#and he notices the embroidery and the man starts tearing up a little

[missannwinchester]

No, Plaything! Bad Plaything. Joel Miller/You

Summary: You're a bad doll, but you're Joel's bad doll.

Very explicit

+18 ONLY!

rough s*x, doll kink, bath tub s*x, light choking, hair pulling, biting, manhandling, Joel shows you who's in charge

Sequel to Plaything

WARNINGS: lots of names such as “little one, doll, little doll, baby, baby doll”, it’s not age play, just a weird doll kink, I guess, idk if that’s a thing, but I guess now it is? bathtub sex, unedited mess, I’m pretty sure it’s a crackfic at some point, light choking, biting, rough sex, hair pulling, manhandling

You were lying on the bed, crushed under Joel’s weight. You tried to focus your eyes on the crack on the ceiling, trying to stay conscious. You were both panting heavily, you could feel Joel’s hot breath on your skin, as if he was trying to dry the tears from your face. Your ears started picking up on distorted, cracking sounds coming from an old gramophone. You couldn’t move. You were way too tired for that and also the stiff, historic dress was restricting your movements. You felt Joel’s stubble brushed your cheek and you felt him move slowly, his weight shifted a little.

“Not yet,” you protested weekly, but he ignored you and rolled on his side.

He hummed contently and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. You turned your head to face him, the movement made one of your false eyelashes detach from your wet eyelid. You instinctively closed your eyes and felt Joel’s thick fingers trying to stick the eyelash band back to your lid.

“You’re so beautiful, my little doll,” he whispered, nuzzling your cheek with his nose.

Joel was a strange man, but he fucked you so well you didn’t pay attention to his little quirks anymore. Just earlier today you cried, begging him to touch you, trembling with need, then you cried again when waves of pleasure rolled through your spent body. Joel could make you cum like no one ever could.

“Does my doll like it when I play hard with her?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mhmm…” you nodded, slowly regaining control of your body.

“You’re my best toy, but you know that, don’t you? I need you to know,” he told you, tracing the embroidery on your dress with his fingers.

You noticed lipstick marks on his hand, undoubtedly from when your lips were sealed around his thick digits, sucking relentlessly, as he was pounding into you like a man possessed. Thinking about it made you tingle. Again. You wondered how your body is still capable of feeling arousal after what you had just experienced.

You kicked off the tight shoes and rolled onto your side, intertwining your legs with his.

“No,” he groaned unhappily and you sighed.

You should have known better than to interfere with his little fantasy.

“No, you can’t… Uh…” he sat up and you moved your legs away from his.

You stayed still when he leaned down, picked up your shoes and put them back on your feet.

“Sorry,” you whispered and watched his frustrated face as he lied back down beside you.

“It’s okay,” he promised and scratched your cheek with his stubble, planting soft kisses along your jawline.

He stroked your hair a few times and then he reached for a blanket and covered you with it. Well, only your cum - covered bottom half. With his fingers gently caressing your head you were lulled to sleep by his comforting touch and humming noise from the old gramophone.

You woke up after what felt like a minute, basking in the warmth radiating from Joel’s body. The semi - glued eyelash was bothering you and you raised your hands to take both of your false eyelashes off.

“No, what now?” Joel wondered, sitting up.

“It’s just the lashes,” you told him and he sighed.

“It’s just because I was a little rough with you, doll, I should have done a better job putting them on,” he muttered, shaking his head in disapproval.

He got up and went to the vanity butt naked. He took the tiny tube of glue and returned to bed, hovering over you.

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Not again,” you whined when he started working on putting the lashes back on.

“Shhh,” he shushed you and his fingers started wiping smudged mascara from under your eyes.

“Just be a good little doll,” he asked. “I have to fix you just a little, just a tiny bit.”

He admired his work on your face and then he climbed off the bed and started putting his pants on. You knew this meant playtime was over and you sat up on the bed to see him better, only causing a temper tantrum.

“No!” He grunted, clearly flustered. 

With his pants still unbuttoned, he pushed at your shoulders, pressing you into the bed.

“No, could you just not move? Alright?” he said, stroking your hair and kissing your still damp forehead. 

You nodded, but he must have not trusted you completely, because he didn’t take his hands off you, still stroking your hair.

“Just like that baby doll.”

He took both of your legs into his hands and pulled them so that they were hanging from the bed. Then, he leaned down.

“Hold on tight, little one,” he said and you wrapped his arms around his naked torso and let him pull you into a sitting position. “Perfect, just like that,” he murmured and smoothed your disheveled curls.

He left you for a second to put on his shirt and button it up neatly. Then, he kneeled in front of you and took off your shoes. Next, he pushed your dress up, pulled down the white, lacy socks and kissed both your knees. He planted his firm hands on your waist and pulled you into a standing position.

“Such a beautiful doll,” he praised you and you felt him grab one of the puffy sleeves.

Without a warning he yanked at the fabric you hadn’t even noticed was torn at a seam. The fierce, unexpected motion made you falter, but his strong arm quickly pulled you into his chest. Fuck, you loved it when he manhandled you. You whimpered, not sure if it was with shock or instant arousal.

“Useless,” he decided and tossed the sleeve away.

He slowly undressed you from the dress and undergarments without other unexpected actions.

“Let’s give you a bath,” he announced when you were naked and he took both of your hands into his and led you into the upstairs bathroom.

You were sitting on a wooden stool while he was preparing the bath. He left the water on and walked up to you. He kneeled on the cold tiles and carefully took your recently glued eyelashes on, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Be a good doll,” he admonished and took a face cloth soaked with makeup remover and started slowly wiping your face.

“Do you really like doing it?” You wondered.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Your skin is so flawless, nice and soft.”

You seriously doubted it, unfortunately your skin was far from flawless, but Joel was a tough man to understand so you didn’t even want to try.

“I could do it faster,” you noticed.

“Well, we’re not in a rush.”

“No, I guess not, but it’s a little cold in here,” you told him with a sigh, but patiently waited for him to get you ready. Or… unready.

“Oh,” he furrowed his eyebrows and unbuttoned his shirt surprisingly fast just to hang it over your bare shoulders.

“Thank you,” you smiled, studying his serious expression.

He glanced at the tub to see if it wasn’t going to overflow and then he turned back to you.

“You’re welcome, my little doll,” he said and smiled at you softly, making your heart melt.

Sure, you swore you weren’t going to fall for this creepy ass, but… oh well. Not thinking clearly, you raised your hands to rest them on both sides of his face and you closed the gap between your faces, pulling him slightly towards you. Your freshly cleansed lips pressed into his and caught by surprise, he kissed you back. Then, he pushed you away.

“No, nuh - huh, no,” he protested with a frown.

He was shaking his head like a maniac again, bothered by your interference into his perfect scene. As if to prevent you from doing it again he picked you up and put you into the tub while the water was still running. Of course the temperature was perfect. He fished out his shirt from the water and started muttering something about you “ruining it”, but after so much time spent with him you stopped being scared of him.

“Come on, get in already,” you pleaded quietly.

“No, not yet,” he responded and started taking out the ribbons from your hair.

You reached forward and grabbed the waistband of his pants, pulling him towards you. Of course you weren’t strong enough to actually make him move, but you kept tagging at the fabric and he finally took a step closer.

“No, I’m not done yet!”

“So?” You wondered and unbuttoned his pants.

He grabbed your hands and forced them down before readjusting his pants.

“You’re being difficult today,” he noticed, spraying your hair with detangling spray.

“You’re being persnickety. Always.” You responded and let him brush your hair that he was going to wash and tangle up anyway.

“I like doing things in a certain way,” he explained. “Why don’t you pick a bath oil?”

“Lavender,” you decided without a second thought.

He took the lavender bath oil and added a few drops to the water. Then, he finally turned off the faucet.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed and you obeyed, shutting your eyes and wrinkling your face as he sprayed a toner mist into your face. “It’s all wrong,” he commented and you felt a little bad for him, after all he had to take your makeup off, brush your hair and then use the toner which you know wasn’t the order in which he liked doing things.

You watched him pull his pants down and your heart started beating a little faster. He joined you in the bath, sitting behind you. He leaned back and got comfortable and then, he pulled you into him. Your head was resting comfortably on his chest now and you sighed, closing your eyes. His palms were placed on your breasts which he was massaging lightly. You were convinced this was what heaven feels like until… Until you got all hot for him again. His fingers were rubbing your nipples, his breath was tingling that sensitive spot under your ear, his thighs were squeezing you deliciously…

Your hands wandered down and found his thighs. You started drawing small circles on his skin and soon you started squirming in his embrace. You sat and turned to face him, your hooded eyes meeting his, he was glaring at you.

“What is it?” He asked and you shrugged. 

“Nothing, I just wanna look at you,” you said innocently, watching his expression.

“Alright, you do that,” he told you and took a tiny bucket from the shelf behind him.

He poured water into it and placed it over your head, wetting your hair thoroughly. He repeated that motion a few times and took a bottle of shampoo. He poured a generous amount on your head and started massaging your scalp. You loosely wrapped your legs around him and hummed with pleasure under his firm touch. The foam started dripping down your head, but he made sure to wipe it before it got into your eyes. His fingers in your hair didn’t help with the tingling sensation between your legs. You felt like you could come just from him washing your hair. Right before he rinsed it you were practically moaning. He reached for a little jar with a luxury hair mask when you squeezed your legs around him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Please, fuck me,” you gasped into his face and rubbed your clit against his lower belly.

“Fuck, baby…” he looked at you and you latched onto his lips.

With your tongue down his throat, his fingers squeezed your ass almost painfully.

“Yes, yes, I will, but you have to wait…”

“I’m not gonna wait,” you told him with one of your hands wrapped around his rock hard dick.

“But your hair…”

“I don’t fucking care about my hair,” you tried to reason with him. “So it’s not gonna be shiny one time, so what?” You asked rhetorically, but he answered anyway.

“No, no… It has to be soft and shiny and just smooth when I brush it…”

“It’s gonna be awfully tangled and awful and the brush is gonna get stuck in it!” He was really annoying you right now so you laughed into his face in your frantic attempt to sit on his perfect cock.

“No, you little… No!” He fought you when you were trying to grab the jar with the hair mask to throw it out of a fucking window.

You needed him in your already sore pussy, you needed him like you needed air, you needed him like he needed to put that stupid fucking hair mask into your hair.

“Please Joel,” you whined while he was trying to push you off him.

“You’re such a bad doll today, why can’t you just sit still?” He almost yelled, holding you by your neck now, but not strong enough to hurt you.

“Well, I’m done being your doll!”

“Nuh - huh, no,” he protested.

“I’ve been your doll all day, now it’s time for you to be mine,” you argued, walking on thin ice, with his fingers already pressing into your neck.

This definitely caught his attention.

“I’m gonna wash your hair and then I’m going to fuck you,” you explained sternly and Joel let go of you.

“I guess we can try that,” he nodded and you tried your best not to raise your eyebrows.

You blinked a few times, trying to wrap your head about what was going on. You wet his hair pouring water all over his face, clearly not doing a job as good as he would, and started massaging his scalp with shampoo. You tried to mimic his movements, rubbing his head in circles in places which made your eyes roll into the back of your head, hoping it’s as pleasurable for him as his massages were for you. You were trying hard not to roll your hips into him, so you had your clit pressed against his body for just a little relief.

You rinsed the shampoo clumsily and when you were done Joel was looking at you with awe.

“How are you so perfect?” He wondered when you lowered yourself on his shaft.

“I thought I was bad,” you muttered as you were trying to adjust to the sensation of being split open by him.

“You are,” he admitted when you started sucking on his neck, making him growl quietly. “Such a fucking bad doll,” he groaned.

You didn’t notice when his strong arms drifted under your thighs and lifted you so that then they could push you down on his thick cock, making you see stars. The water splashed on the floor, but surprisingly, Joel didn’t care.

“Maybe I should teach you how to behave, hmm?” He said, placing one of his hands around you, squeezing tightly, digging his fingers painfully into your flesh.

“Mmm…” You whined. You needed him to talk like this, you needed his strength pushing you onto him, spreading you open as your raw pussy was already contracting around him.

“Maybe I should discipline you a little, my pretty doll,” he growled into your ear.

“It’s the last time I let you ruin my fantasy, I won’t have it happen again, you see… You’re supposed to listen.”

You were bouncing on his cock frantically, not really caring what he was saying, but then you felt his hand around your throat again. It was moving up, squeezing the sides of your face, pulling your jaw down forcefully, until finally you had to give in and open your mouth. He packed four of his thick digits into your mouth and you were sure your skin tore in the corners.

“Fuck yourself on my dick, come on, keep going, that’s what you wanted,” he said.

You made eye contact with him and you saw the same expression like the one he always had while dressing you up - his eyes were flickering with madness. Yours on the other hand rolled into the back of your head as a faint orgasm rolled through your body. You needed more, you needed one more time… So you bit him. You could barely move your jaw, but he wasn’t expecting you to act out anymore so you managed to catch him by surprise. He extracted his hand from your mouth and grabbed your wet hair and yanked it back. You shrieked and grabbed the side of the tub so that you wouldn’t fall head first into the water. He pulled you off him and you clung to the side of the tub worried that you had actually set him off. Water was splattering everywhere when he slid behind you and entered you forcefully. You moaned with each push, your whimpers were mixed with the sound of water hitting the floor in waves.

“Fuck!” You wailed. “Yes, yes!”

“You’re a fucking bad doll, but you’re my bad doll,” he was spitting the words out through gritted teeth.

“Yes, yes! I’m your doll, fuck! Ah!”

You could feel him pulsate inside of you and his warm seed coated your insides. You moaned loudly as he fucked you through your orgasm. You were hanging on the edge of the tub with Joel still pressed behind you. The majority of water was now flooding the floor so when Joel slid out of your abused channel your combined juices stuck to your thighs.

Joel stood up and exited the tub carefully, trying not to slip on the wet floor. You were too overwhelmed to notice that he grabbed your hair again, you realized when the sweet scent of the hair mask hit your nostrils.

“See baby doll? You think you can win with me, but… you’re my little puppet,” he whispered, cradling your hair strands in his fingers, coating them with the cosmetic. “My gorgeous little doll,” he repeated and washed his hands.

He took a fluffy towel and wrapped it around your shoulders before he started dropping clean, dry towels on the floor trying to clean the water before it could do some actual damage. You were watching his naked body, your heart rate was slowing down. Just when you thought you couldn’t be fucked any better Joel truly outdid himself. You were pliant in his arms when 20 minutes later he rinsed the mask off your hair and carried you to bed.

Thank you for reading!

~missannwinchester

#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you

[hamsterclaw]

Flame

Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 4 - read the rest here.

A wounded man falls out of the sky and lands in your garden, plunging you into a world of danger and dragons. Part of the Royal Pain AU (Royal Pain, Dragonfire), featuring dragon rider! Jimin.

Pairing: Jimin x f! reader

Genre: Dragon rider! Jimin

Rating: 18+

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of blood and injury

The man who lands in your garden looks like he’s fallen out of the sky. He’s hurt, bruised, bleeding from a long gouge that runs down the side of his neck to his chest.

It takes you a while to drag him into your cottage but you manage eventually.

You start piecing him together again, wound by wound. First, the wound on his neck, that you clean and stitch together, using your finest embroidery thread, a remnant of your mother’s fondness for crafts.

The other bruises and grazes you smother in a salve made of St John’s wort your grandmother used to swear by. 

You replace his ruined clothes and finally, exhausted, lay him to rest in your bed. You curl up next to the fire in your hearth and go to sleep yourself.

You awaken, with a start, to a growl in your ear and a pressure against your neck, under your jaw.

‘Who are you?’ demands the man you saved. His eyes are fiery, his grip on your throat surprisingly strong considering how injured he was.

You stammer your name, and haltingly explain how you found him.

‘Where am I?’ he asks.

It’s when you’re telling him that you’re on the outskirts of Ijil that he seems to calm, a little, enough to release his hold on your neck.

It’s a few moments until you get your breath back. 

He watches you, eyes hard and cold, a sharp contrast to the softness of his features. 

The man you rescued has blond hair, warm, honeyed rather than icy platinum. He has a jawline so sharp it looks like it could cut you, but his lips —- 

His lips are full, rosy, and look like they’d be soft to kiss.

You realise you’re staring at him. 

‘I won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t have taken you in and tended your wounds if I intended to do you harm,’ you say.

There’s a trickle of wet down your neck, where the point of the knife he held against you pierced your skin.

Moving slowly so as not to startle him, you press your fingertips to your skin, wincing as they come away bloodstained. 

His grip on the knife he must have found in your kitchen loosens. He puts the knife down, watching you.

‘I’ve got bread, and stew, if you’re hungry,’ you offer.

He says nothing, but follows you into your kitchen.

You pour him a glass of water as you heat up the food you made. You pass him a hunk of bread.

He tears into it like he’s ravenous.

You’re so busy watching him it takes you a moment to catch up when he speaks.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he says.

His accent isn’t an Ijil one, but you’re not surprised. You’d seen the mark on his chest when you’d undressed him. 

He’s a dragon rider.

Half a year ago, an Ijilian woman and child had been kidnapped by a dragon rider from Eosul. Attempts to rescue them had resulted in a huge fire that had burned down half of an Ijilian village. 

Ijilians are good at magic but not known for fighting skills.

The unrest and bad blood since the kidnapping has gradually built up, to the point where if one of your clients knew you were harbouring a dragon rider, you’d fear for his safety.

You patch up the small, deep cut on your neck from the knife whilst the dragon rider eats.

You wash your hands and take the seat across from him, filling your plate.

You eat in silence.

‘I’m Jimin,’ he says, when his plate is empty. You offer him more food but he declines. 

He gestures to his neck. ‘I’m sorry I cut you.’

‘It’s fine,’ you tell him. You pick up your empty plates to clean. 

‘You can stay here until you heal up,’ you say, meeting his gaze. ‘You’re safe.’

You don’t think he entirely trusts you, but he’s too tired and injured to question you.

‘I woke up in a bed,’ he says, and you notice that he’s gone a little more pale and sweaty. ‘Is it yours? I can sleep elsewhere.’

‘Just take the bed,’ you say, brisk. ‘Are you in pain? I have a pain powder you can have.’

You see the flare of suspicion in his eyes, and know he’s going to refuse before he says it.

‘I’m fine,’ he insists. He turns and walks stiffly to your bedroom.

You clear up and prepare a herbal blend for one of your clients before you go to sleep yourself.

***

You wake to a knocking at your door. The sun, when you peer blearily out of the window, is high in the sky. 

It’s a stunning day, bright and crisp. You open the door and greet Adara politely. Adara is one of the elders of the village you live on the outskirts of, a shrewd woman with powerful blue magic. She was a great friend of your grandmother’s.

You hand her the herbal blend you formulated for her tea and offer her a drink.

Adara declines. You’re turning away when her hand touches your chin.

‘What happened, love?’ she asks, concerned. ‘Did Bern get rough with you again?’

‘No, it was an accident,’ you tell her.

Adara narrows her eyes at you but lets it slide.  

‘You should get more sleep,’ she says to you, kindly. She wraps her shawl tighter around herself and bids you goodbye.

You’re still thinking about Adara when you go to wash your face. You push open the door to your bathroom and stop in your tracks.

Jimin’s got his hands braced against the washbasin. His bare back is tense, muscles rippling as he washes his face.

Your eyes meet in the mirror.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise, quickly. ‘I’m used to living alone.’

You’re backing out of the bathroom when he says, ‘wait. I’m finished.’ 

He steps carefully past you. His shoulder brushes against yours. He stops for a moment, looking at your face.

‘I’ll fix breakfast,’ you tell him. 

He says, ‘thank you,’ quietly. 

You nod and step into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

***

Jimin sits opposite you at your little kitchen table. He looks tired still, and in pain, but he’s less pale than he was.

He grimaces as he lifts his right arm, the side of the long gouge on his neck. You’re not surprised, you’d seen the bruises over his chest and torso.

‘Why are you helping me?’ he asks.

‘You fell into my garden,’ you remind him. ‘I couldn’t just leave you there.’

‘You know I’m a dragon rider,’ he says. It’s not a question.

‘Are you?’ you say, pretending to be surprised.

For a moment he stares at you, then he laughs. 

‘Are you a healer?’ he asks.

‘My grandparents were. I inherited some of their magic.’

Jimin takes a tentative sip of the tea you brewed him. He glances at you, appreciative. ‘This is delicious.’

You’re pleased he’s enjoying it.

There’s another knock on your door. 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes when you see who it is.

Bern’s one of the very few people your age in the village. He’s a spellcaster, which would be fine if he wasn’t also convinced he’s Jaesu’s gift to womankind.

He’s been handsy with you in the past, sometimes a little too rough. You’d be loath to do business with him if he wasn’t one of your biggest customers.

He looks curiously at Jimin, sitting at your table.

‘He’s a cousin, from Eosul,’ you say, quickly. ‘Jimin, this is Bern, he lives in the village.’

Jimin nods.

‘He’s not a dragon rider is he?’ Bern jokes. His gaze sharpens on Jimin’s wounded neck.

You laugh and push Bern’s order into his hands.

‘If I knew a dragon I’d get him to burn your ass,’ you say, cold. 

Bern takes the package and catches your wrist as you pull your hands away. 

‘Mouthy,’ he says.

You tug your wrist out of his grasp. 

‘Thanks for your custom,’ you say, voice heavy with sarcasm.

You let Bern out and lean against the door, hand rubbing your wrist absently.

Jimin speaks up from the table. ‘Is he always that way?’

‘That’s him on a nice day,’ you reply, thinking of the time he pushed you up and pinned you against your kitchen door, just long enough that you started to get worried.

You start to clear up. ‘You should get some rest, if you want.’

‘Can I help you with anything?’

‘Not looking like you’re about to keel over,’ you reply. You regret the harshness of your tone as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

You apologise. ‘I’m sorry. I’m going into the woods to forage for herbs. I’ll be back in the evening. Will you be all right? I’m not expecting any other customers today.’

Jimin gets up, slowly. ‘I should head back to Eosul.’

‘You can barely walk,’ you point out. 

