’t going to be the end of that conversation, no matter how desperately Harry wanted it to be.

“What about you?” Harry asked quickly. “Are Mum and Remus alright? Is there news about Dad?”

Sirius rubbed his hand across his mouth and watched the fire. “Everyone’s safe, except we don’t have news about James. The Ministry did a pretty thorough sweep of Grimmauld Place, but if they know what happened to him, they aren’t saying.”

Harry clenched his jaw to try to still his trembling lower lip. He remembered the photograph Moody had shown him of the first Order of the Phoenix. More than one of the people in that photograph had vanished without explanation and were never seen again.

When Harry was certain he could speak without his voice breaking, he asked, “How’s Mum doing?”

“We stay busy,” Sirius said. “Busy helps. I should probably let her know we found you.”

“Only if you want her Apparating into this room and setting off every single one of Harry’s alarms,” Regulus murmured.

Sirius laughed. “A good point. Where’d you learn to do that, anyway? Every window was spelled. I was afraid to get as much as a Patronus in to send you a message. The only reason we finally came in the back door was because we decided if it was you, it wouldn’t hurt to announce ourselves.”

Harry gestured at the small stack of books. “I think it’s from one of the ones you and Remus gave me. Is he alright? It was just the full moon —”

“He’s alright.” Sirius rubbed his shoulder, like the memory of the full moon brought up the memory of an injury. “We haven’t… had access to the Wolfsbane these last few months, let alone a place to brew it. Puts Remus in these moods.”

“I suggested the castle,” said Regulus.

“The castle?” Harry frowned.

Sirius shook his head. “You admitted to me that on several occasions the armor in that castle has tried to kill you. I’m not about to take any Muggle-born or werewolf friends within a mile of that place. For all we know, the castle is loyal to Bellatrix.”

“It couldn’t hurt to try with Andromeda.”

“It could hurt very much! Like a severing your head from your neck sort of hurt.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked.

“The Blacks have — or had, I suppose — an estate out in the countryside,” Sirius explained. “But it’s been the center of a feud for generations. The feud supposedly ended when my mother and father married and it should have gone to me, until I got disinherited, so it should have gone to Regulus, until he faked his death so it might have gone to Bellatrix. As if that wasn’t complicated enough, my uncle got it in his head to claim ownership in his will and leave it all to Andromeda. But she’s only as much of a Black as I am, so not only is the legality of it complicated, the inheritance magic is a mess.”

“I’ve been using the castle on and off since I escaped Azkaban,” Regulus said. “That hippogriff I escaped Hogwarts with has been staying there, too. The grounds, at least, have been safe, even if the interior is… questionable.”

“I will bring up using the grounds for the next full moon,” Sirius said, “but I don’t want to get Tonks’ hopes up.”

“Tonks?” Harry asked.

Sirius hesitated. He took in a deep breath and let it out before he finally spoke. “Things aren’t… easy for anyone right now. I mean, I know you know that, but all of this has been really hard on Drommie and Tonks. Ted’s on the run, and it’s not exactly a secret who Tonks married. After Remus’ close call at the Longbottoms and again in Godric’s Hollow, Tonks is being watched really closely by the Ministry. I think I’ve seen her maybe three times since James was captured. Remus has seen her once. She wants us to find a safe house, and she wants to stay there with us to have her baby. All of that is easier said than done.”

“I’m sure even this house has a watch on it, doesn’t it?” Regulus asked.

Harry nodded. “They come by about once a week. They aren’t very subtle, and they’re easy to hide from, especially with the Cloak. They — er — they noticed that I’d pruned the roses back the other day, but they decided the neighbour must have done it.”

Sirius shook his head. “What were you thinking, doing something as obvious as working in the garden?”

“Busy helps.” Harry did not feel like explaining exactly how much it had helped him keep his peace of mind. “How did you two manage to find me? I thought if anyone was going to catch up with me, it would be Greyback.”

Again, Sirius watched Harry closely, trying to parse through Harry’s clipped answers. And again, he let Harry change the subject, but Harry knew how stubborn everyone in his family could be. He was not looking forward to a more private conversation with Sirius.

“Greyback might have trouble tracking you through a train station of Muggles and unusual scents,” said Sirius, “but not Padfoot.”

Regulus snorted in disbelief.