There’s silence as you gaze at each other across your tiny kitchen. 

‘If you go, there’s food in the pantry, and medicine,’ you say. ‘Help yourself to anything you think you’ll need.’

‘Thank you,’ Jimin says. 

You nod, lift your cloak off its peg, and leave.

****

Your little cottage is dark when you return from foraging, arms full. 

You push open the door and step over the threshold. 

It takes you a few practised movements to light the oil lamp in the kitchen, a few more to get a fire going in the hearth.

You don’t sense anyone else. 

You’re a little disappointed that Jimin’s left but you guess as a dragon rider he’s used to being injured.

You wash up, get changed and go back to the kitchen to store your herbs.

The kitchen door’s standing open, letting in the chill.

A moment later the shape of a man fills the doorway. 

‘Sorry,’ Jimin says, slightly winded, carrying an armful of timber for your fire. ‘I saw you were nearly out.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. He stores the wood whilst you separate your herbs.

‘I was going to have dinner. Would you like to join me?’ 

Jimin smiles at you. The light of the fire flatters his beautiful skin, picks out the gold in his hair. 

‘I’d like to stay.’

You heat up yesterday’s stew whilst he cuts the bread and fills a jug of water. He frowns as the back door swings open.

‘The latch is broken, I’ve been meaning to fix it,’ you explain, pulling the door to, tying the makeshift latch you’ve fashioned with a bit of old rope and a plank.

Jimin says, ‘here.’

He steps forward and ties an intricate looking knot, fastening the plank tightly.

‘It should hold until I can fix the latch,’ he says, looking at it critically.

You smile. ‘You’re a guest, an injured one at that,’ you say, gently. ‘Come on, the stew’s ready, let’s eat.’

Jimin seats himself opposite you, startles you by reaching for your neck.

You put up a hand reflexively, and he puts his hands up.

‘Your neck,’ he says, frowning at the cut in your skin he made yesterday.

‘Ah,’ you say, self- conscious. ‘I should have gone to wash up.’

Up in your small washroom, you clean and patch the cut, take the opportunity to splash your face with water.

Back at the table, Jimin’s served the stew.

‘Can I look at your neck later?’ he asks. ‘I can stitch too.’

‘It’s fine,’ you tell him. 

There’s an awkward silence, then you say, trying to explain, ‘there’s a problem with my blood, all my family have it. We bleed easily, and it takes us a while to heal. Ironic really, given we can heal others.’

Jimin looks at you, and there’s an odd flicker of what almost looks like concern in his eyes.

He’s started to warm to you, but this is unexpected.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, sincerity in his voice.

‘It’s fine, please don’t mention it again.’

You don’t wish to discuss it further, you don’t need a dragon rider from Mount Halji delving into your family history.

You’re clearing your plates after the meal when Jimin says, ‘let me help.’

‘You shouldn’t be doing work,’ you chide. ‘You’ll pull at your stitches.’

‘I’m stronger today.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ you agree. ‘But you did fall out of the sky just yesterday.’

You bite back a smile at his chagrined expression. 

‘Do you want to sit in the garden after this?’ you offer. ‘The lavender’s blooming, and it’s a clear night.’

Jimin ends up insisting on helping you put things away before you head out.

You take a seat on the bench at the bottom of the garden, gesture to Jimin to join you.

You hadn’t realised it’d be as tight a fit with two, but Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. 

He leans back, face tipped to the sky.

His profile, outlined by dim light from your kitchen, is beautiful, features sharply delineated but with a softness to them that draws you in.

‘Something on my face?’ he asks, quietly.

‘You’re very handsome,’ you tell him, honestly.

He looks almost shy at your compliment. 

‘It’s not important for what I do,’ he says, simply.

‘I’m sure it doesn’t hurt,’ you say, teasing him.

He laughs a little. ‘The men I fight aren’t admiring my looks, I can assure you.’

‘Probably not in the middle of battle,’ you agree.

The stars are brighter than ever tonight, you admire the shapes you can trace from point to point.

‘What’s it like?’ you ask. You face Jimin. ‘Being a dragon rider.’

He takes his time answering.

‘I was born into a family of dragon riders,’ he tells you. ‘My mother was one, as was my grandfather. I don’t know much about anything else.’

‘Cygnus is my bonded dragon,’ he continues. ‘We were battling the spirit thieves east of Maisan.’

He grimaces at the memory. ‘We were losing, badly. Namjoon had put out the call to retreat, but I was close to their leader and I thought I could take him.’

He’s tense beside you. ‘I couldn’t let my rashness hurt Cygnus. The instant I realised my folly I jumped. Cygnus wouldn’t have left me otherwise, he would have fought to his death.’

You can’t imagine being responsible for protecting a creature as powerful as a dragon.

‘Did he get away?’ you ask.

‘I think he did,’ Jimin says. ‘I’d feel it if Cygnus was badly hurt.’ His hand stops over his chest for a moment, over the dragon rider mark you saw when tending his wounds. 

Jimin gets up. 

‘I’ll sleep by the hearth tonight,’ he says. ‘I’ll leave in the morning. Thank you for helping me.’

You look up at him. Even injured, and weary, he’s beautiful in the moonlight.

You feel a pang of wistfulness. He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in a while, you’ve lived your whole life in this village.

You’ve never even ventured to the plains of Daljeon.

You smile a little sadly. ‘No of course, it was my pleasure. I’m glad you’re feeling better.’

You watch as Jimin re-enters your cottage.

You stay outside for a bit longer, looking up at the stars, thinking.

***

True to his word, Jimin’s left by the time you wake in the morning.

Your latch is fixed, and the salves you’d left on the table for him, along with some supplies for the journey, are gone.

You set about your daily tasks, mechanically at first, but by midday, you’re inspired.

Turns out having a dragon rider fall into your herb garden was just the push you needed to start planning for all the things you’ve dreamed about doing.

You’re going to visit Daljeon. You know Adara’s got family members who live there who would happily put you up for a night or two, and you’ve always wanted to see the plains.

You’re humming to yourself whilst tending to your rosemary, lost in the pleasure and excitement of planning your trip, when you hear the crash in your kitchen.

Your kitchen door bursts open, and Bern and another man, Kit, exit into your garden.

‘What do you want?’ you ask, standing, your fingers tightening around the garden shears you’re holding.

‘Where is he?’ asks Bern. He’s breathing hard, nearly spitting the words.

‘Who?’ you ask, feigning ignorance.

He takes another step towards you. ‘Your cousin from Eosul,’ he sneers. ‘The one that looked a hell of a lot like a dragon rider.’

‘My cousin left,’ you say, ‘and he’s not a dragon rider.’ 

The lies fall from your lips easily enough, you don’t owe Bern or Kit any explanations.

‘Now get off my property,’ you say sharply. ‘I don’t want you here unless it’s for business.’

Bern’s quick, you’ll give him that.

In two steps he’s on you, big hand squeezing the wrist holding the shears until you cry out with pain and drop them.

‘Your smart mouth’s going to get you in trouble one of these days, soon,’ Bern says. 

He deals you a backhanded slap so hard you end up on the ground, knocking the side of your head on the crate that you keep your seedlings in.

You wish you were brave enough to grab the shears and fight back, but you’re mainly just glad that him and Kit are leaving.

You focus on counting blades of grass until the pain recedes, and more importantly, you can be sure you’re not going to cry.

***

Adara takes one look at your face and ushers you in, clucking over you with grandmotherly concern.

‘You should learn a spell or two to keep Bern in his place,’ she says, once she’s satisfied that the bruise on your temple, unsightly though it is, is just a bruise.

‘Shall I get Bern to teach me?’ you ask, trying to make light of the situation. Bern’s the best spellcaster in the village, you’d never be able to cast a spell strong enough to hold him back.

Your strengths are in healing others.

Adara gives you a quelling look. ‘Or perhaps I can ask Yoongi to teach you a thing or two.’

Yoongi, one of Adara’s nephews, is a sage, and definitely wields enough power to keep Bern in his place. The only problem is he’s intimidatingly good-looking.

You’ve met him a few times, at Adara’s family gatherings, and you’ve never been brave enough to speak to him.

You have no desire for him to find out that on top of your shyness and general social ineptitude that you’re also one of the few Ijilians without a magical bone in your body. 

‘I’m sure he’s busy,’ you say to Adara hastily. 

‘I’ll ask him,’ Adara says, firmly. Then, in a softer tone, ‘I can’t watch Bern hurt you time and again. He’s got to be taught a lesson.’

You know there’s no point in arguing with her, and truly, maybe you could use a little help.

Bern’s scared you badly the last few times he’s visited.

You change the subject. ‘How’s that tea blend I made you?’

***

The knock on your cottage door is unexpected, but you often have people from the village who drop in to see you.

You crack open the door, hoping it’s not Bern or one of his cronies.

It’s not Bern at all.

It’s Jimin. 

The smile blooming on your face stops when you realise he’s not alone. There are other men with him, all of whom are dressed in shades of black and grey, and all of whom have the same distinctive mark.

Sweet Jaesu. 

They’re dragon riders.

Jimin puts out his hand, and you realise you’ve taken a step back.

He asks, gently. ‘Can Namjoon and I come in?’

‘Namjoon’ turns out to be Lord Namjoon, Commander of the dragon riders of Mount Halji.

He’s a big man, near enough six feet in height, with shoulders that are nearly the width of the doorframe.

His grasp is firm, strong as he shakes your hand and takes a seat at your tiny kitchen table.

‘We’re here to ask for your help,’ he says.

You glance nervously at Jimin, who’s been quiet apart from his initial greeting.

It’s been a week since you saw him last, you can’t fully see under his armour, but it looks like his neck’s healing well.

Jimin looks a bit like he’s trying to reassure you, or so you think.

‘A woman’s been taken from our hold, the life partner of one of our riders,’ Namjoon explains.

He places a locket on the table in front of you, a small portrait of a smiling family. You catch your breath when you see the baby wrapped in the woman’s arms.

‘We know she’s being held captive in Ijil, probably near the border between Ijil and Daljeon.’

Namjoon says, ‘Jimin says you can be trusted. We’d like to use your cottage as a haven for the riders when we come in to rescue her. Her name is Cha.’

You can’t stop looking at the portrait of Cha and her son. He can’t be more than a year old.

‘If anyone from the village found out I was providing shelter to dragon riders—‘ you begin, thinking of Bern.

‘We know it’s a risk to you, which is why Jimin’s been tasked with protecting you,’ Namjoon says. 

You look at Jimin again.

Jimin leans forward. ‘You can say no,’ he says. ‘If it’s too much risk for you just say and we’ll go.’

He hesitates. ‘I — we don’t want any harm to come to you.’

‘Our riders would use your land for one night, two at the most,’ Namjoon says. There’s kindness in his voice. ‘As Jimin says, you can say no and my men and I will leave immediately.’

You’re still looking at the locket.

You make up your mind.

‘You can use my land, and my cottage,’ you tell them. ‘I only ask that you be as discreet as you possibly can.’

‘I give you my word,’ Lord Namjoon says. He nods at you, then takes his leave.

Then it’s just you left, and Jimin.

‘Are you healing well?’ you ask.

‘I’ve been using the salves you made,’ Jimin replies. He smiles at you, and again, you’re struck by his beauty.

‘I’m glad,’ you say, smiling back. ‘If you run out let me know so I can make you more.’

‘Thank you,’ Jimin says. He frowns a little, gestures at your temple, the bruise that’s mostly faded to yellow-green. 

‘Bern,’ you say. ‘My friend Adara’s going to ask her nephew to help me spellcast so that he’ll stop bothering me.’ 

Jimin’s expression darkens. ‘I’ll take care of him, if you want.’

‘What happened to keeping a low profile?’ you ask, lightly. 

Jimin’s not amused, but he drops the subject.

***

You’re not used to having so much company, as unobtrusive as the dragon riders are, there are a lot of them.

Jimin’s taken it upon himself to stay close to your side at all times, even accompanying you to forage in the woods.

‘Is this useful?’ he asks, holding up a handful of mushrooms.

‘Only if you want all your men to have belly ache,’ you reply. ‘It’s not the most poisonous, but it’s not for eating.’

Jimin drops the mushrooms.

‘Here,’ you say, gently. ‘If you like mushrooms, the puffballs are always safe.’

He kneels down beside you to help you gather puffballs.

‘These are good,’ you say, pointing more out.

‘I don’t spend a lot of time foraging,’ Jimin admits.

He takes your basket from you as you both rise.

‘You have more important things to do,’ you say, smiling at him.

He looks a little uncertain at first, like he’s not sure if you’re teasing him, then he smiles tentatively back at you.

He’s solicitous as he walks with you through the woods, pointing out where the ground’s uneven, holding back branches you could easily duck under.

‘Are you good at cooking?’ you ask, as you gather nettles.

‘You could teach me,’ he says, with an enthusiasm you find endearing.

‘You could teach me how to use a sword,’ you say.

You’re half jesting but Jimin looks like he’s taking your suggestion seriously.

‘Probably not a sword, but I could show you how to use this,’ he says.

He reaches into his belt and pulls out a sleek, deadly looking dagger. 

The blade is thin, almost delicate looking, but it’s wickedly sharp.

Jimin hands it to you, handle first.

‘It’s designed to be just long enough to stop a man’s heart,’ Jimin says, ‘but easily concealed.’

He says, with a seriousness in his face that makes you stop and look at him, ‘I would aim for the chest, up under the ribs, and then run.’

You balance the weapon in your palm, testing the weight of it.

‘I don’t know that I’d have the stomach to stab a man,’ you tell him.

‘You could do it,’ Jimin says. ‘If it came down to him or you.’

He undoes the leather sheath hanging from his belt, resheaths the blade, and hands it to you.

‘Tuck it into your boot,’ he says.

‘I couldn’t take your knife,’ you protest, trying to give it back.

‘I can incapacitate a man bare-handed,’ Jimin says. ‘It’s what I trained to do.’

He gives you a smile, angelic in his beauty, blood in his gaze. ‘I like the idea of you using it on that brute.’

For want of anything better to say, you lean down and slip Jimin’s knife into your boot.

***

The dragon riders make short work of the stew you cook for them that evening, vocal in their appreciation. 

One rider, a charming man with a face that is so perfect you almost can’t believe he’s real, goes out of his way to thank you, presenting you with a sheaf of lavender, its heady fragrance filling your tiny kitchen.

You’re flustered by his chivalry, stammering out thanks as he gazes at you, when Jimin takes pity on you.

‘Taehyung, leave her alone.’

‘I’m just giving you the thanks you deserve,’ Taehyung says, ignoring Jimin.

He smiles at you. ‘You must be used to compliments, with a face and form like yours.’

Your entire skin warms.

Jimin sighs. ‘Get out of here, Tae.’

Jimin takes your arm gently. 

‘The men need to get ready for tonight. They’ll be leaving as dusk falls.’

‘Are you going?’ you ask.

‘I’ll be here with you,’ Jimin says.

‘Don’t they need you?’

‘My responsibility lies in keeping you safe, given the risk you’ve taken for us,’ Jimin replies.

He helps you clear up the dishes, fills a basin for cleaning them.

‘I wish I were more magical,’ you say, with a rueful look at the stack of used crockery.

Jimin laughs. ‘When I started as a dragon rider I had to wash all the dishes. I can take care of it.’

You tidy up in companionable silence, you almost wish it had taken longer because you like Jimin’s company.

He hums a pretty tune as he works, his tone husky, his silvery voice navigating the notes effortlessly.

You like listening to him.

You catch him glancing your way more than once, gaze warm, a smile playing on his full lips.

‘What is it?’ you ask, finally, conscious of the heat in your face from the mead and his proximity.

‘You’re pretty when you’re flustered,’ Jimin says, a twinkle in his eyes.

Sweet Jaesu, is this beautiful man flirting with you?

You’re even more flustered, almost dropping the plate you’re drying.

Nimbly, Jimin lunges forward and catches it.

‘You’ve been on your feet all day,’ he remarks, placing the plate on top of the stack you’ve made. ‘Why don’t you go sit in the garden and I’ll brew us some tea?’

You’re happy to take him up on his offer, as self-conscious as you feel with his eyes on you like this.

As you walk down the path, you realise the dragon riders have left, as quietly and discreetly as they arrived.

The woods are quiet apart from the occasional hoot of an owl.

You must be more tired than you think, for you’re half asleep by the time Jimin comes down the path.

He’s not carrying tea, and he looks troubled.

‘Cygnus is distressed,’ he tells you.

‘Is he with the dragon riders?’ you ask.

Jimin nods. ‘I can’t work out why through the bond, but he’s unsettled.’

He paces along the path, and he looks so unsettled himself that your heart goes out to him.

‘Can you go to him?’ you ask, hesitantly.

‘My duty is here with you,’ Jimin says.

He looks so conflicted you can’t bear it.

‘I’ll go to Adara,’ you say. ‘She’s a quarter of an hour down the road. I’ll stay with her.’

You put your hand on Jimin’s arm, hoping to soothe him with your touch. ‘You should go.’

Jimin looks at you. ‘Will you promise to stay with her until I come back?’

‘I will,’ you say, trying to reassure him.

He nods, once, then takes off, heading through the woods, his swiftness belying his urgency.

You wonder what he sensed from Cygnus.

You head back inside and start to gather your things. 

When your back door opens you almost think it’s Jimin at first, it’s so soon after he left.

‘Did you leave —-‘

The words die on your lips when you realise it’s not Jimin at all.

It’s Bern.

He’s different from how he usually is, eyeing you with a silent intensity that makes your skin prickle.

You’re already reaching down into your boot for Jimin’s dagger when he rushes at you, hand over your mouth, slamming you back against the wall so hard the breath rushes out of you.

‘Traitorous bitch,’ he snarls, hand around your throat, squeezing.

Your fingers scrabble desperately to lift your skirts, grasping for the dagger.

Spots start to dance in your vision as you pull the dagger out, stab it at an angle into his arm.

He roars with fury, his grip loosening on your throat.

You gasp and choke on the rush of air that fills your lungs, coughing and spluttering.

You can see Bern grasping the hilt of the dagger, but the angle’s too awkward for him to reach with his uninjured hand.

You roll away so violently you hit the table, knocking it over.

You scramble to your feet, throw a terrified glance at Bern.

To your horror, he’s got the knife out, slashing at you as you pivot out the open kitchen door.

You don’t have time to do anything but run.

***

You lose track of time as you flee, your heart pounding so hard you can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in your ears.

The moon’s high in the sky before you come to your senses, lungs burning, muscles so tense you can’t stop moving.

It’s only then that you become aware that your sleeve is soaked, sticking to you, matted with blood that looks black in the moonlight.

Your whole arm is covered, blood’s splattered across your chest, and the realisation makes you feel cold.

It’s your blood. 

There’s a slash in the sleeve of your gown, a gaping wound beneath where Bern must have cut you.

You curse your family’s bleeding tendencies as you rip the rest of the sleeve off, wrap your arm.

You’re trying to secure a knot with your teeth when you realise that you’re lightheaded.

You lay your head down, close your eyes for just a second.

There’s silence all around you, your last thought as you lose consciousness is a sense of relief that you’ve outrun Bern.

***

Jimin sees the light burning in your kitchen still even though it’s nearly dawn by the time he returns, and he picks up his pace, heart quickening.

His sense of disquiet increases as he sees the kitchen door ajar. 

By the time he’s in the kitchen, he feels cold all over.

The table’s overturned, the stack of dishes scattered, but that’s not the worst of it.

There’s a trail of blood leading out the door.

Jimin can hear panting, realises it's him but is powerless to do anything about it.

He makes himself look in the house, calling your name, but he already knows the house is empty.

It’s not difficult to track you, to follow your blood spoor.

Jaesu why is there so much blood?

He finds you curled up behind a copse of bushes, hand splayed under your cheek.

You’d almost look asleep if it weren’t for the ashy greyness to your skin, the pool of blood you’re lying in.

Jimin summons Cygnus through their bond, waits for the dragon to return to him.

It’s only when he sees the tears running down your smooth cheeks that he realises he’s crying.

***

You wake in stages, with the strangest sense of having missed something important.

Where are you?

There’s a beamed roof above your head, softness underneath.

You’re in a bedroom.

You swallow, wincing at how dry your lips and throat feel. 

When you sit up the room spins alarmingly around you.

You moan quietly, pressing your curled fists into your eyes.

A soft noise makes you turn abruptly.

When your vision clears you recognise the blond hair, the scar running along his neck.

‘Where am I?’ you croak.

‘My home,’ comes the answer.

Jimin holds a glass to your lips, and you gulp gratefully.

The cool water is a balm to your parched throat.

You take stock of the rest of you, the unfamiliar clothing you’re draped in, the tightness of the binding around your upper arm.

You remember moonlight, the woods, the flash of a blade.

Bern.

You close your eyes but it doesn’t help the barrage of memories.

Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

Gradually you become aware of Jimin’s voice, low and soothing.

He’s telling you that you’re safe, and you’re in no condition to do anything but hope he’s right.

***

When you wake again, you’re alone. 

There’s another glass of water by your bed, you sit up and drink it down, take stock of yourself again. 

Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton but the room isn’t spinning anymore. 

You’re dressed in clothes that aren’t your own, but they cover you, at least. 

You swing your legs off the bed, hiss as your bare feet touch the cold floor. 

You listen for movement around you, but your instincts tell you that there’s no one in your immediate vicinity. 

You exit the bedroom, hesitate on the landing, listen again, then carefully navigate the steps down. 

Your arm throbs but it’s not bad. 

Daylight through the windows of the front room tells you it’s late afternoon. 

You look around curiously. 

Jimin had told you you were in his home. 

There’s a pile of what looks armour next to the door, leather and chain mail, a sword hanging carelessly on a hook in a scabbard. 

His voice startles you. 

‘You shouldn’t be out of bed,’ he says. 

He’s dressed in a cloth tunic and breeches, boots on his feet. 

He’s holding an armful of timber, which he stacks beside the fireplace. 

‘Come on. I’ve got some broth for you.’ 

You follow him into his kitchen, much bigger than yours.

He heats up broth on his wood stove, insists on you sitting down.

He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, and you’re grateful for the added warmth despite your initial protests.

He frowns at you.

‘You lost a lot of blood,’ he says.

‘Your dagger saved me,’ you tell him. You shiver a bit. ‘Bern stopped by, after you left.’

There’s regret in his expression. ‘I’m sorry. I promised no harm would come to you from helping us.’

‘Did you get her back?’ you want to know.

‘She’s safe, back with her family,’ Jimin replies.

‘It was worth it, then,’ you murmur.

Jimin sets a bowl in front of you.

‘You getting hurt isn’t a price that’s acceptable to pay,’ he says, very gently. 

His words are unexpected, you flick your gaze to his and are surprised by the emotion on his face.

You feel like you should say something, but you can’t think of anything to say.

You settle for a simple ‘thank you’ in acknowledgement.

You manage a few mouthfuls of the broth before the room starts to grey out around the edges.

Jimin’s voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away.

The last thing you remember is him saying your name, his strong hands grasping your arms.

Everything fades to black.

***

It’s another few days before you’re strong enough to walk around Jimin’s cottage again, to venture out into his garden.

Jimin’s constantly by your side, it doesn’t take you long to realise he’s trying to protect you rather than that he doesn’t trust you.

You can’t help but laugh when he tuts as you bend over to pick up dandelion leaves for tea.

‘Let me do it,’ he chides.

‘You don’t know anything about herbs,’ you say, still amused.

‘You can teach me,’ Jimin says. 

He frowns. ‘Did you hurt your arm?’

‘From plucking dandelion leaves?’ 

Jimin has to smile, at that. 

‘You shouldn’t exert yourself too much,’ he says.

‘Says the man who fell out of the sky and chopped wood for my fire the next day,’ you say, pointedly.

‘You’re not a dragon rider,’ Jimin replies.

His words remind you that you have responsibilities to return to.

‘I should get back home,’ you say.

‘It’s the Yuletide festival next week,’ Jimin says. ‘I was hoping you might stay for that.’

He looks at you hopefully. ‘There’s a banquet at the Hold, a feast, games, drinks.’

You consider his offer.

He nudges you gently. 

‘I’ve been told I’m an attentive partner,’ Jimin says, coaxing.

You laugh at the idea that you might be anything but thrilled to have the handsome dragon rider on your arm.

‘I’m sure you’re not short of offers,’ you scoff.

‘I could say the same for you,’ Jimin remarks. ‘You’re very pretty.’

His compliment makes you feel a little hot and flustered.

‘I’ll go with you, you don’t have to flatter me,’ you say dryly.

‘I’m not,’ Jimin says. He beams at you. ‘I’m looking forward to you accompanying me.’

***

You wake up one morning to murmured voices downstairs.

You slip on the slippers and woollen shawl Jimin gave you and head down to investigate.

Jimin’s sitting at his kitchen table, and he’s not alone.

You’ve only met him the one time, but there’s no mistaking the aura of power that surrounds Lord Namjoon.

Both men rise as you enter.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ you say, bowing.

Two things happen at once.

‘You’re not interrupting,’ Jimin says, reaching for your arm just as Lord Namjoon drops to one knee before you.

‘I seek your forgiveness,’ Lord Namjoon says, looking up at you.

‘I vowed you would come to no harm as a result of helping me and my men, and you nearly lost your life as a result.’

You’re too surprised to speak.

‘I owe you a debt for helping us recover one of our own safely,’ he continues. 

He looks at Jimin.

‘And for helping my second in command when he was injured.’

You flounder. ‘He landed in my tomatoes,’ you point out, faintly.

Lord Namjoon’s lips twitch, and a dimple appears in his cheek.

‘What I’m saying is, we repay those who help us. If there’s ever anything I can assist you with, you only have to ask.’

You can’t imagine ever asking this powerful man for anything.

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘Please get up.’

Jimin says, ‘It isn’t often that Namjoon kneels in front of anyone, not even when he’s bested in a spar.’

Namjoon shoots Jimin a testy look. ‘I’d say that she has more than earned it.’

‘Oh agreed,’ Jimin says. He looks at you. ‘May I invite him to stay for breakfast with us?’

‘It’s your cottage,’ you say, flummoxed.

‘But you’re my most important guest,’ Jimin says.

‘He can stay,’ you say.

‘Sure,’ agrees Jimin. ‘Just let me know if you want me to kick him out. He can be quite annoying.’

His comment startles a laugh out of you.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and you get the sense that he’s not unused to being treated with irreverence by Jimin, despite his status.

Jimin pulls out a chair for you. 

‘Sit,’ he says. ‘Breakfast will be ready in a minute.’

***

You put on the velvet gown Jimin’s given you, and are pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the looking glass.

The colour makes your skin glow, and the fit is perfect.

Jimin’s already waiting when you come down the stairs, and he looks handsome enough to make your heart flutter.

He’s staring at you like he’s the one transfixed.

He clears his throat, holds up the cloak clutched in his hands.

‘I hope this is warm enough,’ he says, helping you drape it over your shoulders.

The lining of the cloak is sheepskin, warm and soft, but it’s really the feel of his hands on you that make your skin heat. 

He clears his throat again, the husky rumble of it behind your ear making a thrill race through your spine. 

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘And for the dress, too.’ 

‘You look very beautiful in it,’ he says. 

Your eyes meet. He seems like he means every word. 

He smiles, offers his arm. ‘I’m looking forward to this.’ 

‘Me too.’ 

The hold where the Yuletide festival is being held is huge, teeming with people, all dressed in shades of gold and green, wrapped in furs and sheepskin against the cold.

You instinctively step closer to Jimin as a group of merrymakers passes by, startling you.

He presses a hand against the small of your back, steadying you.

‘There’s no one who’ll wish you harm here,’ he says, gentle, offering you his arm. 

You feel your ears warm, embarrassed that he noticed.

‘I know,’ you say. ‘Besides, you’re here.’

Jimin reaches over, tugs your cloak tighter around you.

His fingers brush your jaw. ‘I’m here,’ he agrees.

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. 

‘You’re shivering,’ he says. ‘Let me get you a drink.’

You’re saved from explaining that it’s not the cold you’re shivering from, but his touch.

Jimin leads you into a huge hall, where an entire feast has been laid out on banquet tables.

Everyone you pass greets Jimin with affection, he seems to be well-liked. You get more than one curious look, but more often than not it’s accompanied by a warm smile.

Jimin’s still got your hand tucked in his arm, warm against his side.

The sweet spicy mead he gave you warms your insides.

You hear your name called, and realise it’s Taehyung, the dragon rider who complimented your cooking.

‘Hey,’ he says, beaming at you, looking genuinely pleased, so handsome your heart flutters a little. ‘It’s nice to see you out and about.’

His voice drops, his expression sobering. ‘We heard you’d been injured, badly.’

‘I’m better now,’ you say.

‘Come sit with us,’ Taehyung says, waving you over to where a group of dragon riders are sitting.

You recognise some faces, and at the head of the table Lord Namjoon inclines his head at you in greeting.

Jimin serves you himself, filling your plate and mug.

You catch Taehyung exchanging a look with another dragon rider, you think he’s called Minho.

‘Jimin, my plate’s empty too,’ Minho says.

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. ‘Serve yourself, Minho.’

Taehyung nudges your shoulder. 

‘Usually, it’s our women who are tripping over themselves to serve Jimin,’ he says, smiling at you. ‘He’s usually not short of attention.’

Jimin flushes. ‘Don’t listen to them,’ he tells you.

‘I’m not surprised he gets attention,’ you say to Taehyung, unfazed. ‘He’s the kindest man I know.’

Jimin glances at you, what looks like surprise in his expression.

‘Eat,’ he says, finally.

After the banquet Jimin takes you outside again as the quarter of troubadours begin to play a merry tune.

‘Do you dance?’ Jimin asks. Without waiting for an answer, he draws you into a circle of people dancing around a fire.

He’s a good dancer, you realise. There’s something about the line of his body as he moves that makes heat burn through your skin.

He leans closer. 

‘You look very beautiful,’ he tells you.

You’re still looking at him as he leans closer still, but the moment his lips touch yours, your eyes close.

He tastes of mead, spiced and warm, and the gentleness of his kiss makes you seek his mouth again as he pulls away.

‘Jimin,’ you say, against his ear.

His gaze meets yours, and the heat in them makes your core tighten.

‘Take me home,’ you say, and he does.

***

Jimin’s profile is beautiful outlined in the light of the half-moon.

He kisses down your neck, the hardness of his chest against yours thrilling and frightening all at once.

You can feel the strength coiled in his taut frame, the way he tempers it with the reverence in his hands and lips as he touches you, kisses your skin.

‘I want to pleasure you,’ he tells you. ‘More than anything.’

He pulls moans and gasps from you as he tugs the tips of your breasts between his fingers and thumbs, fondling your flesh until you’re panting, thighs parting automatically to take him in between.

His hardness presses against your centre, the weight of him making your hips move up automatically to take more.

Jimin gives you more, lowering his mouth to your breasts, slipping a hand down to cup between your legs.

His fingers slide through your heat, thumb over your swollen bud, circling, pressing, and you cry out with pleasure as the coil inside you snaps unexpectedly.

Jimin groans, keeps toying with your clit as you cry his name.

The pleasure doesn’t fade so much as it ebbs, carrying on as Jimin presses himself into you, his rigid length filling you, his cockhead stretching your walls, each thrust making you gasp and bite down on his shoulder.

‘I like that,’ he groans, deeper, voice guttural now as he moves inside you.

You curl your legs around his hips, ankles crossed in the small of his back, one arm hooked over his shoulders.

‘Ride me like I’m riding you,’ he urges, breathless now. ‘Just like that.’

You cry out from the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin on skin, the slickness between your bodies. 

He moans, low, and the sound of it pushes you over the edge again.

The wetness that coats him seems to spur him on, he cries out into your skin and a moment later you can feel him flexing inside you as he fills you.

He collapses on you, arms around you, tight, holding you to him.

It’s a few moments before either of you speak.

You trace a finger over the scar along his neck that you sewed together, and it takes you a minute to realise his hand is curled over your own neck, thumb over the tiny scar of the cut he made.

‘If you’ll let me, I’ll spend my life atoning for this,’ he says, touching the scar. There’s regret in his eyes.

‘Don’t waste your life doing that,’ you say, the smile on your face making him smile too. ‘Show me the world instead.’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I have a dragon who can help us with that.’

‘Sounds perfect,’ you agree.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#bangtan christmas #bangtan christmas 2023 #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #bts smut

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (Modern, sort of, Lucemond, Aemond is a painter)

Lucerys truly didn't mean to ruin it. He swears up and down he didn't see the uncapped paint on the floor. He really, really, really was sorry.

He knew how important that painting was to him, it was that of Alys, his ex-wife, though he wasn't sure why they divorced. He knew he loved that painting of her, draped in blue robes that are a bit translucent, with jewelry and embroidery, how he saw it as a challenge to paint an exquisitely detailed painting of her that took days to finish before giving it to her on her name day. She returned it after the final proceedings, saying she didn't want it anymore.

And now it had a splatter of black paint on it, covering the extremely detailed painting of jewelry and lace, some small parts even landed on her face. He did try wiping it off with tissue paper in a panic, hoping to wipe it off before the paint sets in, but the paint just spread, the details were skewed, and parts of the tissue paper where on the canvas. He then tried wet cotton balls, but it somehow managed to also take parts of the original paint off.

By the time Aemond returned, the lower half of the painting was unrecognizable, and Lucerys was damn well close to tears.

They were just getting better. They were finally in speaking terms again, Aemond even offered to help him learn how to paint, the very reason he was even allowed in Aemond's private painting room, something that, according to step-grandmother Alice, was a rare offer from Aemond. And now his mistake might have caused their entire fragile relationship to break into shambles again.

His started to cry when he saw Aemond looking at his ruined work, mumbling a mixture of sorry's, and I didn't mean to's. He continues to stare at his painting, with an expression Lucerys can't pinpoint, and that made him turn back to the anxious little boy he once was, afraid of rejection, afraid to be hated by his favorite uncle once again.

He didn't expect Aemond to cup his crying face so gently, nor did he expect him to wipe his tears with his thumb. He expected many things, but he didn't expect his uncle to comfort him.

"It's just a painting, what are you crying for?"

That just made it worse, curse his over reactive tear ducts. He tried calming himself, and cursed himself again when more tears were produced instead.

"I...I'm sorry.." He whispered, fearing that if he spoke any more louder, his voice would crack. "I ruined it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to..."

Damn these tears!

If it had been before, he was certain Aemond would call him a cry baby, a man of nine and ten, crying over spilt paint. In fact, he was so sure, so certain that that was what he would do now, besides angrily shouting at him for ruining his work. He heard of him shouting at Alys, his model and then wife, for moving, because he felt it ruined his vision. He didn't, though. Surprisingly. Really surprisingly. He was calm. Or he acted calm. Lucerys is in too much of a mess to notice the small details of Aemond.

"Yes, that you did."

Lucerys really, really should stop crying. Stop it. Stop it for gods' sake!

"That's alright. You can just help me recreate it."

Lucerys looked at him, trying to stop his hiccups, confused. He didn't even know how to paint, and that was Aemond's greatest work so far. How in the seven hells was he supposed to help him recreate the painting?!

"I'm afraid you might be mistaking me for a genius, uncle." He sniffed. "I barely know how to paint an alright flower."

"Oh, not in painting. No, I think you've shown just how disasterous that can be."

Lucerys fought to keep the pout off of his mouth, the hiccups subsiding a bit. Now that wasn't fair. It was an accident. Just because he didn't notice the uncapped paint on the floor before stepping on it, doesn't mean he would be horrible with a brush.

"I'm thinking more of...modeling."

It took a few seconds before Lucerys connected the dots, face burning as soon as he understood the implication. He glanced at the painting, at the slightly translucent robe. Surely his uncle wasn't thinking of putting him in that thing. Surely.

He glanced at Aemond, hoping to see a rare expression akin to an "I'm joking" face. He wasn't. He was serious.

"Uncle, I'm..I'm alright with modeling, but perhaps I can model something else? I'm sure you'd like to paint something different from-"

"Lucerys, you don't seem to understand. I don't mean to fully copy my original, I mean to expand, to better the old. And I do like challenging myself to make a better version of my masterpiece."

He felt himself relaxing a bit. So it wouldn't be like the original? He wouldn't need to wear that type of clothing?

"So, what exactly would you change, uncle?"

"Come tomorrow, and you'll find out."

------

Lucerys couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, too embarrassed, as Aemond fixed the jewelry wrapped around him. He thought it would be embarrassing to wear Alys' slightly translucent robe. He would actually be glad to wear it now rather than the sheer monstrosity of the robe and everything else he was made to wear.

What his uncle brought out was fully transparent, (though it was rather soft, nice to the touch), and that wasn't even the worst of it. He was even made to wear bejeweled underwear, for the extra challenge of detail, his uncle said. By the time his uncle fixed the rest of the outer jewelry to exactly as he wished it to be, he headed to the sofa, where Alys posed, but was stopped by Aemond.

He leads him to the bedroom instead.

Aemond had already set things up, and only asked Lucerys to lay on the bed, fixing his pose. Though a bit uncomfortable, being in Aemond's bedroom and all that, he followed his uncle's orders.

"Place your hand a little higher...that's it. Beautiful, nephew."

He blushed a bit, not wanting to admit how much he enjoyed the praise.

"Now, don't move. If you're feeling tired, tell me, and we'll take a short break."

"Yes, uncle."

So he laid there, determined not to move, as he felt his uncle's eye roaming around his body. It was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing and Aemond painting.

When the first session was done, Lucerys sat up, careful not to accidentally move the jewels around as much. Aemond helped him up to his feet.

"Well done, Lucerys."

This continued on for days, with Lucerys slowly becoming more and more comfortable with the transparent robe, with Aemond's eye on him, taking in every detail, the way an artist would.

During his final session, he was a bit sad to part with the robe. He built up a bit of courage to ask for it, and his uncle looked up him funny.

"This is the first time I've ever modelled, and I'd like to have it as a remembrance of sorts, please qybor?"

".... Alright."

When Lucerys was meant to leave, Aemond stopped him. "Lucerys, what do you think of modelling for my next painting?"

Lucerys was surprised with this. But, thinking about it, it was rather enjoyable. It made him feel...pretty, though he has yet to see the painting, (his uncle insists he would show it once it was ready) he liked the feeling of being treated like a piece of art. So he agreed.

When it was time for Aemond to reveal his new masterpiece, he only called for Lucerys. This made Lucerys both excited and nervous. It was his first time modelling, and he was also curious. How did the painting look like? Would it match up to the one with Alys? Would it be better? Or did he make it worse? Is that why he only called for him?

When Aemond revealed the painting, Lucerys gasped. It was beautiful. It was detailed. He can see now, why he only called Lucerys to see it. Had he called the entire family today, Lucerys would have exploded. His step-father would have tried to kill Aemond. His mother would have called him beautiful, while simultaneously cursing her half-brother to the ground. Aemond's mother almost fainted when Aemond showed her the original work with Alys, she might start chanting prayers if she saw this one.

"Quite a beautiful model you are, nephew." Aemond whispered in his ear. "Such a provocative body, with such an innocent face."

"I look forward to having you as my new muse."

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

I reposted this because I forgot to add tags last time. 😅

If anyone was wondering, this photo from Twitter inspired me.

And I have to admit, it's a bit rushed😅

So, thoughts? Violent reactions?

#aemond targaryen #aemond x lucerys #lucemond #lucerys velaryon #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #model lucerys #artist aemond #painter aemond #muse Lucerys

[luimagines]

I think I'm on time! Can I request something something... Reader tending to wounds? I ESPECIALLY love Four x Reader (Romantic), and I'm kinda a sucker for hurt/comfort, so it sounded like a perfect mix.

Just something... Idk, Four's hurting and he can't Fix It by himself and maybe he also needs a hug, but then,,, Ta-Da! There Reader is, worried outta their mind for him and getting him to calm down, and yeah maybe it still hurts but Reader is gentle with the bandages and the cleaning and doesn't even have to be asked for a hug or to wipe tears if need be... And Four just knows it'll all be alright now 🥺

(I would be happy with any and/or all of the boys, but Four is my fav ☺️. Honestly just whatever you feel you're up to)

Thank you!!!

... Four it is! Message Received! XD

Don't worry Anon. Four you want? Four you will get.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“Ouch.” Four hissed and pushed himself up against the wall of the dungeon.

He finished the boss and won the fight, but not without his penance. A large cut had been sliced though his abdomen. It hurt to move. It hurt to so much as rub his tunic against it. And he was losing blood. A lot of it.

“This.. is not one of my finer moments.” Four curses and manages to push himself into a sitting position. He needs to take care of this. He needs to stop the bleeding. He needs to-

The world goes sideways.

Four has to push himself the against the wall and against the hack job if he wants to keep from face planting himself on the dusty, dirty dungeon floor.

He sucks in a breath to stop himself from screaming. He coughs instead and waits for everything to return normal. Surely, he has a fairy somewhere... or a potion. He should have-

“Time? Hyrule? Wild?... Link?” You call from down the hallway. “Man, where is everybody? Am I the only one still in here?”

Four perks up at his name. The true name. He coughs some more and blood dribbled down his chin. It’s getting hard to breathe. The cut might have gone to his lungs.

Your footsteps pause before they pick up speed. “Hey, is anyone-? ..Oh by the grace of god-...”

You run to him. It makes him dizzy.

“Four.. Smithy.” You gulp and look down and take in the situation. Four tries to follow your line of sight but his head lulls to the side instead. “Woah! Hey, hey, none of that, ok?”

You fling yourself back and start looking through your supplies. You pull out a fairy and release it. Instinctively it flies toward Four and gets to work. Four can feel the effects of the magic work through his system and it lessens the pain somewhat. It’s enough to make him coherent once again.

“Hey...” Four coughs again. Tears spring to his eyes and he reaches toward you.

You don’t think twice about grabbing his hand tightly. You don’t mind the blood. You’re too focused on keep Four awake.

“Hey yourself.” You smile, if only to lighten your own panic. “Not your best fight, huh?”

Four coughs and more blood dribbles down his lips but he smiles back. “you should have seen the other guy.”

You somehow find it in yourself to laugh. The fairy starts to clearly grow tired as she flies more sluggishly around the injured hero. She doesn’t have enough magic to fix this, but a lot of leeway has been made.

You gulp and move to get the bandages out of your bag. “You’re going to be, ok?”

“Am I?” Four looks to the side. The world doesn’t fall with the motion and Four shimmies a little in his spot. He’s incredibly sore. He winces but gets settled.

“Yeah.” You reply. “This is nothing.”

Four hums. He knows you’re lying.

You take out your dagger and cut away at his tunic. Four doesn’t seem to notice but he’s mentally saying goodbye. He has more cloth to fix it but the embroidery took forever.

Next thing Four knows, you’re moving him a bit. A curse leaves his mouth again and you pause. “Sorry.”

“You’re ok.” He hisses. “Keep going. I know you’re helping.”

You whine. “I don’t want to make it worse though.”

You pour disinfectant without warning him. Four cries out and tears falls down his cheek.

“Sorry, sorry... I know I just said-” Your hand comes up to wipe away his tears. Four gulps and ignores the iron in his mouth. “It won’t last forever. I promise.”

Four doesn’t reply. He just whimpers instead and leans into your touch.

You keep working, quietly whispering words of encouragement and praise just to get reactions from him.

By the time you’ve finished, Four is thoroughly exhausted. He can’t stop crying from the amount of movement and prodding he’s taken to his wound even with the fairy’s help.

You coo and shush him, wiping his tears as they fall. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’ll be ok. Let’s get you out of here.”

He grunts but reaches toward you once more. He wants to be held. But you get a different idea. Four doesn’t know where you get this strength but you pick him and with a free hand, you pick up what little you would have left behind otherwise.

You start moving again with him in your arms. “Let’s go get Hyrule and fix you up, yeah?”

Four nods. “I’m tired.”

You don’t stop walking but you take a moment to think about your next words. “...Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Four nods and kisses your cheek, tucking himself into the crook of your neck. “Thank you.”