“I don’t mean it was easy,” Sirius amended, “just that I’m better at it than he is.”

“You followed my scent all the way from London?”

“No, though that would have been much easier, if you hadn’t boarded one of a hundred different trains. But I managed to pick up on the smell of your blood, and it led us to a flat in London.”

Harry frowned. “I never went to any flat.”

Regulus pulled a small white card from his cloak and handed it to Harry. Harry squinted at the silver writing printed on it. It appeared to be a card for an art gallery in London. There was information for contacting the gallery printed on the front. He turned the card over and found the gallery owner’s name: Nigel Brooks.

“He said he gave you something to put on your wound,” Sirius said, “and that was the trail I was able to follow.”

“That is not what he said.” Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Alright, he practically said it. Did you have a better explanation for why Harry’s blood would be in that flat?”

“I’m only asking that you tell the story correctly.”

“Should I mention the part where you tried to Alohomora a Muggle keypad entry?”

Regulus bristled. “And I suppose your method of breaking it was much more sophisticated.”

“I short-circuited it. There’s a difference.”

Harry had seen enough of Sirius and Regulus’ fights to know there would be no end to this. Part of it was pleasant, a bit of normalcy in the middle of everything, but Harry’s patience for it was not as strong as it used to be.

He handed the business card back to Regulus. “So Nigel told you I went to Surrey?”

“Not in so many words,” Regulus said.

“He refused to tell us anything at first,” said Sirius. “He said we weren’t police, and he had no way to be sure that we weren’t friends of the man who had been chasing you. A surprisingly reasonable Muggle. Didn’t even care that I said I was your godfather. We finally convinced him to at least tell us he’d gotten you onto a train.”

Regulus coughed.

“Oh, what did I forget now?”

“I convinced him. You looked like you were going to beat the answer out of him, which would not have helped our case.”

“Yes, fine. Anyway, he told us that you were safe and he had put you on a train out of London. Which was lucky, because Lily was so desperate for information she was about ready to wring the life out of Shyverwretch and set fire to the Leaky Cauldron.”

“It wasn’t Shyverwretch’s fault,” Harry said hurriedly. He’d had enough time to turn the scene in the poison shop over in his head, and he didn’t blame Shyverwretch for the choice he had made. “Greyback threatened his great-granddaughter.”

“I believe you,” Sirius said, “and Lily probably will, too. Shyverwretch is an old family friend. He helped Lily cultivate her Wolfsbane garden back when she first started brewing it, and she used to give him the extra at each new moon harvest. If he’d known who you were, he might have been more likely to help you.”

“I didn’t think —”

“You couldn’t have known any of that,” Sirius assured him. “What’s important is that you made it to safety, and no one else got hurt.”

A knot that Harry didn’t know he had been carrying unwound itself in his chest. He did not know how much he had needed to hear someone tell him he had done the right thing, that running had been the smart thing to do.

“Once we knew you were out of London, we relaxed a bit,” Sirius continued. “The Ministry and the Death Eaters were still scouring the city, convinced you were hiding nearby for whatever reason, but Regulus and I started searching elsewhere. We made a list of every train you could have gotten on, then asked around. Regulus insisted on Obliviating everyone we spoke to, even if they didn’t know anything, so it took about three times as long as it should have.”

“The last thing we needed,” Regulus interrupted, “was several hundred Muggles across five counties looking for Harry. It was necessary for his protection.”

Sirius shrugged. “This morning we got our first real lead. A woman said she thought she’d seen you, but she couldn’t be sure because your hair was red at the time. She said you were on the train that went out to Haslemere. I thought that this might be where you were really headed. And, here we are.”

“I’m sorry you went through so much trouble,” Harry said. “I didn’t know how to reach you, how to tell you where I was.”

“It’s better this way,” said Sirius. “If we couldn’t find you, neither could You-Know-Who.”

Harry frowned. He had never heard Sirius hesitate to use Voldemort’s name, not once, but before he could ask, Sirius stretched and got to his feet.

“Speaking of reaching,” he checked his wrist watch, “I’d better get down to the office to make tomorrow’s paper.”

“What?”

“Tonks, Remus, and I have been using the classifieds in the Times to get messages to each other. It’s unlikely any blood purists are checking it, but we code them anyway. I need to let them know you’re safe.” His Flame disappeared as he pocketed his wand. “If I’m not back in, say, two hours you should leave. Not that I’ve been one to crack under torture before, but better safe than sorry.”