He falls asleep in seconds.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu four #less romantic than anticipated #I'm sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind #it wasn't what I thought I was going to write either #but sometime the story just has a mind of its own and well....I couldn't stop myself

[pastxlscorp]

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.1)

Chapter I: Inception

✿ Word Count: 2.1k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Y/N POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, minor manga spoilers, Bully! Mitsuya headcanons from last post

He lifted his large palm, coated in silver and black rings to match his attire. He was wearing a black mock turtleneck that matched his jet black hair. In his youth, he had lilac-colored hair that was either in a buzz-cut or grown out to a mullet. Now, he sported his black hair in his college-years. He was studying to become a fashion designer, a dream he had since his youth after his love blossomed for sewing. It had begun as a chore in order to keep his sisters satisfied and happy, saving money from buying toys by simply creating them himself. As he practiced it more and more, he began to realize how intricate fabrics were. How beautiful colors could come together and form the prettiest structures and designs -- how even the ugliest colors would look elegant if you paired them properly with the right colors, or carefully took apart the threads to create something new. You on the other hand were not studying to become a fashion designer, but rather a photographer. In your youth, you were a free-lancer in art and a quiet overachiever. You had many different career options open to you, but nothing really opened you up in the way art did. You participated in many different types of art, you loved painting, sewing, embroidery, name it, you’ve probably dabbled in it. One day, your class was introduced to your photography unit and all the puzzle pieces fell into the designated places, the pieces being lost and untouched for years. Nothing brought you more joy than snapping someone’s photo on the street to surprise them with the way the sunlight beautifully encapsulated their figure. Nothing brought you more joy than taking an eerily aesthetic photo of the rain pouring on the people below your building as a lady frolocked in the rain below, eager to rejoice in mother nature’s beauty.

Truthfully, your relationship had not started out the way it was now. With his palm ever so elegantly shoving you to the floor, your photographs spilling out of your portfolio as you hit the cold tile floor, protecting your chest by landing on your elbow and knee. Snickers, chuckles, giggles-- they all filled the hallway after seeing you collapse. Only a select few actually took pity on you, including one of his loyal followers, Hakkai Shiba. Mitsuya was usually followed around by two close-friends, Yasuda-san and Hakkai. Yasuda-san was also a fashion major, while Hakkai was planning to become a model. Mitsuya was very well respected amongst the campus for many different reasons. Firstly, he was gifted with the intellect of sewing intrigue designs that made everyone sigh in awe. Secondly, pretty-privilege. You hated to admit it but Mitsuya was a very attractive-looking man, his hair was always fluffed to the right extent, he was well-dressed, and leading into the third reason, he was smart. Despite being a part of the Tokyo Manji Gang, otherwise known as Toman, as one of the second division captains, he was able to manage schoolwork as an overachiever and was known for his intellect. Not to mention, keeping his division in check along with his two younger sisters AND the sewing club that he managed at his school? It was no wonder he was seen as the perfect boyfriend, he had all of his together. This was the reason why his disregard of you was seen as acceptable, everyone assumed you must have done something wrong for him to treat you this way, right?

Incorrect assumption. You have never done anything wrong to Mitsuya-- in fact… you don’t really remember doing anything to him, period. You both met by chance in his home-economics club, which he decided to suggest to the college board upon seeing there was not a club that actively encouraged sewing. At the time, most participants on campus were graphic designers, artists, not really looking to take the fashion industry by storm as Mitsuya was. However, he was able to persuade the board and even got petition signatures to seal it all off. He was the president of the club and upon seeing the posters taped in the hallways, you instantly took the opportunity to get any extracurricular activities on your transcript. He welcomed you into the club but it wasn’t like you got that much of his attention-- after all, the club filled up quickly with Mitsuya’s admirers. Although, shortly before he began his cruel treatment and behavior towards you, it actually seemed like you two were becoming friends. He would begin to check on you a little more frequently than the rest, tapping your shoulder with a warm smile, asking you how your project was going. You would show him your small projects, nothing too big as it had nothing to do with your major, but projects that you enjoyed and had fun doing nonetheless. He seemed most amused by the sweater you created for your dog by letting out a soft chuckle. In return, he showed you the sweaters he made for his sisters, who were now teenagers. It became a routine for him to walk over to you after checking up on everyone else and talk until club hours were over. He’d find anything to talk about and it made your heart swell with how he actually took the time out of his day to make sure you didn’t feel alone. You were sure he had picked up on how you lacked friends in his club, he was clearly trying to make you feel welcome and you couldn’t help but begin to admire him even more than you once had.

One day, however, it suddenly changed. His demeanor was suddenly cold and unwelcoming to you. You noticed when you walked into his club as you normally did, taking your seat. He did not visit you within the 10 minutes it usually took him to check upon everyone else. It took much, much longer, so you simply assumed everyone needed more help than usual. However, when he came over to your table, his words startled you so much that you pricked yourself with your needle, rushing your eyes to meet his own at his sudden harshness.

┃ “Looks like someone isn’t paying attention.”

The venom in his words made your cheeks flush with a tint of red, noticing some of the club members staring at you, also in surprise of his harsh tone. You open your mouth, quickly questioning his behavior, all of your words coming out panicked, in fear you’ve done something wrong-- something to disappoint, or upset him.

┃ “What do you mean, Pres? My projects have never been an issue before.”

┃ “Nicknames are a privilege. Call me by my proper title.” He snapped, your peers widening their eyes, for he never required anyone to call him by his last name.

┃ “...President Mitsuya, I apologize. However, you can’t just--”

┃ “Look around,” he motions his arm towards the surrounding students working at their tables, sewing much larger projects and others measuring their models for their designs. Your right eyebrow began to raise in confusion, he had never minded your small projects. Yet, here he was, embarrassing, no-- humiliating you in front of your peers about how minuscule your projects were in comparison.

┃ “Your peers all have their mind set on a big project or several larger projects. Yet, here you are with your small little trinkets. They’re working hard, and you’re doing the bare minimum to have your work completed for this club.”

Tears began to prick your eyes, questioning what his true motive was here. Surely, the projects weren’t the issue. This… this was too strong of a switch-up. Something had triggered this outburst of his, but you weren’t sure what. He was always stressed, all the time actually-- had he perhaps overwhelmed himself and he was taking it out on you?

┃ “(Y/N).” Your name so violently came out of his mouth, as if it had just crashed on cement. It wasn’t the silky and softer voice you were accustomed to hearing when speaking with him. “Get your head out of the clouds. Are you listening?”

┃ “Sir… I mean, President Mitsuya, with all due respect, you seem to be… unfairly targeting me. Some of these students are creating something as simple as a sweater for their friends, why is something for my dog any different?”

The rest of the club began planning your funeral. While never seeing him this upset on school grounds, they have heard about how foul he could get with his division members. Questioning him was bound to make him explode. They all froze, eyes drifting to Mitsuya for an incoming scolding.

┃ With a harsh grab, his fingers glide under your chin as he lifts it up to meet his face directly. “'You questioning me?”

┃ “N-no sir! I mean no disrespect, I just-”

┃ “You’ll be staying after club hours.”

┃ “B-but sir I have-”

┃ “I was NOT asking.” He half-shouts, dropping your chin from his harsh grip as he makes it back to the front of the classroom where he continues to work on his own projects. Your fellow club members pitied you at first, but after seeing how harsh he got later on with you as the bullying continued, they assumed this was the result of an external conflict.

You don’t remember what he told you after club hours. He was yelling something about how you were stupid, a dumbass, and well, you get the rest. Cruel words were thrown at you as if the day before he wasn’t so fondly helping you with the sweater for your dog-- helping you perfect the stitch of his name. Any time you questioned him or flat-out denied his accusations and heinous words, he would yank your chain and pull you so you were right in front of him as he stared down at you. It was enough to scare you out of ever providing a rebuttal, and you soon learned that as the bullying continued.

Now, here you are, on the floor, calmly collecting your portfolio photographs, not even phased by his now-normal harassment. Usually, a shove would be enough to appease him, but today it seemed like one of those days where he wanted more. He walked over to your kneeling figure as you collected your portfolio, your head turned away from him to avoid giving him any form of satisfaction.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone?”

┃ “I didn’t bump into you, dickhead.”

With a swift motion, he forcefully grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, his lavender eyes piercing straight through you. He was clearly unsatisfied with your response.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone, skank?”

Every time you questioned him or talked back, you knew it simply made him angrier. You quickly learned that him acting out was his way of earning your attention, but for whatever reason it was, you couldn’t figure out why. What you did learn, however, from your many other incidents with him, is that he would praise you when you were obedient. Eager to get this over with and save yourself any more humiliation, you replied:

┃ “I’m sorry.”

┃ “I’m sorry…?”

┃ With a sigh, you continue, “I’m sorry, President Mitsuya.”

He smirks, now satisfied with your answer. He taps your cheek with his right index finger and replies:

┃ “Good girl.”

You swipe your face away from his grasp and continue collecting your photographs, along with your notebooks and planner that had slipped out. Mitsuya scoffs as you once more retract your attention away from him and walks away with Yasuda-sun snickering. Hakkai, however, stays behind and examines you for a few brief moments. He walks over to you and begins helping you organize your bookbag. You look up and smile-- despite his silence, his eyes offered every form of apology he could give you. You had learned Hakkai was afraid to speak up to Mitsuya because he was his best friend and was afraid any talkback from him would only result in a deeper hatred for you. You didn’t mind, however, you just appreciated how Hakkai kept you grounded. He helped you remember you didn’t do anything wrong, this was Mitsuya’s doing and his alone. Hakkai was always well-dressed as well, you noticed. He was wearing an incredibly long trench coat with beautiful shades of baby blue, ocean blues and a bright orange that made everything pop. It covered a black mock turtleneck that seemed to be matching the one Mitsuya was wearing and in fact, Hakkai also seemed to have an earring on one ear, similar to Mitsuya. It appeared that he deeply respected Mitsuya, his outfit seemed to be heavily inspired by his own. With everything settled in your bookbag once more, he offered you a pat on the head with a smile as you nodded and thanked him before running off to your first class of the day.

✿ a.n. // I finished this chapter while finishing my AP Psychology hw. I had started writing it and then idk why but I was re-reading the manga and went “wait, now what if we have Hakkai and Yasuda-san…” and ta-da, take my 2.1k words of pure a$$. If this chapter does well, I’ll be sure to upload it on my ao3, too. special tags for @the2ndl and @bren-heron because they both really wanted a fic out of this concept. I hope you enjoy loves <3

#tokyo revengers #tokyorevengersfanfic #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #takashi mitsuya #takashi mitsuya x reader #tokyorev #tokrev #tokyo rev fanfic #tokrev fanfic #tokrev x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev x y/n #tokyorev x yn #tokyo rev x you #mitsuya headcanons #takashi mitsuya headcanons #mitsuya hcs #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya x you #mitsuya x y/n #tokyo revengers takashi mitsuya #tokyo revengers hcs #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokrev headcanons #tokrev hcs #tokyorev hcs #tokyorev headcanons

[astranva]

Basic Fucking T-Shirt

Word Count: 1.3k

Category: Fluff

Warning: Just some language, not much. not proofread.

Summary: Y/N learned how to sew, and Harry is getting spoiled by it.

..

While quarantine had been melancholic and tiresome, between the stress and pressure of staying sanitised to worrying over family and friends, to checking up on people who were stuck in a country that wasn’t theirs, most people took to trying new home activities to maintain sanity in the chaos that was very much like Gotham City’s.

You remember how worrying it was to be without Harry when they declared the virus as pandemic, having had been separated by Harry’s job in another country.

You remember crying together on the phone, promises of staying safe until you reunite being spoken among the heavy sighs and clenched hearts.

But then Harry came, and he was so close yet so far, after he had self-isolated in your home; staying in the guest room, getting food in a tray in front of the door, not moving out of the room without a mask and gloves, for 14 days, only to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t until the both of you embraced that the both of you, as cliché as it might sound, could actually breathe.

You started joining Harry for morning walks in your masks outside, both of you trying to make the best out of the situation – even if that “best” was just going outside for very limited time.

Among quarantining together and trying out new recipes, ordering and sanitising board games to play, connecting on another level, you had decided to try one new thing.

Sewing.

Harry had become used to seeing you in the office room, sewing machine on the desk, you in your eyeglasses and concentrated face on.

It was as domestic as domestic could get.

“H! H, look!” You had practically zoomed to where he was, replying to emails in the living room.

He had known that you were working on something upstairs with your machine, having had heard the sound of it and knowing by then that you only disappeared when you were sewing.

And seeing you standing in front of him, wide grin on your face, hair a little dishevelled, a new tote bag that had “HS” embroidered it, he couldn’t help but fall in love all over again.

“I made you a tote bag!”

And God, he teared up right there and then.

It only made sense that he began to wear no bag, no purse, nothing else, but the tote bag you made him.

“Yeah, my girlfriend made this,” he’d say whether somebody asked or not, “First thing she sewed. Can you see these pink and blue threa- yeah, that’s for Fine Line. Bloody talented, isn’t she?”

But then another tote bag was sewed, and then a headband to keep his hair back when he trained, and then a sunglasses case, and then two pillowcases for the both of you.

You had taken 4 days away from your sewing machine after that, but it wasn’t until one night that you went back to it.

Waking up in the middle of the night after suddenly feeling the absence of your body beside him, Harry had reached out to feel you, only to receive a confirmation that you weren’t in bed.

His eyebrows were close together in a frown, lips slightly swollen and head a tad dizzy from standing too quickly.

“Love?” He called gently, just making sure that you weren’t in the ensuite, despite the lights not being on, but don’t judge him — he was sleepy.

Stuffing his feet inside his fuzzy slippers, Harry let out a sigh as he walked outside the room, one hand reaching to brush back his hair before rubbing his face.

And then he heard it.

The sound of your sewing machine coming from the office room.

Knocking gently, Harry didn’t wait before he opened the door, “Baby?”

You were in your own world, focused to no end on the fabric and your hands as you worked on your newest work, unaware of the tall, sleepy man leaning on the doorframe.

Noticing that you were too focused, Harry pushed himself off of the doorframe before moving to you, “Baby,” he called again, this time, your head snapping to look at him, “Hey.”

“Did I wake you? Was it too loud?” You instantly asked gently, face softening as you looked up at him, your hands reaching to hold on to his after he placed his rings-bare hands on your shoulders.

He shook his head, “Not the sound. Just noticed you were gone,” he answered, “It’s late, love.”

“I know, I just couldn’t sleep without working on this, really,” you chuckled, almost laughing at how impatient you were, “I’ll be in bed soon.”

“What are you working on?” Harry smiled, amusement seeming to make his eyes twinkle as he absorbed you sitting there.

“It’s a surprise.” You smiled up at him, “Let me just finish this up and I’ll be there, yeah?”

He nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t be gone for too long.”

“I won’t.”

And you stayed true to your words because 5 minutes later, you were back in bed, in his arms, sleepily mumbling an “I love you” back.

It took you two more days of locking yourself in the office room before Harry came back from the studio one night to a messily wrapped gift on the table.

“Babe, I’m home!” He announced, leaving his keys on the table before looking at the present, finding a little note attached to it;

To Harry, From Y/N x

“You’re home!” He looked up once he heard you, seeing you rush to where he was with the widest smile on your face.

Greeting you with a kiss, Harry had a loving smirk on his face, glancing down at the present before looking back at you, “What’s that?”

“Newest work.” You dusted off his shoulders, looking at him with excitement.

“You’re showering me, love.”

You gave him a shrug, “I like it.”

“Thank you.” He said genuinely, leaning to peck your lips one more time.

“Go on, open it.” You moved back, hands going to your hips as you impatiently waited.

Holding it in his hands, he took notice of how light it was and he instantly guessed that it was probably apparel.

Being careful as to not tear the wrapping paper, Harry’s stomach erupted in butterflies as he took out the white t-shirt.

A t-shirt, made from scratch, was what you made him, but right there in the middle, a small sized text of embroidery was placed;

‘my girlfriend made me this t-shirt to remind me that i don’t have to spend thousands on a basic fucking white t-shirt.’

Harry’s laugh filled the house, eyebrows going up in surprise and his face, quite literally though not so scientifically, lit up.

Not realising yet knowing how much of an effect Harry had on you, and you on him, your face lit up with an excited smile, shyly clasping your hands together under your chin, “You like it?”

His laughter died down into chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief before approaching you in a couple of steps, his hands reaching to cup your cheeks, “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You giggled – a sound that made it to the top of Harry’s “favourite sounds” list.

“I love it,” he said before pressing his lips against yours, “So much,” another kiss, “Thank you for making it,” and another, “I love you.” And yet, another kiss was gently placed on your lips.

To nobody’s surprise, Harry wore the t-shirt at every moment he could; online interview? Restocking food necessities from the grocery’s? Writing sesh with Tom and Mitch? Walks?

It was also no surprise when fans started making their own version of the t-shirt, adopting a name for it that had you all surprised and giggly, taking to Twitter to directly fangirl with them:

Basic Fucking T-Shirt.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff one shot

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 2 Finding Out (Family/Friends)

Prev 

AO3

@maribat-bdbwm

“Mari!” Adrien yells, running past Batman to sweep her up in a hug. Marinette’s face instantly heats up, but she buries herself into the hug. After all, it’s not every day she faces a supervillain determined to kill her with a dangerous weapon...without her suit, anyway.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Marinette reassures him, relishing in the comfort. A cleared throat makes her jump back and look at Batman who, despite clearing his throat and cutting off the most amazing hug ever, has no emotions on his face. Whatsoever. Cause that’s not intimidating or anything.

“The police will need your statement, Miss Dupain Cheng.” Batman says. Marinette nods, squeaking when Adrien reaches down and entwines his fingers with hers. Following Batman’s directions to the awaiting police, Marinette feels nerves flood her systerm as she sees the sheer number of officers on the other side of the door. Sucking in a deep breath, she feels Adrien squeeze her hand. Shooting him a thankful smile, Marinette uses her unattached hand to open the door and step out into the mess of personnel. A man with a mustache and square glasses steps forward immediately, his hand extended.

“Hello Miss Dupain Cheng. I’m Commissioner Jim Gordon. We were in communication with Batman while he was inside so we heard some of what happened. Would you be comfortable telling us what happened? We can get you checked over by paramedics first, if you want.” Commissioner Gordon says.

“Oh, no, no. I’m fine. I don’t-” She starts to say, but a gruff voice cuts her off.

“She should be examined immediately, Gordon. She may have inhaled smoke from the smoke bombs due to proximity. She also could have burns to her face or ears from Joker’s gun. He shot it and then proceeded to prod her with it.” Batman says, the last part of his ‘report’ slightly more gruff than the first. Was he…..worried about her? Marinette shakes that thought off almost immediately. Why would Batman be worried about her? Wait, was he really going to make her see the paramedics when all she wanted to do was talk to the officers so she could get back to the trip?

“I assure you, Monsieur Batman, Monsieur Gordon, I don’t need to see the paramedics. I’m a little shaky, but that’s all. I mean, I was held at gunpoint. I think shaky is appropriate, non?” Marinette asks, flashing the two a bright smile. Gordon raises an eyebrow and glances at Batman who shakes his head stiffly.

“She gets examined.” He says, leaving no room for questions as he pulls his grappling hook (?!?!) out and retreats to the rooftop.

“You heard the man. We can talk as you’re examined, if you’d prefer. I’m sure you just want to put this whole business behind you.” Commissioner Gordon says kindly. Marinette sighs in relief and nods, smiling again at the man. Hopefully this would be taken care of quickly. --- Bruce Wayne was slightly panicking, though he would never admit it. When reports of the Joker being spotted at the Gotham City Museum of Modern Art first rolled in, he assumed his biggest challenge would be keeping Jason from murdering the clown. He did not expect to see a small girl being held at gunpoint. A girl who looked like a strange mix between his mother, and someone else. But he couldn’t place his- of course. Memories flood his mind as he thinks back to the woman who was so clearly related to the small girl. Bridgette Le. A woman that he, at one time, thought he would be able to spend the rest of his life with. Until she left Gotham and cut off all contact between the two. Oh god. She wouldn’t….would she? --- “I don’t understand why that older paramedic looked like she’d seen a ghost.” Marinette says with a pout as she continues working on the embroidery for a jacket for Jagged. Design never sleeps.

“What d’ya mean?” Adrien asks from his nest of blankets on her bed. Marinette tries to focus on keeping her blush down. Apparently, the attack at the museum had scared Adrien more than her, though she imagined he was scared on her behalf. But she couldn’t quite understand why...nevertheless, he had become attached at her hip and hadn’t left her side since they got back to the hotel. Even though all she really wanted was a little alone time to talk to Tikki. Especially about the chance of the Miraculous Cure working here. Maybe if she was in the battle…

“Didn’t you notice? He was fine til he looked into my eyes and then he got super pale. He looked like he was going to say something, but Monsieur Gordon stopped him before he could.” Marinette recounts, remembering the way the paramedic had to switch out since his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I didn’t notice that. That’s weird. Anything else happen like that today?” Adrien asks, finally sitting up and giving her his full attention. Marinette pauses her stitching and purses her lips as she runs the days events back through her head. The paramedic. Batman. Joker. Arriving late to the museum. The cab ride. Being left at the hotel. Coffee-

“Well,” Marinette starts, furrowing her eyebrows as she tries to rationalize the man’s actions in addition to the actions of the paramedic. But something wasn’t adding up. “There was my cab ride to the museum.”

“What happened? Was someone creepy? I can fight them for you!” Adrien offers, a little too cheery. Marinette freezes as she studies his face, searching for something. Adrien had been off all day. More protective than he’d been in awhile. And the few times Lila had spoken, he had scowled at her instead of ignored her. Was he finally coming around to the idea that the high road would not work with Lila? Pushing those thoughts off for another time, Marinette shakes her head.

“No, no. Nothing like that. But as I was leaving, he called me Miss Wayne.” Marinette admits, not expecting Adrien’s uncontrollable laughter.

“He, you, oh my god!” He laughs, clutching his sides. Marinette’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as she sets the jacket down on the desk.

“What?” She asks, completely and totally frustrated with the situation. Adrien laughs for another minute before calming down, wiping tears from his eyes and shooting her a blinding smile. Not his model smile. An actual smile that warms her heart and her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Mari. It’s just, I think he was referring to the fact that you look like the typical kid Bruce Wayne adopts.” Adrien says and Marinette’s blood freezes.

“Did you say Bruce Wayne?” Marinette asks and Adrien nods, his previous mirth wiped from his face.

“Yeah, Mari, are you okay?” He asks. Marinette nods, then shakes her head, then groans and throws up her arms in frustration.

“I don’t know! I just- you remember how I told you I’m adopted?” She asks. Adrien nods, then stops. A look of mixed terror and awe flooding his face.

“Oh god, Mari. You never told me the name. Your birth father-”

“His name is Bruce Wayne. But there’s gotta be hundreds if not thousands of Bruce Waynes in the US right?” Marinette asks, even as her hope in that idea dwindles.

“The US? He’s confirmed from the US?” Adrien asks, already pulling out his phone.

“Yes. Adrien, what are you doing?” She asks, suddenly worried as she jumps onto the bed next to him, desperately trying to see his phone.

“I’m googling Bruce Wayne and Bridgette Le as a combined search. Wayne is one of the most prominent figures in Gotham, all of his previous relationships have photographic evidence. Except for whoever the mother of his youngest is. But that’s probably because he wasn’t in the country at that time.” Adrien says, typing away furiously on his phone. Marinette’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement.

“Since when were you a master researcher?” She asks with a grin.

“Since one of my best friends found out she’s adopted and it could be the man who hosts the only palatable high society parties. Seriously. And they’d be much better if you were there and-holy shit. Your bio mom looks just like you!” Adrien exclaims, turning the phone to her. Marinette inhales deeply and thanks whatever power there is that she’s not in Paris right now. The emotions running over her at an indescribable speed...not all of them are positive. And they’re all overwhelming as she looks at a picture that very clearly shows her bio mom with Bruce Wayne. As in the Gotham Bruce Wayne. Not a different unknown Bruce Wayne across the country somewhere. Nope. A man who is apparently prominent enough that Monsieur Agreste makes his son go to the man’s parties.

“I don’t suppose she just had a type for men named Bruce Wayne?” Marinette says weakly. This was not what she expected. --- This was exactly what he expected. Looking at the birth records for one Marinette Le, where he’s noted as the father. Though why he wasn’t notified before the girl’s custody was signed over to Sabine Cheng, he’ll never understand. His jaw clenches as he continues reading, eyes scanning over Bridgette’s death certificate before glancing back at Marinette’s birth certificate. A daughter. He had a daughter. Another child that he would never be able to hold when they were small. Another child that grew up without him. Another child that he didn’t meet until they were already a person. Someone with their own experiences individual from his own, someone that may not even know he had found them. And that he wanted nothing more than to get to know someone who was brave enough to stand between the Joker and her friends. Someone who was determined not to let what should have been the most traumatic experience in her life be a set back. He had a daughter. And he wanted to meet her.

***

Next

Note, my headcannon is that the paramedic that panicked did so because he was one of the first responders the night that the Waynes were murdered. And while she looks a lot like her birth mom, Marinette also definitely has Martha Wayne’s eyes and the paramedic could NOT deal. Also, let me know if you want tagged!

Tag List: @jjmjjktth

#maribat bruce wayne #maribat #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #mbdbwm2021 #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat adrien agreste #day two family/friends

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

“You will learn to love me.” - With Heisenberg and restorator darling, please? Perhaps when this is her first experience?

Heisenberg/F!Darling: "You'll learn to love me."

TW: Dubcon, loss of virginity, forced marriage

Weddings were usually a joyous affair. Gorgeous dresses, dancing and enjoying your loved ones' company, celebrating the life you wanted to share with your one-and-only... ____'s wedding was not at all like what she or her family might have hoped it would be. For one thing, none of them even knew where she was; she'd spent the last few months trapped by the terrifying man who'd kidnapped her from the Romanian wilderness, a man named Heisenberg who had a gift with metal that bordered on supernatural. As a restorator she would've been fascinated if she wasn't terrified of what he could do with that power of his, especially when his "work" littered his factory with corpses and their scattered body parts. The only other company she had were the wolflike monsters and patchwork creations that followed Heisenberg's orders.

He'd actually bothered to get a wedding dress for her, an admittedly beautiful traditional gown made by the women in the village. The delicate lace along the sleeves and the vibrant embroidered flowers and patterns on the vest looked so out of place in the dusty and rusted-out factory. The villagers were eager to celebrate their Lord's marriage and hadn't stopped sending flowers, pastries, clothing, and handmade talismans for long-life/love/fertility to the outskirts of Heisenberg's property until he'd stationed some of the Lycans to scare off the throngs of annoying worshippers and well-wishers. ____ didn't know if it was better or worse that Heisenberg and her would be the only ones at the wedding; she was terrified of being alone with him, but the way the villagers stared at her and threw themselves to the ground while reverently calling her "Lady Heiseberg" left her uncomfortable to say the least.

____ stared at her reflection in the mirror and tried her best to prepare herself for what was to come. I can still try to escape, but...being his wife just makes it feel more hopeless. She bit the inside of her cheek and glared at the reflection of her dress through her veil. I'll have to be tied to him, even if I'm being forced to say those fucking vows to always stay with him until "death to us part."

She didn't hate him, at least not as much as she did when he'd first taken her. She definitely feared him, but that was just common sense when your captor has an army of corpse-machines, werewolves, and can control electricity and metal with his mind. He'd been more accommodating than he'd expected for a kidnapper. He had been sexually forceful sometimes whenever he groped her or turned her head to kiss her, or lightly rutted against her body when the two of them slept in the same bed. But he'd also given her a room to herself, and insisted on not forcing himself on her completely until he'd made her his wife--another reason she was dreading this day. He'd appreciated her restoration skills and the two of them had actually shared some enjoyable conversations while spending time in his workshop. And he was fiercely protective of her when it came to his equally monstrous siblings and mother. Part of it seemed to be selfishness, not wanting them to go after HIS woman, but he'd consoled her after that wretched little doll of Lady Beneviento's had insisted on "playing" with her by chasing her and tearing at the flesh and skin of her legs. His voice had been soft when he'd promised to not let anyone hurt her, and having him hold her was comforting.

The sound of her bedroom door opening snapped ____ out of her thoughts, and she saw Heisenberg walk into the room. He wasn't wearing his usual trenchcoat, and instead had on an outfit that ____ had never seen him in before: a black vest with similar embroidery to her own outfit, along with a white blouse underneath with fur-trimmed black sleeves. His pants were also black, save for the bit of dust around the hem from walking around the factory. His shoes were made from dark leather and had the same fur trim as his shirtsleeves and the inside of ____'s vest. His signature sunglasses were absent, and his hair was freshly washed and combed.

Heisenberg stared at ____ for a moment, looking her up and down as she stood in her wedding clothes. He had seen what they'd looked like folded up and hanging in her closet, but it was nothing compared to her wearing them. He wasn't used to seeing something so delicate and beautiful, especially in his factory. "Everything's ready," he said. He put one arm around ____'s waist and kept a gentle yet firm grip around her. "Since Miranda gave us her 'blessing' beforehand, we don't need to have her here to watch and attend in all her glory," he quipped. "God knows that bitch would ruin this whole thing just by being here."

____ let Heisenberg lead her to his own room, where a small leather box lay on his bedside table. He used his powers to shut and lock the door behind ____ while he went to grab the box. "I don't have much from my real family," Heisenberg said, carefully opening the lid. The inside was lined with cloth, and inside was a pair of exquisite wedding bands. There were some signs of age in the metal, but the small opalescent jewel nestled in the center of the bridal ring shone as if it had been polished just yesterday. The other ring was less flashy, with the only flair being am etched ridge in the shape of a mountain on the top, inlaid with gold. "This ring's one of the only things I've got from them." He took the groom's ring and slipped it on his own finger. "I want to say it was one of my great uncles who made it? One of them was a jeweler, I think." He shrugged and held his hand out to admire how it looked. "My mom slipped them into my things after Miranda's people had come to take me and my cousins away. I think she knew it'd be the last time she saw all of us together."

____ noticed the strange tone in Heisenberg's voice as he recalled his last memory with his family. She'd never heard him reminisce about them before; with how far-off and melancholy he sounded, she knew why it wasn't something he discussed that often. Just as she was about to try to say something to try and comfort him, he took the bride's ring with one hand and slipped the box into his pocket. He took ____'s hand and squeezed it. "There's no set of vows we have to take," he explained with a half-smile. "One of the perks of being royalty in this shit hole is anything you do is fine, no matter how informally you do it. Not like the villagers are gonna complain about us not following all the traditions, so it saves a lot of time. But..." Heisenberg stared intensely at her as he slipped the ring onto her trembling finger. "One day, you'll learn to love me. I promise that."

____'s hand felt as if it were chained to a sinking weight, pulling her through the ground and crushing her. There was no way out. She'd be "married" to this man who'd ruined her life, isolated from the rest of the world and completely at his mercy. Her heart leaped into her throat and she suddenly felt a rush of dizziness; she stumbled forward and Heisenberg caught her, helping her back upright and holding her in his arms. He brushed her clothed hip with his thumb and then lifted her veil to fully reveal her face. Before ____ knew it, Heisenberg's lips were against hers as he tilted her head back slightly to deepen the kiss.

Heisenberg ran his fingers through her hair as he lowered her onto his bed. ____'s heart raced and panic ran up and down her spine as she lay on the bed. He was taking off his shoes, unbuttoning his vest...reaching down to take off her veil. "K-Karl," she stammered, "I'm not...I've--"

"Never done this before?" He rested one hand on her vest before unbuttoning the golden clasps and sliding it off of her shoulders while she just tried her best to stay still. "I figured as much." Heisenberg smirked and moved one hand underneath the skirt of her dress, creeping up her thighs and stopping just inches from her panties. "You always get that funny little look on your face whenever I touch you for a bit in bed, almost like you're feeling a certain way for the first time. Wouldn't surprise me if you've never even touched yourself."

Goosebumps rose on ____'s legs as Heisenberg ghosted his fingers over her pubic mound, and she looked away as she rubbed her thighs together. Was she really THAT obvious about it? "I know I can't stop you," she said quietly. She bit her lip and tears welled up in her eyes as she tried her hardest to not envision what ____ was about to do to her. Maybe he'd start to tire of her once he finally fucked her and got what he really wanted, and he'd let her go. Would she get blood on the sheets and her dress when he entered her? Would he even care? She could already feel his cock prodding her through his pants; it was a strange, foreign presence that filled her with dread. She knew that some men had penises so large that they could fill someone up all the way to their cervix...just how painful was this going to be once he took all of his clothes off? How harsh would he be now that he didn't feel the need to be so accommodating and kind once he finally claimed her?

____ sniffled and looked up at Heisenberg pitifully. "Please be gentle," she begged. "I don't want...I know it can hurt a lot during your first time, so just..."

Heisenberg cocked his head slightly and rested his fingers on the flesh of her right thigh. "It can hurt if you don't do it right," he replied, sounding a little confused. "What, you think I'm just gonna whip my cock out, go in dry, and finish after a few pumps?"

____ looked up at him, not sure of what to say. "You want to f-fuck me, don't you?" She sounded more confused than accusatory. "That's why you kidnapped me. That's why you've tried to be nice to me and make me trust you." Her shoulders drooped slightly and she clenched her jaw. "I just figured that you wouldn't care that much about...about making me feel good, at least not as much as yourself."

Heisenberg's brows furrowed, but only for a moment before leaning down to kiss her again. ____'s eyes widened at just how gentle this kiss was compared to the one he'd given her after slipping his ring on her finger. "I didn't kidnap you just to be a cocksleeve," he replied with a slightly disappointed frown. He caressed the inside of her thigh and trailed his lips down to her collarbone. "If I wanted that, I would've just raped you the first night you were here." ____ moaned softly as he moved one hand underneath her blouse to massage her breast, and a sudden rush of heat pooled between her legs as he used his other hand to play with an extra-sensitive bundle of nerves through her underwear.

"Kidnapping you doesn't really help my case," he said begrudgingly, "But I do love you, you know. As much as I can love anyone after the shit I've been through." He toyed with her nipple and smiled when he felt her hips rock a bit as he circled around her clit through her panties. "You're not my whore, you're my wife. So tell me what you want, and how you want it. And I'll give it to you."

____'s entire body felt so warm underneath her wedding dress. The places he was touching her felt so tingly, just like how they did whenever he groped her before tonight. Somehow though, this was different. Her fear wasn't as prevalent and the heat bubbling up underneath her skin wasn't from shame. This felt gentler. This felt good. So, so good. He wasn't lying to her about doing whatever SHE wanted; for once, she felt like she had a semblance of control while in bed with him--previously her kidnapper, but now her husband.

____'s voice was breathier than she expected whenever she spoke again. "C-could...could you put your mouth on me?" She rested one shaky hand by her chest on top of his own. "On my breasts, where your hand is right now. I want to f-feel more of...of this." She was struggling to articulate just what she was feeling and what she wanted, but Heisenberg just grinned as if he'd heard her loud and clear. When he lifted her thin white blouse over her head, leaving her in just her skirt, panties, and stockings, he immediately latched onto her right breast while he continued to play with her left nipple. ____ gasped and bucked her hips as he swirled his tongue around the pebble of flesh; his stubble grazed her soft skin, and the texture made her shiver.

Heisenberg finally moved his lips back with a small pop and switched to her other breast while he circled even faster around her clitoris and occasionally stroked the damp spot around her cunt's lips. "Can you feel how wet you are down here?" He chuckled and hooked one finger around the waistband of her panties before pulling them off of her completely. "I definitely won't hurt you if you're dripping like this from just my fingers." He slowly inserted his middle finger inside of her tight walls and eagerly looked at her face as she moaned and moved her hips to take even more of his hand. "Does it hurt, honey?"

"Ah, n-no..." ____ had never felt so hot and lightheaded and FULL. There was a stretch, but it wasn't painful; if anything, she wanted to feel more and more of it. "It feels good, so good..." Heisenberg curled his finger inside of her and laughed again at how his wife cried out in pleasure, practically shoving her pelvis forward to fuck herself on his hand while her pussy clenched around him. "More, more, please! That felt even better, do it again--o-or, or put another finger inside, or your whole hand or your cock or--"

Heisenberg shushed her and slightly increased his pace as he slipped another finger inside of her. "Easy, tiger," he teased with a smile. "I'm not using my cock until you cum at LEAST once on my hand. I haven't even gotten to taste you yet!"

"But...don't you want to feel good t-too?"

Heisenberg felt his hard-on stabbing through his clothes as he rutted his hips against the mattress. He'd get some relief soon, but for now he wanted to show her just what she really meant to him. He could fill her up with his cum and fuck her silly later--right now, he wanted to make sure his perfect little wife enjoyed every single second of her wedding night the way she deserved.

This WAS a celebration of their love, after all.

#.re8 #.heisenberg #yandere re8 #yandere heisenberg #virginity kink #tw: dubcon #.myshit #.queue #fem darling

[fific7]

Unexpected - Part 1

King Caspian x Reader

Summary: What happens if you push the respectful and well-behaved King Caspian a little too far? You’re about to find out.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly a mix of fluff and angst with some lemon zest 🍋 Friends to Lovers AU.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including debatable consent at first, loss of virginity and oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My video edit)

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You and every unwed woman in Narnia knew that the handsome King Caspian was being pressured by his advisors to find a Queen for himself.

Most knew that to become Queen of Narnia would be unattainable for them - no doubt that would be some Princess from another country - and you had no illusions about your own chances. Your father was one of the lords at court and owned a large amount of land near Cair Paravel, but you were not a Royal so you were sure you’d never be considered.

You and Caspian had been friendly when you were younger but you doubted he’d remember you, so much had happened between then and now.

You’d been restless at home recently, mainly because your parents had started speaking of finding you a husband. Appalled, you’d pestered, pleaded with and finally persuaded your father to arrange for you to see Professor Cornelius as you wanted something with which to fill your days instead of playing the piano, embroidery and reading.

Cornelius had suggested you come to work with him as his research assistant, and you’d leapt at the chance. It also meant that you would live at Cair Paravel, away from the slightly smothering atmosphere at home. Your mother had not spoken to you for a week before you left (or your father, whom she blamed for setting up the interview in the first place). But she’d reluctantly accepted that you were flying the nest, however you’d had to endure an extremely long lecture about how you should behave while living away from home.

It seemed that you would be able to eat, drink, speak and bathe and not much else.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

King Caspian made his way to Cornelius’ study, knocking once before entering. The older man looked up at him, smiling and greeting him. Caspian threw himself into the chair in front of the desk, having lifted three books from it first.

“You are in need of some time away from your advisors, Caspian?”

The King nodded, running his hands over his face. “They just go on and on and on about how I need a wife and an heir. I am sure I will find a wife one day but I have other things I wish to concentrate on at the moment.” “Your next voyage?” Caspian nodded, “Yes. There is still much to do. The construction of the Dawn Treader is well under way, but I have an itinerary to decide upon and courses to plot.”

“I have a new research assistant starting tomorrow, I am sure she will be able to help you with that. She is well read and knowledgeable of the many other lands you may wish to visit.” Caspian looked up quickly at him, “She?” “Yes, she is my Lord Tirian’s daughter.” Caspian smiled, “I remember her. We played silly games together when we were young, whenever her father brought her to the castle. It will be so nice to see her again.”

Cornelius, hiding a smile, replied, “Oh, I think you will be very pleased to see her again, my King.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Feeling nervous for some reason, you tapped on Cornelius’ door and heard “Come in” in response. Stepping into the room, you were amazed at the numbers of books, manuscripts and charts which occupied the small room. You could hardly see the diminutive Cornelius in amongst it all, and he saw you taking in the piles stacked everywhere.

He chuckled, “Yes, there are too many, my dear. I’m hoping you can help me catalogue and store them as I confess the situation is getting out of control.” You bowed your head to him, “I’ll be happy to assist, Professor Cornelius.” “I’m so glad to hear that. On another note, the King is looking forward to meeting you again. I’d quite forgotten until I spoke to him about you that you were childhood friends.” You smiled, “Well, I’m not sure the King would have actually called me his friend as such, but we did spend happy hours playing hide and seek and pretending to fight dragons.”

Cornelius nodded, “He remembers those times fondly, my lady. He was not allowed to play with many other children, and I’m certain he considered you a friend of his. Come, let us go and reintroduce you to each other.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Caspian looked up from the document he was reading at his desk. There had been a sharp knock at the door of his chambers and then it had opened, Cornelius striding into the room with another person following him. He was transfixed as he looked upon the grown-up face of his childhood playmate. He stood and walked around the desk towards the two of them, whispering her name as she curtsied in front of him.

He was still staring at her. Cornelius cleared his throat seeing that the young King was lost for words, but Caspian ignored him as he heard her soft voice, “It is so nice to see you again, your Majesty.” “Caspian,” he said immediately, “we never called each other anything except our first names, did we?” She was smiling up at him, and he was still a little overwhelmed. This was the skinny little girl he’d run about with all those years ago? Now, she was a woman - a beautiful woman. “No, Caspian, we didn’t.”

Cornelius interjected, “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted, so I’m going back to my study. Your Majesty, my lady.” He gave a small bow and left the room.

Caspian indicated the large couch by the window and she made her way to it, gathering her dress underneath her as she sat down. He sat at the other end, and without thinking he reached out and took her hand. She smiled, wrapping her fingers around his hand as they’d done so many years ago, while running headlong through the orchards next to the castle.

“I’m so very sorry about your father, Caspian. He was always so kind to me. You must miss him dreadfully.” Caspian looked down quickly and she heard him say quietly, “Thank you. Yes, I miss him every minute of every day.” He met her eyes once more, “But we were able to right the wrongs done to him and Narnia, for which I am very grateful.” She smiled at him again, “And here you are, a King! My childhood friend. I really didn’t think you’d remember me.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Caspian’s dark brown eyes gazed into yours and he held your hand even tighter. “Of course I remember you! Do you think I’d forget my only friend?! Your visits and the little time we spent together made my life bearable.”

You were shocked, and felt so sad for him. “Oh, Caspian! I can’t have been your only friend, surely?” His eyes filled with tears and he looked down again, “Believe me, you were. I was so lucky that we’d met before my father died, so it would have looked strange if my uncle had banned us from meeting. He kept me totally isolated most of the time. I think he did that so people maybe wouldn’t notice when it was time to kill me.”

Cornelius hadn’t told you it had been this bad for him! Your own eyes were watering now as you thought about the hardships he’d had to face at such a young age. Without giving it much thought, you flung your arms round him and hugged him tightly. His head came to rest on your shoulder and your hand went to the back of his head, stroking his silky hair. His shoulders shook slightly and you knew he was crying, so you just held him until he was ready to sit back from you. He stood up abruptly and turned to look out of the window, a hand swiftly wiping his cheeks dry.

He gave a choked laugh, “I’m so sorry, this was supposed to be a happy reunion and we are both crying,” looking down at you as you also wiped tears away. “I’m sorry, Caspian. I mentioned your father and perhaps I shouldn’t have?” He shook his head, “No, I’m glad that you did. And at least we have now spoken of his passing and can remember and talk about happier times.” You smiled at him, “Yes, I shall enjoy that. Although maybe I should speak firstly about how worried I was on the occasion we came to visit, and you were not there. I asked as many guards and lords as I could where you were, but I was told to stop being a nosy child. My father would say nothing to me either, despite my tantrums!”

Caspian burst out laughing, “Oh I remember your tantrums so well! I’m impressed he didn’t give in to you in the face of one of those!” You slapped him lightly on the arm, also laughing, “Caspian! You’re supposed to be my friend!” He became serious again, “I most certainly am. I’m overjoyed to have you back in my life. So much has happened in the past few years, and there has been so much to do, but rest assured I would have tracked you down eventually.” His hand went to your face, stroking your cheek gently and you felt your breath catch. He looked so handsome. Very much a man now, rather than the adolescent boy you’d once known.