Harry’s stomach twisted, but Regulus looked more displeased by the loss of warmth than the prospect of Sirius being caught and tortured.

Harry followed Sirius to the door and carefully reset the alarm as he left. When he returned to the living room, Regulus had cast his own Non-Flammable Flame Charm, but he had not put it on the table as Sirius had. He had cast it in on the arm of his chair, and carefully warmed his hands against it. He settled back into the chair, much like a cat curling up beside the fireplace. Harry supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

“So you’ve decided to finish the quest on your own?” Regulus asked.

Harry tried to swallow the bitter taste that surged suddenly, but it was hard for him to forget that Regulus had refused to join them in Godric’s Hollow and had turned down Harry’s request for help destroying the diadem. He knew, rationally, that Regulus was doing something else at Dumbledore’s behest, but between failing the Horcrux quest so miserably and failing to get Cedric’s help, Harry found it easy to blame Regulus for his own shortcomings. He considered walking back into the kitchen without a word. It would be the sort of thing Regulus deserved, after how many conversations Regulus had avoided without even the pretense of a polite excuse.

But even though the short walk to the kitchen was tempting, Harry sank down onto the couch and buried his head in his hands. He might be angry with Regulus, but there was not another soul who knew about Horcruxes as intimately as Regulus did, no one else who had kept Dumbledore’s confidence and knew the truth of what Harry faced.

“I messed up,” Harry finally said. “I thought — we needed to do something, get information from the Ministry or destroy the diadem but it was all too risky, so I just thought I would take on that risk alone.”

“Your adventure in London might have gone very differently if your friends had been with you,” Regulus said, “for better or worse. There’s no way to know, so it’s best not to dwell on what you can’t change.”

“It isn’t that.” Harry rubbed at his scar. It ached, dully, and if he focused on it and his anger, he could glimpse flashes of the thief that still consumed Voldemort’s thoughts. He steered away from his anger and focused on his grief. It hurt differently than his scar did, and Harry hadn’t decided if the pain was better or worse.

“I — I lost the diadem,” he confessed. “I don’t know how or when, but it’s gone. And I don’t have any leads on the cup, and I can’t figure out why Cedric won’t help and I — I don’t know what to do. I’ve failed at everything Dumbledore left for me.”

He did not dare look at Regulus’ reaction. Regulus was traditionally impassive, but Harry did not want to risk seeing his own disappointment with himself reflected on Regulus’ face.

“The diadem has been destroyed,” Regulus said.

Harry jerked his head up. “What?”

“Your friends took care of it.”

Harry stared at Regulus, now angrier than ever with Regulus’ reticence. How could Regulus withhold details from him now, of all times?

“But when? How?”

“They found the Sword. I understand it came with some cost, but they were able to use it to destroy the diadem. You haven’t failed yet, Harry.”

As comforting as it was to know that there was still a glimmer of hope, it did not help Harry feel like less of a failure. His friends had succeeded without him. All the more reason to let them finish the quest without him.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t help us find the cup. I thought I could use the Ministry somehow, but I don’t think I can go back to London.”

“I will give you what I know of the Lestrange estate from my time before my death and arrest. It might help you make a plan.”

“But you won’t come with me, will you?”

Regulus pressed his lips into a firm line. “Dumbledore asked me to —”

“Dumbledore’s dead.” Harry was surprised by how quickly the words came and by how much they still hurt to speak. “He messed up and trusted Snape when he shouldn’t have, and he trusted this quest to me, and I can’t do it. I can’t.”

Regulus watched Harry, face still and unreadable as ever. There was no comfort in his eyes, but there was also no judgement. If anything, he seemed to be evaluating Harry’s anguish the way one might evaluate a difficult crossword.

It made Harry wish, more than anything, that he could talk to Sirius or Remus or his mum about the quest. They would comfort him. They would tell him it was going to be alright. They would offer to help. They would offer to do it for him.

But asking for their help had already cost him his father. He couldn’t ask any more of them.

“Forget it,” Harry said dully. “Just — tell me what you can and I’ll figure it out from there, I suppose. That’s what Dumbledore wanted, isn’t it?”

Regulus was quiet for another moment longer. When he did speak, his voice was low, and full of so much restrained emotion that, for the briefest moment, Harry thought he had changed into Sirius somehow.

“I have never been particularly adept at asking for help,” Regulus said. “I learned early on not to rely on my parents nor even Sirius. When I finally did trust someone, I was the one who broke that trust. Dumbledore, for all his flaws, was an incredibly wise man. He knew the value of asking for help. He gave this quest to you, Harry, because he knew that he could not finish it on his own, and he knew that I could not either. He never asked you to take it on alone.”

“But he did tell me to leave my parents out of it.”

“It’s like you said: Dumbledore’s dead. He’s not here to stop you from telling Sirius all about Horcruxes. I think your mother would eagerly help you plan a raid on the Lestrange estate.” Regulus looked down at the wand in his hands. His lips trembled, and Harry did not know what to do or say. He had never seen Regulus look so distraught, so lost.

“Why not tell them?” Regulus whispered. “Why not tell them everything?”

“And let what happened to my dad happen to them? Or something worse?” Harry shook his head. “That’s why I went off on my own in the first place.”

It was like watching a puzzle put itself together, one piece at a time. Regulus slowly composed himself. He straightened in his chair, so he no longer resembled a lounging cat. His face became hard and still. He looked as stately as any of the portraits in Grimmauld Place, when they were quiet, at least.

“You have friends, Harry,” Regulus said, “friends that Dumbledore trusted to help you. There is no shame in asking for that help.”

Despite Regulus’ suggestion to tell his parents about the quest, his advice had suddenly shifted from asking his family to help to getting help from “friends that Dumbledore trusted to help you.” That didn’t include his parents, nor Remus and Sirius. It also did not include Cedric. He wondered what Regulus might know about Dumbledore’s decision to leave Cedric out of the will, but before he could ask, the kitchen door slammed open and a high-pitched screech filled the house.

Harry dove behind the sofa and Regulus disappeared suddenly. Harry thought for a moment he had Apparated silently somehow, until he saw the swish of a black cat tail behind the television.

“Harry! Regulus!”

It was Sirius’ voice, but Harry didn’t understand why Sirius would make an entrance like this. He stayed hidden, even as Sirius walked into the living room. He threw a newspaper down on the table.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he snapped to the apparently empty room, “it’s me. My mum’s a bitch and Harry, you once smuggled a dragon out of Hogwarts, and Regulus, when you were five you stole Andromeda’s doll collection and hid it in my bed because you were upset that she and I left you out of a game of Exploding Snap.”

Harry supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that five-year-old Regulus had been able to not only exact revenge on his cousin but frame his brother as part of that revenge. Still, he waited for Regulus to reveal himself before standing up.

“What was all that about?” Regulus said as he adjusted the collar of his cloak. “What are you thinking, barging in like that —”

“We’re leaving,” Sirius said. “Now. They’ve found James.”

#harry potter #hp fic #harry potter fic #harry potter everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #dh

[reddeadbread]

Fortunate ones

Javier Escuella x reader

Part 5

Summary: You recover from your first job with Javier.

Notes: this is another long chapter frick I’m sorry, this had been mostly written for days but here it is at last.

warnings: blood/guns?? SFW as always yall

word count: 2093

last chapter - next chapter

There was a loud thud of a body hitting the floor as the smoke cleared. You stared at the stranger you had just shot, shock taking over for a second that dragged on for an age. He didn’t die right away, and his co-workers wailed in terror while he writhed in pain. “fuck.” This was the best word you could come up with to summarize your current emotions. There was so much more blood than you thought there would be, his expensive tailored waistcoat soaking up all that red. That was a close one. It could have been you shot, or Javier. Oh christ, Javier. You whipped your head round to check on him.

“Mierda!” The victim’s gun had gone off as he went down but the bullet had thankfully only grazed Javier’s arm. Still not exactly how you wanted your first job to go.