His head moved much closer to yours, and you thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Caspian suddenly realised what he was about to do, and pulled back sharply. He should not kiss her.

They’d only just met again, but he knew that all his feelings for her were still there. He’d just pushed them down, deep deep down, so that he could carry out what he’d needed to do for Narnia and for his father’s memory.

He’d been in love with her when he was a boy, and now that he was a man - he knew that he still loved her. He’d nearly passed out when he’d seen her again today after being apart from her for so long. All those suppressed feelings had come raging back through his veins in an instant, overwhelming, all-consuming, setting his mind and body alight with a burning passion.

But she’d said he was her friend. So he doubted that she felt the same kind of love for him that he felt for her. He must bear that in mind and act accordingly, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t the case.

Stepping back from her, he let his hand fall from her face and smiled sadly at her.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

#ben barnes #king caspian #king caspian x reader #king caspian fan fiction #king caspian imagine #king caspian fanfic #narnia #voyage of the dawn treader

[margoshansons]

Alina’s Keftas: An Analysis

So I used to be a costume designer, which means that I pay very close attention to movies and tv shows, specifically their costumes (duh), and I noticed a few cool things about Alina’s keftas in the first season of Shadow and Bone and wanted to share them with you.

(tagging @kazinejghafa​ cause she wanted to see it!)

Let’s start with her blue kefta, the one she wears the most:

Right away, I already notice quite a few things. One, her color blue is a lot darker and richer than Zoya’s and the other Summoners. It’s a way to make her stand out among the Etheralki more than she already does. We know that Alina just wants to be seen as normal and equal, especially when she’s already ostracized for being Shu, but she's already set up to fail because of the color of her kefta.

Number two, Her kefta is made out of silk, while the others are made out of wool. We know that it’s wintertime in Ravka and we also know that many of Grisha eventually go to the front as part of the Second Army, usually wearing wool to protect themselves from the cold. But the choice to make Alina’s kefta silk implies that she was never seen as a soldier by the Darkling, the King, or the Grisha. She’s a figurehead, something to point at and give the people hope. As soon as she was given her blue kefta she wasn’t a soldier anymore, she became a saint. 

Third, the kefta does not fit Alina at all. The belt isn’t tight enough, the shoulder seams are lower and don't line up, it’s baggy and ill-fitting. She looks like she’s drowning in it. This is to perpetuate the idea that Alina doesn’t belong among the Grisha yet. She doesn’t feel like she’s one of them and she’s still clinging onto the hope that Mal will show up and she’ll return to the First Army. Alina doesn’t feel like she fits in, and so her kefta doesn’t fit her either. 

Also, the colors of her kefta are unique as well. I know according to the books that Blue is the Etheralki color and gold embroidery is for Sun Summoners, but there’s also another connection there. Blue and Yellow are the colors of the Ravka Royal Family. In a way, through wearing that kefta, Alina is pledging allegiance to the King outright. It’s a sign to anyone that Alina is under the King’s protection, that she’s granted the protection she is because she made her promise to destroy the fold to the King. She’s doing it out of love for her country.

Alright, now let's move onto one of my favorite keftas: the Black Kefta.

(Holy shit she looks so pretty)

First thing first, obvious color change. The Blue is gone and replaced by Black, symbolizing her shifting allegiance from the King to the Darkling. She’s not longer destroying the Fold for Ravka, she’s destroying it because it’s what the Darkling wants and she feels as if he’s the one that’s given her new purpose. She’s left the First Army behind and fully embraced her role as a Grisha. 

Because as we can see, this kefta fits perfectly. 

The shoulder seams line up, the belt cinches directly around her waist, and it looks tailored to her own measurements. But her kefta is still Silk. She’s not seen as a soldier she’s still seen as a figurehead, something that people cannot relate to. 

One thing I also want to touch on is the embroidery and the length. This kefta is clearly more elaborate than any of the other ones she wears. The golden embroidery reminds me of a couple things, around the collar it almost resembles a lion’s mane, and lions are often seen as symbols of majesty, strength and courage as well as military might. Alina herself is reveling in her own majesty and strength here, as well as showing off the new military might of the Second Army through her demonstration. 

Then the embroidery spreads out down her sleeves almost resembling flames. Now this could be a reference to sun itself and it probably is, but those who read the books know that there is a certain creature with flaming wings that becomes very very important later on, which I believe this is referencing. 

The embroidery itself is also symbolizing Alina’s power. The gold embroidery against the black is her Sun Summoning abilities breaking through the Fold, tearing it apart. It also symbolizes the slow way she’s breaking through The Darkling’s demeanor. She has the power here, not him.

The length is also important to note here, because this kefta is much longer than her other ones. If I’m remembering correctly it touches the floor, which, again, differentiates her from other Grisha because theirs fall to their knees or their shins. It can also be seen as The Darkling trying to make Alina seem older than she is, as length (especially in fantasy) is often used to show how old or young a woman is in society. 

Finally (I could literally talk about this kefta all day) I’m gonna touch on the neckline because it is so different from anything else we see. EXCEPT for the Darkling.

The collar is obviously much shorter here, but my point still stands. It’s a connection between these two. And knowing that the Darkling commissioned the kefta himself, it’s deliberate. He’s claiming Alina. It’s also important to note that this is the first time we see Alina without the standard undershirt and turtleneck that comes with the keftas. She’s letting the audience and the Darkling know that she’s vulnerable now. She’s opening herself up, and she’s doing it under the careful manipulation of the Darkling.

Alina’s collar also reminds me of Elizabeth the First and the Elizabethan Era with those stiff necked collars. It’s reminiscent of royalty.

Also! One last thing, I love that this kefta looks the most Eastern in style. It reminds me of a kimono and other traditional asian clothing moreso than the other keftas. 

Finally, we are discussing the golden kefta.

I love this kefta because it mirrors the black one in every way. 

The length is the same, the Darkling still trying to convince both Alina and himself that she’s older than she actually is, that she’s more mature than she is. BUT MY FAVORITE THING IS THAT THE BELT IS IDENTICAL TO THE ONE SHE WORE AT THE FETE.

It’s the same circumstances, a show of military power, but she is not the one in control here. It’s a direct callback to the last time Alina felt powerful and strong, except now the circumstances have completely switched and she’s under someone else’s control. The last time she wore this belt she was someone’s equal, now she’s their slave. 

Also the colors have been completely reversed. I talked a little bit about how the gold on black was symbolic of Alina’s power and control over her situation. How it symbolized the light spreading through the darkness and destroying the Fold and breaking through The Darkling’s hard heart. But here it’s the opposite. 

The black embroidery almost looks malevolent, spreading and infecting the golden light. The Shadows are creeping through and slowly overtaking Alina just like her light was overtaking the Darkling. The lion symbolism is gone, the firebird symbolism is gone, all we see is black tendrils of shadow reaching out and infecting Alina and her powers. The Darkling is claiming her again, but in a much more malevolent way. 

He’s saying “I have corrupted her, she is no longer in power, I am.”

Also again, we have the open neckline, except this one is more westernized. The angular neckline, the lack of a collar or protection. She is completely vulnerable and at the mercy of the Darkling, a white man (synonymous with western power). It’s showing off her amplifier, it’s showing off the Darkling’s claim over her. Almost like a brand or a dog collar. This open neckline is the Darkling’s way of saying “See those antlers? That means she’s mine. I own her.” It’s disgusting and fucked up but it works.

And again, Alina is in silk, not wool. She’s not being taken seriously as a soldier, just a figurehead at the mercy of the highest bidder. First it was the King, now it’s the Darkling. The silk has become symbolic of how she has no real power of her own, that she’s doomed forever to be an outsider among the Grisha. 

Which makes it all the more powerful when she takes it back.

Also HER HAIR! I could do a whole other post about her hair but this is already getting too long hahaha.

I hope you enjoyed this deep dive into Alina’s keftas from a Comm Major who has wayyyy too much time on her hands haha.

#shadow and bone #SaB #grishaverse meta #shadow and bone meta #alina starkov #the darkling #alina starkov meta #costume meta #shadow and bone costumes #grishaverse

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

My loves, this is the end of AFA & I can't tell you how sad I am for this little story to be over :( There are a couple of people I need to thank so bear with me...Amy (@footballffbarbiex) for making me believe I could write this and that people will want to read it, thank you forever. Em (@emwritesfootball) for being my fabulous proof reader and always being there for me to bounce ideas off of, thank you. And to allllllllllll of you who read, like, reblog and message me - THANK YOU I LOVE YOU!!! Ok enough with my Oscar's speech, please enjoy la parte finale. Love always, Steph xx

Part 12 | la parte finale

warnings; none - except maybe tears because this is the final part :( word count; 2367 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

The end of the international break had approached both squads with rapid speed, before they knew it the 3 weeks was up and it was time for their final friendly match before returning to club duties. It was a rematch of the European final from just a few months earlier, only this time - it was being played in Rome. Preparing her team to meet their opponents had been a bit trickier than last time. Of course, the boys were fired up and raring to go, but the bitterness and anger that drove her to push them harder last time wasn’t there. They were now going up against some of her closest friends as well as her family.

In a strange moment of deja vu, Amelia looked down the tunnel as both teams lined up side by side to walk out onto the pitch together. Just like the last time, her father passed her and gave her a reassuring rub to the back of her neck and made his way down through the centre aisle with his staff. Following him, and just like last time, she made her way down whilst pressing a kiss to both cheeks of her Italian men. Reaching her brother, she pressed a kiss to his cheek also, however unlike the last time he gave her a wink back. The atmosphere was different this time, it was a friendly game and there was no title at stake here - only pride. This time, however, as she passed the Three Lions Number 21, her right hand found his left one for just a moment, before giving it a gentle squeeze and continuing down her own line. He had maintained his focus forward, didn’t even blink at the girl’s actions, and by the time she got to Fede who had been watching the encounter she had made her mind up that he wanted nothing to do with her.

This friendly-match had Amelia in a bundle of nerves, dissimilar to the euro final, Amelia was confident in her ability purely due to the fact that she was well prepared. This time however, whilst she was just as well-prepared as last time, she also knew that a fair few English players had adopted her playing style as their own and knew the kind of tactic required to stop the Italian attack and penetrate the great wall of Rome: Chiellini and Bonucci. This, coupled with the fact that both sides seemed to be playing with a touch more aggression than she expected, led to her being on the edge of her seat for most of the game. A late first half goal from Jorginho had her up out of her seat, cheering for the midfield maestro. However, it was a late second half goal that had her smiling from ear to ear, whilst trying to remember to keep her bum in her chair - she wasn’t supposed to be cheering for the enemy after all. How could she not though? Ben Chilwell had scored the equaliser. Using the play they had spent so many hours perfecting, just the two of them out on the pitch at Cobham. Scoring his goal, celebrating with his team and the away fans, she had clapped with an appropriate level of enthusiasm until she noticed him look her way, pull the centre of his jersey toward his face and give it a kiss. She moved her hand to touch that spot on her own jersey. Fingers running over the embroidery that she had stitched into every one of her official matchday tops, a memento to keep her family close to her heart - the embroidery featured the word ‘WHITE’ followed by the colours of the italian flag. For this match however, she had something extra added. Did Ben know about her newest addition?

After the match.

“Chilwell! Wait Up!” Federico Bernardeschi called down the tunnel whilst jogging to catch up with his opposition player.

“Can I give you some advice? Don’t let her go. I did, and whilst it was the right thing for me to do, it's something I regret deeply. You don’t realise just how much she adds to your life until she's gone. You’ll come to realise that she is the sunshine after any storm, but she is also the storm itself. Any day without her is a little less bright.”

In a moment of vulnerability, Ben decided to open up to the man that he didn’t know more than a bar of soap, who was coincidentally the same man who knew all there was to know about Amelia.

“She really is sunshine personified, isn’t she?” Ben smiled at the thought of the girl, thinking back on all of the laughs that they shared together in Mykonos.

“Normally yes, but these past few weeks that she has been without you she has been a little less bright. You complete her, whether she has realised yet I’m not sure but I am sure that she misses you. I think more than she ever missed me.”

“Ben, there are two kinds of compliments you can give a woman. The first, something she already thinks about herself but needs reconfirmed. The second, the things she doesn’t think anyone else notices about her. The second kind matters more.”

“You like because, and you love despite. Think about that Ben.”

“I don’t know if I love her, yet.”

“I think you do know. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked the kitman for a little something extra on tonight's jersey.”

“What are you talking about? How do you know?”

“Ah, Benjamin, a good spy never tells his secrets” With that, Federico continued his walk back to the changerooms. “She’s out on the pitch, Ben.” He called without looking back, confident that the player was already making his way out there.

Walking up to the centre circle, where Amelia was currently sitting down on the pitch with her arms behind her and her legs stretched out in front. Taking in the atmosphere of Stadio Olympico in Rome, her favourite stadium in the world. What surprised her the most was just how quickly Stamford Bridge had crept itself up the ranks and into the second spot of her heart.

Without wanting to startle her, Ben started talking to her from a few meters away - not bothered about the few lingering souls out and about. This was his time to make her his, and nothing was going to get in his way.

“You know, a wise person once said to me that you like someone because, but you love them despite” He called out to her.

Turning around, she was surprised to see him. After the cold shoulder she received earlier she hadn’t imagined she would have the opportunity to talk to the blue-eyed beauty any time soon.

“What person was that?” She asked back, softly, not wanting to spook him off.

“Fede”

She tried to hide the shock on her face, what on earth had told her ex-lover she wanted him to talk to her current lover...if you could even call Ben that. Maybe it was more appropriate for him to be referred to as Amelia’s almost-until-she-fucked-it-lover. That was a bit long winded...maybe-lover should suffice. Whilst she was having this internal struggle, all thoughts swirling around her head, Ben had reached the centre circle and sat to the left of the girl, close enough that she could see the calmness behind his eyes.

“He’s right you know, he’s not always right but this time he definitely is. For example, he was wrong to let you go. There would be no chance in hell that I would let you slip away from me as easily as he did.

“I like you because you’re smart, so unbelievably beautiful and just as confident as anyone I've ever met. But I love you, despite the fact that you drive me mad with just how brilliant you are even if you don’t acknowledge yourself. You are destined for greatness, Amelia White. And I just hope that when you do get to where you want to be, that I'm still right there with you.”

Looking at him with tears in her eyes whilst his own were telling her that there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation behind his words. He loved her. And that's all she needed. Standing up, she pulled him up by his hands and pulled him in so close that she could feel the muscles in his back contract as he wrapped her up in a hug of his own, these were the hugs that she wished could be reserved for her. No one else needed to know the power behind these hugs, they could make her fall for him over and over again. One hand across her shoulders, the other palming the back of her head and pushing her into his chest so she could feel his heart beat - after all it beats just for her.

“Ben, why did you kiss your shirt today after you scored?” She asked the taller man as he continued to enjoy the feeling of having her back in his arms, where she belonged for all of this time.

“I wanted to feel close to you, and I thought maybe you were onto something with your superstitions”. Regrettably pulling himself away from her, he pulled off his shirt to reveal the toned skin of his chest, but also the small embroidery on the inside fabric that resembled her own...except this time it read MILS with a small Italian flag. Feeling her heart swell inside her chest, she beamed up at the man who was patiently waiting for her reaction to the gesture of love.

“I think it worked Ben” Pulling her shirt away from her chest enough that she could stretch it and show the inside fabric to him, hers reading WHITE with the Italian flag, but also a small BENJ with the British flag next to it. Her way of keeping him, and her family, close to her heart where she felt them the most.

He could only imagine that Amelia felt when reading his shirt was only a fraction of what he was feeling at that moment, for it was impossible for anyone to love someone the way that he loved her. His mum always told him not to fall for the girl who gives him butterflies, because he would be addicted to the feeling and would constantly be on the chase for it, but to fall for the girl who calmed him down, made him feel secure and like he needed her air to breathe. Butterflies were warning signs, but the sight of Amelia reminded him of seeing the light on in the hall after an away match - he was home. She was his home.

Pulling her back to his chest, except this time he was shirtless. Amelia ran her hands down his back whilst his hands settled at the base of her spine, she rested her chin on his chest and stared up at the man that her heart had grown to love. Ben moved his hands upwards until he tangled them in her wavy hair, moving his lips to cover her own. The kiss said everything they needed to share with each other. I miss you. I love you. Never leave me again.

“Oi! You two! Break it up! There are kids here!” A quick yell broke the two out of their bliss, looking over to see none other than Kyle Walker standing at the end of the tunnel, looking towards them with a mischievous look on his face.

“Kyle, cover your eyes, you’re too pure to be exposed to such adult behaviour!” And just as though God had been listening, from behind him walked out Federico, to cover the eyes of Kyle Walker. Amelia and Ben didn’t realise that the two were even remotely friendly, however they had found a mutual interest - annoying their two friends that had finally admitted their feelings to each other.

“Pipe down you two” Ben joked as the pair of them walked hand in hand towards the jokesters, Ben eventually lifting his left hand to move their entwined hands to Amelia’s left shoulder, her own right arm moving to wrap around his waist. A way he could bring her physically closer to him. Amelia not resisting the gesture, anything to feel his smooth skin against her own.

“Fede, I hope you know that I'm going to be Amelia’s maid of honor at the wedding. That's not going to be a problem for you is it?” Kyle began to seriously discuss the future event with his new Italian partner in crime.

“No Kyle, that's fine - I'm the flower boy though. Jorgi is going to pull me down the aisle in a red cart while I throw rose petals at everyone” Fede joked back, the two of them pretending that the new couple couldn’t hear them as they walked down the tunnel back to the changerooms.

“What are they like?” Ben laughed into the top of Amelia’s hair, still maintaining his grip on the girl he had been without for 3 weeks. With a grin from ear to ear, and an overwhelming feeling of love about her, Amelia stopped Ben in his tracks before the two had to go their separate ways to rejoin their respective teams.

“Just so you’re aware, I love you too. And I am so sorry for everything that I put us through these past weeks. I want you to know that i’m all in, and i’m all yours...if you’ll have me”

“Stop being a silly muppet, of course I'll have you, all of you. Even the parts that drive me insane. There is no way I am letting anyone else have you. You’re all mine, Mils”

“Glad to know the feelings mutual, Chilly”

“Oi, what did I say about that! Only friends call me Chilly...and you are not my friend”

Bursting into laughter as she tried to pull away from him, only to be pulled back and wrapped up into his arms, her head against his chest.

“I love you, Benj”

“I love you right back, Mils”

finito.

BONUS #BAMELIA MOMENT - Champions Again | di nuovo campioni

#football imagine #football fic #jadon sancho #ben chilwell #mason mount #declan rice #ben white #jack grealish #tyrone mings #kyle walker #ben chilwell imagine #jack grealish imagine #mason mount imagine #football one shot #tyrone mings imagine #x reader #a family affair fic #steph writes #stephspurs #italian national team #jorginho #federico bernardeshci #jorginho imagine #bernardeschi imagine #juventus fic #juventus imagine #italy nt imagine #england nt imagine #three lions imagine #azzurri imagine

[newtonsheffield]

I absolutely love the Bridgerton and Sons universe and am a sucker for the content cause it's so so so good❤️

Could you please do some Newton + Anthony headcons cause we all know secretly Anthony loves Newton!

And ofcourse headcons involving each of yhe the Kathony kids and Newton!

And sorry for being so demanding but also some headcons revolving around the kids meeting Einstein for the first time and how they react to it!

Honestly Newton deserves a whole fan fiction revolving around him because we all know he is the goodest boi there is❤️

Heyyyyyy!

I’m so so glad you’re enjoying this series that just seems to keep doubling in size every day and probably will for the foreseeable future I’m afraid!  So I’m splitting your request with another message I had which was very similar. Y’all really love Newton huh? Not that I’m complaining obviously I have a soft spot 789km wide for Newton. And honestly, yes, Newton deserves his own spin off series. And I desperately need there to be a B roll episode of Newton where he’s just cruising in the background while Kate and Anthony are at home. They’re lying asleep, Newton is chewing one of Anthony’s slippers. Kate is entertaining visitors in the drawing room, Newton can be seen dragging one of Anthony’s shirts down the stairs by the sleeve. You know, just Newton being a menace. 

Anyway! So Newton with the baby Bridgertons is here though you may have already seen it! 

Now let’s explore Newton + Anthony 

Anthony Bridgerton would have never in a million years said that he would be the kind of man who allowed a dog to sleep in bed with him. God, he wouldn’t even have allowed a dog in his house a month ago. But it was clear, from the very first night he slept at Kate’s flat. That Kate did allow Newton to sleep on her bed. Indeed, that first Sunday morning he’d woken Kate pressed against front, her nose pressed against his neck, the sunlight pouring in as he looked up. And then he saw Newton sitting on the bed behind Kate eyeing him very carefully. And Anthony had the oddest feeling that he was being assessed and he’d felt more than a little startled, unsure exactly what to do beyond saying Good Morning Newton. Do you... Do you want some food? You’ll have to show me where your Mother keeps it. He’d sat up slightly trying not to jostle Kate who surprised him by letting out a little chuckle, clearly having heard his exchange. And Anthony couldn’t help but feel more than a little stupid, heat coming to his cheeks. But when Kate leaned in, her eyes shining with delight and left a light kiss on his nose and said You are such an adorable little dork, he doesn’t quite have it in him to care.  

Kate could admit, years later, that Newton had moved in with Anthony before she had. Anthony had very simply why Newton couldn’t come with her when she stayed at his, and so she’d taken him and Newton had immediately made an absolute nuisance of himself and Kate was sure Anthony would take one look at the mess he’d made and declare it had all been a huge mistake. Instead, she came back the next week and found a curious item in Anthony’s living room. Newton had scampered through the house as soon as the door had been open to him, and Kate and followed through, kissing Anthony lightly on the cheek as she settled beside in on his sofa. And then she saw it. Newton was settling himself on a dog sized sofa, huffing happily. And as he lay down she noticed the embroidery along the back Newton and ridiculously tears started forming in her eyes. I love you, you know The words had slipped past her lips before she could stop them, Anthony just looked up from his book, pushing his hair out of his eyes smiling brightly as he said Love you too! And then as he looked to the other side of the room And I’m glad Newton is enjoying his new sofa. The sales girl said it was the most comfortable one And...he said, his eyes darting around embarrassedly embroidery was free today. And Kate genuinely couldn’t help herself from tugging on the back of his neck until their lips met. 