“Javier!” you rushed to his side carelessly, anyone would think the bullet had hit his chest the way panic saturated your words.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he whistled for the horses hastily. Those gunshots had drawn too much attention and anyone nearby would of heard it, you needed to move and fast. Both the driver and the passengers were too busy cowering to even dare try and attack either of you again and they didn’t move from their position, whimpering by the corpse of the man you’d shot when you snatched all the cash from the lockbox and crammed it into your saddlebags. “We need to move.” Javier pressed and you quickly mounted up and followed his lead. The thundering of the horse’s hooves matching the thundering in your chest as white-hot adrenaline coursed through your veins. It felt almost euphoric, or at least it would if you weren’t so worked up about Javier and about that man you’d gunned down.

The both of you bolted from the scene before anyone could so much as investigate, never mind alert the authorities, so it was safe to say you weren’t followed but that didn’t stop you from taking the long way back to camp. As soon as you were out of sight of passer-by and into the trees outside horseshoe overlook, you came tearing off your horse to his aid. “Let me see! That moron, I saw him reaching for his gun and I just-“ you cut yourself off mid-sentence and shook your head, as if trying to shake the thoughts out of your mind. He dismounted slowly, ready to insist he was perfectly fine until you caught him off guard again. Oh, so carefully you took his arm to examine the small wound, your touch as gentle as ever. Javier had been through a lot in his life, far too much as had most members of the Van Der Linde gang, but people were rarely so concerned for him. As long as he wasn’t dead it didn’t matter, you kept moving forward. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me. It looks like it hurts.” The guilt of it all hit you and the weight of it was crushing.

“I’m fine, Just a scratch. We got away, you got the money, right?” this was of more importance than him, at least that was the way it always had been. The life of an outlaw, life as one of Dutch’s boys. It was dangerous but that was how it was for him, he wouldn’t even concern himself with a near miss like this for a second. Still, he didn’t pull away when you took his arm, it felt nice for someone to be so tender.

“I’m so sorry. This is my fault, you could have been really hurt, or killed!” You frowned as you looked at the blood on his shirt. It was really true when you said you wanted your first job to be with him because he was your favourite, you trusted him after only a few short weeks and that was rare in this life.

He looked at you, it was obvious you were upset, and he didn’t want you feeling so terrible over something so silly. He rested his free hand over yours, it lingered there for a moment before he spoke “I’m really okay, y/n.” he smiled at you, moving his hand to gently tilt your head towards him to press a kiss to your forehead. He had acted on impulse, he wanted to make you feel better. Normally if he flirted it was all just a little game to make you blush, and normally because he was drunk and had a soft spot for you, but this was just kindness. Maybe that wasn’t the most obvious trait Javier displayed but he had a good heart just as you thought you did and this small gesture made that weight much less heavy.

“no nicknames? Now I know it’s serious.” You joked and he smiled, you felt better when he smiled. You hesitated for only a second before wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He laughed a little and wrapped his unscathed arm around you. You had a spark about you, enough grit to survive but enough heart to not be warped by all this.

“Javier? y/n? you finally back?” You heard Bills voice and pulled away, a little sheepish as you looked at him, wandering out here for guard duty. “oh, am I interruptin’?” he spoke mockingly, and you were surprised he was even intelligent enough to mock anyone.

“we’re back.” You responded flatly, taking your horses reins to lead her back to camp. Bill tried to give Javier a knowing look but much to his dismay he was ignored.

Of course, when you arrived back in camp Dutch wanted to know how it had gone and you handed over half of the money just as you were told. He didn’t ask anything else once the money was in the box. He didn’t even ask why there was blood on Javier’s shirt. Upon arrival into this gang you had wondered why people did whatever Dutch said but already you noticed that you were doing the same. He spoke so confidently, every word that slipped past his silver tongue was dripping with charisma and you did as he asked without even stopping to think whether or not it was a good idea.

Javier was ready to leave and volunteer for guard duty again before you stopped him, taking his good arm and pulling him back towards you “hey, come.” You dragged him along to one of the tables and he reluctantly obliged, bewildered as he may be. “let me see,” you waited expectedly, and he stared back at you blankly. “what? You want it to get infected? You want to lose that arm?” you’d had your moment of weakness, but you were concerned for him now. Harmless as it may be this injury surely hurt. “so let me see.”

“so you want me to take my shirt off?” he looked bemused still, not expecting his own personal doctor over this tiny injury.

“don’t get shy on me now. I promise not to faint.” You quipped, skimming through the exceedingly lacking medical supplies you’d found once you’d paid your pound of flesh you owed to this gang into the chest, but you wouldn’t need much. The wound was minor, just a scratch as he said but you took your responsibility for it.

He glanced around camp, not many people were around anyways, it was early afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky. Most people were out at this hour. “Well if you really insist Chiquita. Do your worst.” He slipped off his shirt to give you access to the small would on his left arm.

Your eyes drifted down to his body for a moment, you couldn’t help yourself, but you tried to keep your focus on the task at hand. You noticed a few more scars on his body that were previously hidden under his clothes and pondered how he got them all.

You looked at the small gash and dabbed alcohol on it as gently as you could but he still sucked in air through his teeth, he was pretty sure this was more painful than leaving it to get infected but he went against instinct to keep his arm still to humour you.

“sorry,” you apologised when he flinched, easing off to give him a moment to adjust before continuing on. You were no doctor, but you knew to keep wounds clean and covered so that’s what you did. He watched you closely, not accustomed to this attention but enjoying your touch and observing the focus on your face until you were done and looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “I guess now I owe you two, once for this mess and again for saving me up on that mountain.”

“that was Dutch,” Javier corrected you, he had happened to be the one to find you but around here Dutch was boss, he was the one who allowed you to stay. He was quite sure that he was the reason you stayed too, Dutch was the glue that kept everyone together and there wasn’t a man or woman here who didn’t trust him with their life.

“I don’t think so. Besides, you’ve been kind to me since I arrived.” you spent more time with him than anyone, something about him drew you to him right away. “I mean, every person here has been nice to me. Other than maybe Micah but I don’t think he has a kind bone in his body.”

“ah, Micah doesn’t count as a person.” He joked as he slipped his shirt back on and pulled out cigarette paper to begin carefully rolling a cigarette. He gave you a sideways glance as he did “y/n? Today…was that the first time you shot someone?” when he asked you this your smile quickly vanished which almost made him regret asking.

He was too blunt, and you stammered in your response. “uh…yeah. First time killing someone at least.” You looked down at his hands fiddling with the cigarette paper to avoid the steady gaze of his deep brown eyes. Killing was something he was perfectly accustomed to but as he looked over to see you shuffling uncomfortably in your seat, he realised that was not the case for you. He offered you the neatly rolled cigarette as if that would be helpful now but you shook your head and he set it aside.

“are you alright?” a stupid question really but what else was he to say? He could hardly remember what it was like to kill for the first time.

“I’m alright.” You were lying really but you’d get used to it. Everyone else already had after all.

“you know he would of shot me if you hadn’t shot him. You shouldn’t feel guilty.” He offered, watching you carefully still as if he was worried you might break. You had been rather fragile when you had arrived back at camp.

“I know.” You paused, not wanting to talk about this despite Javier’s good intentions to console you, “why are you looking at me like that? You gonna kiss me again?” your smile was just a little less bright after that particular topic had been discussed but you couldn’t resist throwing this back at him again and it made him laugh as he lit up his cigarette.

“maybe I will, Princesa. Would it make you feel better? I can if you really want me to.” he took a deep drag of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke slowly. You felt yourself blushing a little and turned your face away.

“you wish,” you were still lying but you at least managed to play off your reaction as a dramatic eyeroll. Javier laughed as he took another drag of his cigarette. You’d never liked the smell of tobacco before but on him you did. “next time I should go out alone,” you announced after a few seconds of admiring the man in front of you. “then I won’t get anyone hurt.”

“no.” he replied too quickly “no. That’s too dangerous. Dutch wouldn’t allow it. If you want to go out again come find me.” He was uncertain if he used Dutch as an excuse, either to save face and not embarrass himself in front of you or to save face and not admit to himself that he liked you more than even he was saying. Either way it didn’t matter, he had signed himself up to stay by your side and you gladly agreed.

“Okay. I’ll find you.”

#i cant red this again reeee #this took longer bc i wrote it reallllly rough then baso rewrote it all and grrr #also i started uni again so busy eeep #but here ya go #to the three people who read this....god bless #red dead redemption #red dead redemption2 #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #rdrwriting #friends to lovers #i desperately wanna write something thats not established relationship bc I love slow burn shit #javier #rdr2 javier #ajsjdjdj honestly rdr javi is kinda #javier escuella/you #red dead #rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfic #fluff #sfw #hurt/comfort #iguessssss