Perhaps the last place Anthony ever thought he’d find himself was sitting in the waiting room of a veterinarian feeling frantic. Two days ago Kate had rolled over and said I’ll take Newton to Eddie’s tomorrow before I go. and Anthony had felt startled his eyes opening wide Err Why? Do you... not trust me with him? He’d asked hesitantly and his girlfriend had looked as surprised as he’d felt when she’d said No, I just... I thought with me going away you might not want him... And Anthony had scoffed tucking her hair behind her ear and saying Well, Miss Sheffield, you see, You live here now and so does Newton. And while it hadn’t exactly been his intention, he was awfully pleased with the show of gratitude Kate had given him. So of course, because no good deed went unpunished, he had managed to kill Kate’s dog. The dog that meant so much to her, who had been the only one present as she’d suffered through panic attacks, Anthony had allowed to die. The very first time he’d been entrusted with his care. He’d come home, very much looking forward to the apple pie his mother had sent him home with yesterday only to find Newton, Belly up, crumbs all around him absolutely stuffed. And Anthony had felt panic welling up in him because, of course Kate’s ridiculous animal had gotten itself into this situation, he’d rushed to the emergency vet whispering God Newton please do not die repeatedly and the receptionist had looked positively startled as he’d burst through the door, looking he was sure a little mad clutching a corgi who was making little indignant grunts at this point. He was ushered into a room shortly after, explained his story in a very panicked fashion only for the Veterinarian to burst out laughing. Newton has had himself a very good time, but he’ll be just fine. And for the first time in an hour Anthony felt himself breathe. But no, he would not admit he was attached to the dog. 

When Kate takes Newton to the vet for his vaccinations months later and sees the name at the top of the paperwork Newton Sheffield-Bridgerton she’s sure she looks quite mad when she bursts into tears in the waiting room.        

#bridgerton and sons au #anthony x kate #kathony #anthony + newton #anthony x kate + newton #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #newton the corgi #newton is a menace #molly's asks and answers

[luimagines]

Could you write something for Twili! Reader, possibly Twis lost daughter? Keep up the cool work!

Masterlist

Dad! Twilight! I've been asked to write Dad! Twilight!?

I think I can make it work. Thank you so much for the request.

Out of habit at this point, I’ve made the reader gender neutral but it doesn’t really matter.

Content under the cut!

It wasn't every day that a portal opens up in the Twilight Realm.

Even less so that you're alone enough to check it out without anyone knowing that you were by that sort of magic.

Your mother wouldn't appreciate it and would at least send ten people to keep you from going further and anther fifteen to try and stifle the unfamiliar magic.

But what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

You feel a little excited and bubbly at your very core. This is your chance! Your chance to see what's beyond! Your mom didn't talk much about your father but you knew that he was from beyond the Twilight realm and a brave adventurer.

Maybe it will take you to him?

Maybe you can go on your own adventure?

Follow in his footsteps.

Your mother did always say that you reminded her of him.

You've decided.

With determined and unquestionable confidence you walk through the portal onto the other side without once looking back.

It was colder than you were used to and there was a lot you couldn't really see in front of you. At some point it was pitch black and strangely warmer than before until it lessened again and you traveled to the other side.

For starters, it was brighter than anything the Twilight Realm had to offer. And startlingly green.

Immediately, you hear voices come from the side.

"I told you, the portal opened up over here! It's not that much farther, we can go to where we need to go."

You stunned where you stand and gulp slightly.

The portal closes quickly behind you, taking away your chances of changing your mind and heading back the way you came.

You’re quick to shift your weight onto your toes and try to make your way away from the upcoming company.

You don’t get far.

“Hold it!” Someone shouts. “Who are you? State your name and purpose!”

You wince and curl into yourself, no longer feeling as confident as you did when you first found the portal. You’re mother is going to have your head when she finds out about this. And if the people around you take your head instead, you fear what your mother will do once she finds out. She still mourns losing your father. You can’t bare the thought of her losing you.

“Hold on guys!” Someone else says. “I know their kind. You’re from the Twilight Realm, right? What your name? Wild, put your weapon. Down.”

You state your name and slowly look upwards and toward the one who was speaking to you. You both stare at each other for a moment. You notice that he’s Hylian with a fur pelt around his shoulders and tattoos on his face that seem familiar to you. He’s looking at you with what could only be described as shocked, horror.

You tilt your head and begin to calm yourself down. 

There’s nine hylians around you, each armed to the teeth and all of them seem to be of varying ages. They all seem to be staring between you and their friend. Some going as far to hesitantly put their weapons away when you don’t show any hostility.

“...Midna...” The pelted man speaks up. His voice is so quiet that you have to strain yourself to hear him. “Do you happen to know anyone named Midna?”

You pause and frown slightly. “How do you know my mother?”

He chokes on his own spit. “Mother?”

You stand up taller and look down on the man with suspicion. “How do you know my mother?”

“We’re... We were..” He stutters and continues to openly gape at you.

“Lovers.” Someone else speaks up. You look at him, almost insulted at the prospect. He a bit shorter than the pelted man but holds himself in high regard by the way he looks at you head on. He wears a long and fanciful blue scarf with large golden embroidery of what has to be the country’s emblem. 

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyebrows.

“Who’s your father?” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

This time you preen with pride and place your hands on your hips. “My father is named Link. Savior of the Twilight Realm.”

“Very interesting.” He smirks slightly, entertained by an idea that only he seems to understand. The group takes a step back away from you in unison and the pelted man looks paler than he did two seconds ago. It’s starting to worry you. 

“Why do you ask?” You match his tone and try to at least make it seem like you know what you’re doing.

“I’ve also met your mother, if what you’re telling us is the truth. You look like her, sure- but you have his eyes. She talked a lot about Link and how much he meant to her. You look a bit like him too. You have his nose if you look close enough.” He shrugs.

“She was pregnant?” The pelted man falls on his knees. His eyes never leave your form as he does so.

Something clicks.

“By the stars...” You gulp and take a better look at him. What his companion said was starting to make things a little more clear to you.

Yes, you see it now.

You have his nose, his eyes- and his lack of self preservation considering the circumstances and the portal that brought you here. He knew your mother- intimately by the sound of it. He’s armed to the teeth like all the others and your mother did say he was an adventurer and a hero. This other man who you’ve never heard of claims to know your mother and father and all of the stories point to this man in front of you.

“You...” You trail off and blinked intelligently at him.

“But it’s only been five years...” He gulps and falls backwards, only barely catching himself with his hands.

“Does this make me an uncle?” Another one from the group speaks up. You snap your head to him. He has deep and long scars across his face and long hair that’s draped across his shoulder.

“You’re my uncle?” You blurt.

“I don’t think the timeline actually cares about how long it’s been for you.” Someone with pink hair speaks up and pats the pelted man’s shoulder in sympathy. 

“But this means that I wasn’t.... I was never there... I don’t ever see her again, do I?” He looks like he’s going to cry as he falls to his knees and you’re a little self-conscious about where the conversation is going.

“By Hylia, I’m a grandfather for sure now.” The oldest of them speaks with a delayed revelation. You side eyes him to see his armor and the scar over his eye and bit your lip.

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re Twilight’s father!?” The smallest yells out. He has the most colorful clothing choice.

“I’m his descendent.” This ‘Twilight’ speaks aloud. He takes a deep breath and puts his face in his hands. “And now...”

“Congrats! You’re a dad!” The brunette of the group cheers quietly, trying to clear the tension but it doesn’t do much. 

Your father looks up at you, tears in his eyes but he makes eye contact. “How is she? Your mother? Is she well?”

“She’s queen of the Twilight Realm. So I’d say she’s doing pretty well all things considered...” You reply and begin to rock on the ball of your feet out of awkwardness. “She misses you...”

He sniffles and chokes on a laugh. “I miss her too...”

You hum and look off the to the side. “Never really knew my father.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’d like to.”

Twilight takes a deep breath and stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. “You know what, I’d like to get to know you too.”

You smile and take it. He’s crying and you feel like crying to but you’re actually happy with how things have turned out.

You suddenly hear a voice break through the silence, calling your name with a screech. You tense and take a step back. “Uh oh...”

“Uh oh? What’s uh oh? What’s going on?”

Scarf man speaks up again. “Are we going to talk about Twilight being Time’s descendent? Or how Twilight’s child is from another realm? Or that he has a child at all?” 

“No.”

“Nope.”

“Not now anyway.”

You curse as Twili guards burst through the tree line into your direction.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing bad but...uh... My mother is going to kill me.”

#linked universe x reader #linked universe #linkeduniverse #this one did not want to be written #I apologize for any mischaracterization #I've never played Twilight Princess #I know what happens but I never played so... #I hope this is ok! #The ending is a bit more abrupt than I would have liked but here we are

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.3

Part one // Part two  

Summary: Meeting with his Sun Summoner again, the Darkling has a choice to make. 

Warnings: angst, fluff

========================

It’s been a long time since Y/N saw her Darkling. Some would say time passes quickly, but it dragged on so painfully slow that every second marked her with more doubt. Aleksander was her safe haven, the one she’d run to whenever she wanted to lift the weight off her shoulders but that wasn’t an option anymore.

She had reunited with Mal, but he couldn’t understand. If anything, he seemed cross with her for being a Grisha, for staying in Little palace for so long. He wasn’t shy to state how disgusted he is with who she became, to insult the kefta she wore when they first saw each other.

“The way you talk, the way you walk, even the way you look! I can hardly look at you, he’s all over you.”

She doesn’t wear that kefta anymore, the black contrasting the golden embroidery representing the light she was meant to be. A part of her ached for Aleksander, while the other part of her resented him. He made her love him, but how can she love what was built on a lie?

Somber, she shivered in the cold. Her arms wrapped around her knees which were tucked close to her chest and under her chin. The majestic stag Mal had taken her to find, the one she had a chance to kill but refused to, was now gone. She made sure it would retreat deeper into the woods after laying her hand on him.

None of it was important now when her troubled mind returned to the beginning.

She looked at him with a bashful smile, a flush creeping across her cheeks. He didn’t notice her yet, buttoning his shirt slowly while she began to sweat, unsure about coming into his room uninvited now. Clearing her throat, she sat at the foot of his bed, noticing him tense up before turning to her.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you”, she bites her lower lip, her voice shaky but not nearly as much as her heart.

A breathless chuckle passes his lips, his eyes instantly light up as he comes closer, a few buttons remaining unbuttoned at the top. It gave her a perfect view of his chest and she couldn’t help but realize this is the most skin she had seen on him since they met. A kefta left everything up to ones imagination and it may have served as a neat way to hide from the others, but she was grateful he didn’t wear one now.

“I’m merely surprised to find you so boldly perched on my bed”, Aleksander raises his eyebrows, amused as he comes closer.

Shrugging, she looks up at him through her thick eyelashes, picture perfect innocence etched in her angelic smile. “You seemed tense today”, she pushes herself further back on his bed, far enough to rest her back against the headboard.

Pursing his lips, he knits his eyebrows together, “Did I now?”

Nodding, she taps her thighs, “I’ll help you unwind. Come on.”

“How?” Aleksander’s lips part as she rolls her eyes playfully.

"Here! Lay down in my lap." She taps her lap two times exactly, seemingly unaware of Aleksander's eyebrows furrowing.

"Excuse me?"

Tilting her head to the right, she gave him a pointed look. “Lay down in my lap so I can run my fingers through your hair.”

“Can I –“, Aleksander tries, but she’s quicker.

“Not negotiable.”

With a sigh, Aleksander clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he was allowing her to speak to him in such a manner, much less why he was crawling over the bed to rest his head on her thighs. Yet he found himself on his back, his head securely in her lap and his gaze is on her and the self-satisfied smirk on her lips that had made his heart flutter.

Threading her fingers through his hair, she watched him intently. It was hard to accept just how handsome he is, how unique the black skies reflecting in his eyes are. She’d see an occasional star when he’d look at her, a twinkle in the darkness she peered into fearlessly day in and day out.

“Isn’t it funny how I can’t even remember the first time I heard your name?” She spoke softly, her thumb grazing his forehead. “You’d think we’d remember something that will make such a huge difference in your life.”

Aleksander licks his lips, “What matters is you’re here. Wherever you go in life, remember this moment, Sunshine”, he smiles in disbelief, “When you had a general putty in your hands for a night.”

She couldn’t help but grin, “I’m not leaving you. Not now”, leaning in, she whispers, “Not ever.”

Leaving a kiss upon his forehead, Y/N started to pull away.

“Wait”, he blurted out. “Don’t pull away. Not yet.”

“I won’t”, she beams at him, “We have all night.”

Scoffing, she shakes her head. In the end, she lied too. How can a man capable of doing such terrible things be so gentle with her? Were they cursed from the start?

That’s when she felt it once more – her airway closed, her eyes widened. She gasps for air in panic, clutching her throat when she feels the pressure in her chest become too much. She wanted to call for Mal who left to pee a little while ago, but she couldn’t.

And then it stopped.

Gasping, she falls to her hands and knees, drawing in quick, shallow breath of cold air that soothes the burning sensation in her lungs.

“Are you alright?”

The familiarity of his voice brought shivers down her spine, her eyes widening as she turns around so quickly she nearly topples to her side.

“I didn’t realize they’d be so harsh, I’ll have to reprimand them later.” Aleksander frowns at his heartrenders, nodding at them to leave them alone.

She shot him a cold look, "Did you kill him?"

Looking away, Aleksander lets out a heavy sigh.

Her voice thickens, choked with emotion, "Tell me the truth for once in your life."

"I love you", he snaps, "That’s a truth!"

Too often had Y/N spoke of love with Aleksander before, too often had she given pieces of herself away by telling him how she feels, but he never uttered the words before. She wondered if he was capable of loving her, if his admission of love was just a way to control her.

She stands, her heart beating so loudly she feared he could hear it too. Never before had the Darkling bared his soul as he did now, but taking him on his word would be unwise. And she wanted to believe him, saints, she wanted to believe every single word, but he’s supposed to be the bad guy and he wasn’t showing signs of remorse.

"Did it ever occur to you that you're hurting me too?" His voice cracks as she averts her gaze, the sight of him breaking her heart.

His eyes are brimming with tears, his hand reached out for her to take and for the first time since they’ve met, Y/N notices his fingers are shaking and not with the cold.

"With everything to win, the only thing I lose is you. How is that fair?" He uttered, drawing his lower lip between his teeth.

She turned her gaze away, jaw clenched, pity and anger gripping her in equal measure.

He comes before her, his lower lip trembling, "I would not be unkind to you", Aleksander persists. Cupping her face, thumb stroking her jaw, "I would never hurt you." He caressed her cheek, running his fingers down her vulnerable throat.

Pressing her lips together, she shakes her head slightly in order to resist the urge to look back at him or allow herself to quiver under his touch. Straightening her back, she looks him straight in the eye, refusing to break apart.

“But you did hurt me. I don’t even know who you are”, her voice is dark and low.

He leans down, his forehead resting on hers, “But you know me. All of me. You know the real Aleksander…Aleksander Morozova.”

Scoffing, she pulls away, “Wonderful!” Rubbing her forehead where she could still feel him, she turns to him with an incredulous look, “You lied about your name too!”

“Only my last name”, he states and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Because that makes it so much better.”

Sighing, Aleksander reaches for her hand and this time, Y/N doesn’t recoil from his touch and he can’t help but smile, encouraged to lightly tug, bringing her closer.

“Please come back with me. I know what it feels to be alone, to always feel empty on the inside. It's the only thing I know when I'm without you.” His free hand rests on her hip, bringing unexpected warmth along with it.

Y/N understood what he meant, being without him had ravished her. With him she was sunshine, the Sun summoner and a light in the darkness, but without him? She learned even the Sun can be eclipsed.

“Will you help me destroy the fold?” She asks, lifting her head up to meet his gaze. She loved the way he watched her with a longing smile and an oddly gentle look in his eye.

“It’s not that simple”, Aleksander replies, noticing her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, tortured as she nibbles on it. He wanted to do that so badly, to bruise her lips as they molded with his.

It felt like going through the motions as he spoke, her mind focusing on all he’s done. He killed people, he did it for her too. Is that his idea of commitment? Is killing in someone’s name a way to say I love you in his world?

“It is”, she swallows thickly. She trembles and shivers, then looks at him with pleading eyes. “You’ll either help be destroy the fold and the danger it holds or you’ll lose me. Is that what you want?”

Releasing her hand, his lips part. Aleksander takes a step back, his eyes narrowing. "They say I'm a traitor. They call me the black heretic. Maybe I am. All I know is that I did what I had to do to protect the Grisha from certain doom.” His voice is heavy, laced with anger and frustration Y/N had carried as well.

For a long time, she wondered if she was just the same as him, if he had dimmed her light, but she wasn’t. Never once had he looked into the mirror of his own soul and asked what different choices he could make, not for his own sake, but for the sake of others. In his story, he’s not the bad guy and if she could deny who she is, maybe he wouldn’t be a villain in hers either. But she can’t.  

“Aleksander, please”, her hand rests on his left cheek, cold to the touch unlike the warmth he was used from her. “We will protect them together. The fold had killed plenty of Grisha for us to react too.”

His jaw clenches, “But their death can mean something. I made a necessary sacrifice, so if that makes me evil, fine!” His nostrils flare as he pulls her hand off his face, “Make me your villain."

Swallowing thickly, she turns away from him. “You’ll have to kill me if that’s your plan. Because I will destroy that fold, with or without you there to hold my hand.”

Nodding, he comes closer. His breath on the back of her neck is enough to make her hold hers, awaiting for his next move. She waits, giving him a fair shot now because he’ll never be given another one. But nothing happens. There’s no darkness engulfing her, he had not cut her in half.

When she turns around, this time he’s the one that’s gone. Covering her mouth to stifle a heart-wrenching sob, Y/N’s tears flood her eyes, falling like waterfalls.

Aleksander had walked away, his loyal Grisha following after.

“You did the right thing. She was holding you back”, Ivan states, further fanning the flames of Aleksander’s wrath.

Too quickly did Ivan find himself pinned to a tree with a hand wrapped around his neck tightly enough for his vision to blur, hearing his general’s words.

“You will never know the depth of what I just lost.”

PART 4

#the darkling x reader #the darkling #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova #aleksander x reader #aleksander kirigan #kirigan x reader #general kirigan

[thecreelhouse]

like vines, we intertwined

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader (up to interpretation of platonic or more)

Summary: It started with an exchange of friendship bracelets, meant to last as long as the bond between you two: forever. Life has a finicky way of defining “forever”, though. (AKA: the hurt/comfort friendship bracelet fic nobody asked for)

Read on AO3

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: PTSD, swearing, mentions of violence/blood/injuries, a whole fuck ton of angst and hurt— and fluff and comfort to balance it out.

A/N: hi! been a minute since I’ve posted something that isn’t nsfw lol, so I hope y’all enjoy! I really forgot how much I love writing hurt/comfort fics. shoutout to @stonersteve for helping me with the car breakdown scene!! title is from ‘we intertwined’ - the hush sound.

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news—“

Your head snaps up to the TV set; you had it on to some rerun of some sitcom as mindless background noise to paint your nails to.

The screen shows a fuzzy view of Starcourt, the new mall that had recently opened up and run small businesses out of Hawkins.

Only it wasn’t like the commercial they had been airing all summer; where a glowing, neon utopia once stood strong in those ads, was now a slow, crumbling fortress, with flames tearing through from the inside out.

Your eyes grow wide as your stomach drops at the sight. You set your nail polish down before shuffling over to the TV, fidgeting with the volume buttons to listen carefully while your eyes glue themselves to the screen. You drop to the ground in front of the news report, waiting for more.

“It is unclear as to what started the fire, but the damage already done is devastating enough,” a reporter claims as the camera zooms off of the destruction and onto their face. “Authorities are saying it could be anything from arson to accident, and they’re not leaving out the possibility of fireworks being the cause.”

Your breathing falls shallow at the sight of Starcourt in the background, recalling a similar shot for the commercial, mind buzzing as you recall a familiar face while they showcased Scoops Ahoy! within the ad. Absent-mindedly, you tug at the bracelet loosely hanging from your wrist while your mind clings onto that one person.

Steve.

Him in that tacky sailor’s uniform, hat and all, flashed back in your mind. You always laughed to yourself when you saw how visibly uncomfortable he was in a goofy hat that hid his best feature. Now, you feel sick, panicking while hoping he wasn’t working during this disaster.

It’s late. The mall’s been closed for a few hours now, so he should be safe, right?

The camera’s smooth panning across the scene unfolding shakes suddenly.

“Whoa- hey! What—“

“You can’t film here. This is an ongoing investigation, and you must vacate the premises immediately.”

“Excuse me? We’re just trying to report the n—“

Your gaze floats to the background, while out of focus and unsteady, you catch a glimpse of blue. You can’t make out who or what it is, but your gut feeling has the answer already, and it makes your head spin with nausea.

Panic shakes you back to reality, and you bolt through the house to find your wallet and keys before leaving your home and jumping in the car. Your nails are smudged at this point, but that doesn’t matter.

All that does matter as you pull out of the driveway, while your tires are squealing against the road, is Steve and his safety.

——

“What’s that?”

Working diligently with the embroidery floss taped onto the table, you don’t look up as you answer the boy that came up to you with curiosity.

“Friendship bracelet,” As soon as you reply, your tongue sticks back out slightly as you focus on your work.

“Who are you makin’ it for?”

“I’unno, whoever wants one, I guess.” Your small fingers move quickly with the string, braiding and knotting the colors in a specific pattern.

There’s a silence that follows, and you can see the boy rocking back and forth on his heels nervously. You stop to finally look up; a boy your age with brunette hair and wide, curious doe eyes watches you closely.

“Did- um- did anyone ask for that one yet?” He musters up the courage to ask.

You look down at the nearly finished bracelet before glancing back up at him, shaking your head slowly.

“All yours if you want it,” You answer, and a warm smile breaks on the boy’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Steve,” The boy answers as he slides into the bench across from you at the table. “What’s yours?”

You reply with your name as you continue tying off the last few repetitions of the bracelet. Steve repeats your name, making it known he wants to remember. You like the way your name sounds coming from him; makes you feel safe.

“All done!” You grin proudly before leaning over the table, grabbing Steve’s hand to pull it towards you.

Steve blushes a bit at the sudden contact, realizing he likes the way your hand feels in his, but is too young to recognize why it feels nice.

You tie the ends of the bracelet together, making sure it isn’t too tight, but hangs close enough that it can’t slip off. Steve watches in wonder at the tiny, powerful gesture. He admires the bracelet, smile growing brighter as he takes note of the colours.

“Hope it’s okay, they’re my favourite colours.” You admit shyly. “I can make you a different one if you wa—“

“No! No,” Steve exclaims as he holds his wrist to his face, studying the detail of the string wound in a pretty pattern. “I- I want to make you one… with my favourite colours… is that okay?”

Your cheeks flush up as you nod slowly. “Yeah!”

“I just- I need you to teach me first… please.” Steve asks shyly, and you smile, scooting off your bench to move next to him.

Your arms are touching, and you can feel the hairs on his arm stand on end, and you’re certain he notices the goosebumps across your skin.

It doesn’t take very long to teach Steve how to make a friendship bracelet. It doesn’t come without trial and error, though. He asks to take the string home, the colours he picked as his favourites, to work on it and bring it back finished the next day.

And so, he does.

Steve finds you first thing in the morning, before you’re told to sit in your assigned desks, and he ties the bracelet he made himself around your wrist, just like you did for him. Not too loose, not too tight.

You admire the colours, admire the quirks of some knots being a little messier than others, bringing the bracelet character. It’s more than one of a kind, it was made with his heart.

“Thank you, Steve,” You say softly, tugging on the bracelet. “We’re friends now, friends forever.”

“Will the bracelets last forever?” Steve asks, already knowing the logical answer.

You surprise him, however, with an answer more emotional than logical. “If we protect them, they will. As long as you have that on, you can always count on me, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes shine over with happiness; he’s never had a real friend before. Not yet. Here and there some kids liked him because he had the latest and coolest toys, or they were jealous of him. Not you, though. You didn’t care about all the silly talk that your classmates spread about. The friendship was pure, gravitational through a simple conversation about friendship bracelets.

Before the bell rings, he pulls you into a hug quickly. It’s tight, warm, secure. You hug him back, trying to match how he makes you feel.

“You can always count on me, too.”

———

It doesn’t take very long for the damage of Starcourt to fall into view. It makes your stomach drop, makes you nauseous at the thought of Steve’s safety being threatened.

What should’ve only taken a few minutes felt like hours, even while you were speeding, avoiding the streets busy with neighbors setting fireworks off on the asphalt. Your brain wouldn’t rest with the questions filled with dread; was he okay? Was Steve alright? What the fuck was going on?

… Were you even sure that was Steve that you assumed you saw on the news report? That blue blur could’ve been anyone, but your mind immediately jumped to Steve.

And while the questions felt the need to continue, why on earth were you worried? You couldn’t remember the last time you and Steve talked, couldn’t remember the last time you truly called each other best friend.

Steve fell into a crowd of people that were only his friends for superficial reasons. He fell off your grid pretty fast when he was busy stealing alcohol from his parents’ liquor cabinet, trying to entertain the most rotten of the Hawkins High, not limited to Carol and Tommy H., of course.

It didn’t take very long for Steve to stop responding to your waves in the halls, your attempts to keep up with his life. He stopped answering your calls, always letting it ring, or the few times his parents were actually home, his mother always said he was ‘out somewhere’.

Steve’s bracelet disappeared around the time he abandoned you, yet you kept yours on. You couldn’t understand why you still had yours on, but felt only guilt when you’d even think about cutting it off.

You see flames rising despite the multiple fire hoses attempting to tame the destruction, breaking you from your racing thoughts of the past.

The parking lot is sectioned off from the entrances, all far from the mall and emergency vehicles. A man dressed in military grade riot gear holds his hand out as he steps in front of your car. You stop, rolling the window down to speak to him, but not before you’re met with the overwhelming smell of smoke and melting man-made materials.

Your face scrunches up, eyes squinting for a moment. You can almost feel the heat from this far back, and it just makes you more nervous and sick.

“Sorry, you can’t be here. This is an ongoing investigation and the scene is potentially still dangerous.” The man’s voice is muffled behind his helmet, but you hear him clear enough.

“Wh- the people inside? Are they okay? Where are they? Where did they go?” You rush out, and the man sighs.

“Anyone who made it out is most likely home by now. They were all treated by first responders here, and none of them wanted to be taken to the hospital. That’s all I’m able to tell you right now.”

You nod silently as his words sink in, realizing the danger is much graver than you assumed. This…. this was bad.

You thank the guard as you reverse out of the lot, flooring it as soon as you hit the road, driving twice as fast with only Steve still on your mind.

——

Steve isn’t sure how he made it to his driveway safely, but he does.

He can’t remember the drive from the mall to his house. But he’s behind the wheel, and alone in the car, so he had to have driven himself. Black and blue, swollen-shut eye and all.

It’s a miracle he hadn’t passed out from the excruciating headache he earned and swerved off the road.

——

Among the chaos of emergency vehicles in the parking lot, Steve noticed his car sitting alone, further back in the middle of empty spaces. When he had the energy, he decided to humor himself, and check on the car to at least make sure it was alright, even if just from the outside, while his keys laid in the bunker, now blown to smithereens.

Steve circled the car while his hand dragged across the red paint. He glanced through the windows, not noticing any damage, thankfully. Yet, he still wondered how mad his father would be about having to get a new key.

Mindlessly, as Steve made his way to the driver side door, he tugged on the door handle, startled at how the door clicked open with ease.

As the door moved, his jaw fell open in disbelief. This whole time, he left his car unlocked.

It’s an accident that wouldn’t be such a huge deal, something to laugh off when everything inside is accounted for, but Steve slumped into the seat and sobbed. No warning, just tears finally breaking along the edge of his tired eyes.

Everything came to a head, churning anger and grief deep within Steve, and it only came out in unsteady sobs. He quickly closed the car door, hoping no one could hear him from here. Everyone else has their own demons to worry about. He can’t add to that. He can’t add to anyone else’s pain.

Steve cried while snot rolled down his face alongside his tears. The tears stung his wounds, but not as much as his own stupidity stung whatever was left of his ego.

Frantically, he searched for any tissues in the car, even napkins, anything to remove some of the mess from his face. As he opened the glove compartment, a shiny key fell onto the car floor.

It was a punch to the gut. The cherry on top of this incredibly fucked up evening. Not only did he forget to lock his car, he left his spare inside the goddamn car itself.

Steve wanted to laugh, wanted to shrug it off, but only more sobs racked through his body the further his thoughts snowballed.

He couldn’t keep everyone safe tonight. He couldn’t keep his friends or himself out of trouble. And on top of it all, he couldn’t remember to lock his car?

Steve grabbed the key off the floor and started the car, realizing he couldn’t burden anyone tonight. Everyone else had someone to go home to, had someone to comfort each other with, but he was alone.

Voice shaky, he couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “Am I really that useless?”

———

Steve’s body doesn’t just ache, it burns. Everything hurts terribly, from the bruises already in full bloom across his torso, to the way his ears ring so loudly, he’s expecting blood to begin to pour out of them. Blinking hurts, breathing hurts, thinking hurts.

He wants to cry. He wants to sob, but he knows how bad it’ll hurt; that post-sob headache with a stuffed, sniffly nose and exhaustion wrapping around like a weighted blanket.

It’s late, and most of the neighborhood, despite celebrating, are inside and tucked into their beds, safe and sound. Steve wants that, more than anything. He wants so badly to run inside and collapse even onto the floor. He could worry about cleaning himself up tomorrow, with the house to himself. No nosy parents around to poke and prod with invasive questions.

Then again, even if his parents were home, he’s certain they would pay no mind to their son, collapsed on the floor, battered and bruised.

But he doesn’t move. Steve can’t bring himself to move. He can move, if he tries hard enough, but he’s just so drained. Resting his head against the steering wheel seems like the next best option.

Even resting his head softly, the contact stings. He hisses out at the pain, but it feels so good to not have to hold his head up on his own. That benefit sure outweighs the pain. Well, almost.

Steve’s fingers fidget and fumble around to whatever is near him, trying to take his mind off of the pain. At least, until he can muster up the strength to leave his car.

It’s only a few feet, and then the floor is all yours.

He picks at a hangnail on his thumb, blissfully ignorant to the pain as he tugs at the dead skin, for it doesn’t even compare to the heavy ache he feels everywhere else.

Stop, you haven’t picked your nails in years. Don’t go back to it.

Steve fights the urge as he pushes the annoying voice from his head, reminding him not to give in. Still, his fingers shake, desperately looking for something to tug at, just while he sits here uncomfortably. Anything to distract him.

For a moment, Steve is still, but then he digs in his pocket, frantically searching for something. His sudden movements earn a distressed groan from him, but he pushes past the pain and pulls out a bundle of threads, tied in a pattern, adorning a variety of colours. Your favourite colours.

It’s the friendship bracelet you made him all those years ago.

Steve holds the bracelet, broken and fraying at each end, up to his compromised eyesight. Tears threaten to fall again. He barely had time to cry during Starcourt’s demise, but ever since he got into his car after all was said and done, he couldn’t stop crying.

Now, as he remembers the dreadful night spent in the underground bunker, it finally hits him where it hurts the most.

——

Amidst being punched around like a dummy, the Russian guards searched nearly every inch of Steve, desperate for clues that would expose him for the spy they believed him to be.

“I told you, I- I got nothin—“

A sharp blow to his face stole away the rest of his sentence. Steve wheezed, gasping for the wind knocked out of him.

Taking no pity, one guard continued to search him. He noticed the bracelet, worn but showing signs of a once vibrant, bright life, and slid a switchblade underneath the embroidery thread.

Steve’s eyes grew wide as his heart dropped.

“No- no, wait—“

He tried tugging his wrist back, tried keeping the memento safe, but the blade sliced through it easily. As it fell to the floor, the other guard stomped on it before shoving it aside with his boot.

“Oh, that did something,” The guard’s voice was smug, noticing the tears that sprang to Steve’s eyes finally. “If you don’t speak, we will break you.”

Steve felt his breath fall shallow, panicking over a simple, handmade bracelet. It wasn’t just any bracelet, though. To him, that was the last connection he had to you, even if he royally fucked everything up.

Tears stung the split skin among his bruises as he continued to cry, falling apart at the thought of shoving you so far from him, and now…

Well, now, he’d never get the chance to fix things. Or try to, if you’d even let him.

Steve would die far underground before ever getting the chance to repair what he destroyed.

——

A car door slams loudly, and though it sounds distant to Steve as he pulls himself from the flashback, it echoes throughout the now empty streets of his neighborhood in Hawkins.

Frantic footsteps rush past his car, and he pulls his head up from the steering wheel. He watches a figure urgently skip up the stairs before banging loudly on the front door.

At first, Steve can’t make out who it is, and he wants to know, but he can’t bring himself to move. Not yet. Everything feels heavy and he doesn’t even feel like he’s in his own body.

Slamming their fists away against the door’s surface, the person finally yells out, “Harrington, I swear to god, if you don’t open this door I will gladly find the spare key! I’m sure it’s still where you left it years ago!”

Steve can’t help but laugh as he recognizes your voice along with your trademark, persistent attitude, and a smile cracks along his lips. It’s small, nearly nonexistent, but it’s there. He clutches the bracelet tightly between his sore fingers before taking a deep breath, and finally pushes himself out of the car.

He watches as you mutter to yourself, panicking and trying to come up with another plan to check up on him, when he finally clears his throat to catch your attention.

——

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?!”

Steve’s legs wobbled as they threatened to give out, but he held himself up to the wall quickly for support.

“I- I gotta find it—“

Steve turned a corner to find the room the guards first held him in, and clear as day, the bracelet laid waiting for Steve’s return on the cold floor.

Out of excitement, he tripped over his own feet, landing onto the floor and only adding to the pain he already felt across his body. But Steve ignored it as he reached out to the bracelet with grabby hands, and he sighed in relief.

“Dude, you’re seriously asking to get killed here, let’s go!” Dustin yelled, panicked and annoyed at Steve as he tried to tug him off of the floor. Steve struggled, but he finally got to his feet and followed as Dustin dragged him back down the hallway.

As Dustin and Erica drove Robin and Steve back to the elevator for their escape, Steve clutched onto the bracelet like a priceless prize. Even high out of his mind, giggling away with Robin about the dumbest shit, he knew what he had to do.

Steve was going to fight his way out of this to stay alive, and he’d make his way back to you. He vowed to himself, and to you silently, he’d make his way back to you as soon as everyone was safe.

He was going to fix this, once and for all.

——

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes lock with Steve’s. Granted, his gaze isn’t in great shape, with one eye nearly swollen shut, but you’re still holding each other’s gaze intensely.

Neither of you move or speak. A moment passes, but it feels like an hour, and then you take the first step.

You sprint to him, about to knock him over in a great, big hug like you used to, but Steve flinches, and your heart drops as you skid to a stop just feet away from him.

From further away, he looked like hell, but this close up, Steve looks like he died and barely came back.

“Fuck- sorry- right- what am I doing—“ You curse yourself for thinking you could just embrace him like everything was okay, when just looking at him hurts your heart.

Steve shakes his head before forcing himself to move, fighting against the intense aches and pains, wrapping his arms around you as best as he can.

You notice immediately his grip isn’t what it used to be, and you assume that has to do with the suffering he’s in right now. You want so badly to squeeze him back, envelope him in your embrace to signal he’s safe now. That whatever happened can’t hurt him now. Not here, not with you.

But you don’t. You hear him grunt in pain and remind yourself you have to be gentle with Steve. He’s always been fragile, deep down, but tonight, he’s shards of someone who doesn’t exist anymore, held together by the flimsiest tape found.

You’d get in the way of anyone or anything that tried to lay a hand on Steve ever again. Your heart aches heavily, wishing you could’ve been there to protect him from whatever nearly destroyed him.

“The spare key is definitely still in the same spot,” Steve manages to say, and you know his tone would be lighter, joking, if he wasn’t in so much agony.

“Knew it,” You reply with a sniffle, pulling back. You don’t let go of Steve completely, though, letting him lean onto you for better balance. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

It takes a bit longer than expected, moving slowly alongside Steve as you hold him upright as you carefully shuffle with him into the house. Immediately, you notice the house’s interiors have changed, but Steve’s mom always liked changing things up, even for someone who was rarely home.

The loneliness that settles in as the house swallows you two whole, though, that’s painfully familiar. Your heart breaks at the thought of Steve coming home broken to nothing, to no one.

You get a better look at him as you flip on some lights, stomach sinking as your eyes travel over the bruising and swelling across his skin, splits and tears and marks that were unwelcome on his body. They travel down his neck, slipping under the fabric of his worn, blood stained work uniform. It’s almost a comical contrast, the dried bodily fluid splattered about a tacky sailor’s outfit, but you don’t laugh.

You don’t know exactly whatever caused this, but you assumed it had to be worse than the fights he got caught up in the previous two years before.

“M’so tired,” Steve whines, letting his head fall to your shoulder. “Just wanna sleep.”

“You should at least clean up—“

“No.”

“Steve, you’re covered in blood and god knows what else.”

“Just wanna lay down, s’too bright in here.”

You flip the switch off, gently lifting Steve’s head before guiding him towards the stairs.

“You’re going to at least let me nurse these awful injuries-“

“It’s fine, just a- a bad fight, that’s all—“

“Steve, I know you. This isn’t fine. Shut the fuck up and let someone take care of you.”

Steve’s mouth presses shut, remembering how hard you were to argue with, especially when you were right. You were always looking out for his best interest.

It’s just been so long since anyone has.

You send him upstairs to the bathroom, to which Steve takes his time climbing the stairs. Each step is harder to reach than the last, but he’s so close to his bed, some form of comfort, finally.

You scramble to find an ice pack in the kitchen, when your eyes catch on a picture frame, tucked away on a shelf in the next room over. It’s small, but even from here, you recognize what it is.

A moment in your younger years, frozen in time, arm in arm with Steve. You’re both covered head to toe in paint after he helped you paint the clubhouse your dad built for you in the backyard. The two of you are cheesing wide at the camera, and you can practically hear your childish laughs through your teeth. Back when the world belonged to you and Steve, and you two only.

You shake yourself from your thoughts to hurry back to Steve, ice pack in hand. You meet him in the bathroom, handing him the ice pack before getting to work on his wounds as he sits on the edge of the tub.

It’s silent for a moment, but you can’t ignore the questions swirling your brain any longer.

“What happened?”

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes as you press a cotton pad with rubbing alcohol to an open wound. Steve hisses at the sting, but only for a moment.

“Listen, you’re gonna have to start somewhere if we’re talking again.”

“Well, I’d like to keep you away from this mess as much as I can.”

You clean off the blood, caked onto his face, huffing in frustration.

“Why was Starcourt on fire?”

“Because a fire happened.”

Annoyance began to bubble within you.

“No shit, Harrington.” Steve fidgets with something wrapped around his fingers, and you glance down. Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight of familiar colours, your favourite colours. “You- you still have it?”

Steve’s gaze falls to your wrist, drinking in the bracelet he made you, in his favourite colours. The strings show signs of wear, hanging loosely now, but still intact, at least.

Tears threaten to spill again.

“I- uh- I didn’t think you’d still have yours,” He admits softly, and you nod.

“Never took it off.” You push his hair out of his face, matted down with dried sweat and blood. “Guess you did. I figured you did.”

“No, I—“

“It’s okay, Steve. Really. I’m shocked you have it at all.”

His heart sinks at your words. You had figured he gave up completely on you, and he knew it. Still, it didn’t make this hurt any less.

“Wait- listen-“ Steve reaches up to your wrist, grasping it gently. You freeze at the sudden contact. “I- I kept mine on.”

You eye him, suspicious. “So, how’d it fall off?”

“It’s- I can’t tell you—“ You sigh, annoyed, but Steve shakes his head frantically. “It’s not like that. I have to keep you safe.”

You shove your hand away from his as you sit back onto the closed toilet lid, staring at him in disbelief.

“Safe? Steve, safe went out the fucking window as soon as I asked the goddamn feds what was going on and was told I had to leave.” Your voice was stern, but shaking. Tears slipped from Steve’s eyes, but he kept himself calm, letting you speak. “I thought I lost you forever, and you have the nerve to still try and keep me in the dark? When I said you could count on me, I meant it. Always. Even after we grew apart.”

Steve tries to speak, but his bottom lip quivers and his thoughts snowball once more. He hasn’t seen you in years, not this close, not face to face and so personally. Across your features lie worry and hurt, but your bright soul still shines through. You’re here, and he still can’t help but fuck things up instead of trying to fix it all.

“I- I- I-“ Steve can’t get it out, he’s not sure where to start. Does he apologize for abandoning you? Or for the way he traded in everything pure in his life for some shoddy illusion of popularity? Maybe he should mention to you that the fall from grace nearly broke him, but would that help anything now?

Steve tugs at the remnants of his bracelet nervously while his breath quickens, grasping desperately for the words he needs to say to you, but they all slip away too fast. His eyes squeeze shut as his vision tunnels in.

That’s when you realize: he’s hyperventilating. He’s having a panic attack.

“Steve, hey,” You gently call out to him, softly reaching out for his hand. “Is this okay?”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push himself away, so you grasp both his hands in your own. You run your thumbs along his skin in circles, hoping the movement soothes him.

“You’re okay, Steve. You’re safe. Whatever was after you is gone now.” You try reassuring him, but he shakes his head, and that’s when the sobs escape him.

“I- I-“

You gently shush him, “It’s okay, just take a moment to breathe. Breathe with me, can you do that?”

Steve tries following your steady breathing pattern, but he hiccups another set of sobs out, panic pulling him back down.

You sink to the floor, gently pulling Steve down next to you before cradling him in your arms. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Steve buries his face into your shoulder, gripping onto you for dear life.

“It’s not- it’s—“ He sobs again, pulling you close to him.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” Your heart sinks at the way he cries out, unsure of what to do from here.

You think back to the photo you saw downstairs.

“Steve, I… I saw that picture of us, in your living room.” You whisper softly as you rub circles on his back. “I didn’t think you still had it.”

Steve can only nod, too exhausted and scatterbrained to find the words to properly respond.

“It’s one of my favourite memories of us,” You admit, taking note of the way the sobs had begun to settle slowly. Every now and then, one escapes him, but his body continues to relax in your arms.

“M- mine too.” Steve’s voice shakes as he tries to settle down.

“You don’t have to tell me everything right now. I… I’ll need to know things eventually, but—“

“I almost died.”

The wind is knocked from your lungs.

“I- I-“ Steve’s trying his best not to start crying again, not as hard as he just was, at least. “It- you- I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d lose you.”

Though you keep silent, your heart continued to ache at the way he spoke of your importance to him.

“I did lose you. I pushed you a- away. I left you behind and-“ A sob racks through his body, and you squeeze him gently to remind him he’s not alone. “We- we almost died. Me and Robin. Erica and Dustin were with us, too, but… they were safe at least. Th- the Russians didn’t hurt them, thankfully—“

You pull back to look at Steve, “Russians? Steve, is- are you-“ Your words die in your throat as you try to figure out just what you were trying to ask.

“Starcourt was j- just a cover-up.” Steve hiccups, clamping his eyes shut to try and hold his tears back. “It was all this- this huge cover-up, and we found out, and they almost killed us for it, and if it wasn’t bad enough, this giant fucking …. monster…”

His eyes open and he trails off as he watches your face cautiously.

“... I sound fucking insane, don’t I?”

You shrug, “I mean… yeah, a little, but … I believe you. Whatever happened, I believe you, Steve.”

He wants to explain everything to you. Tell you all about the last three years, how the Upside Down quite honestly flipped his entire life upside-down. How he quickly realized how fragile and temporary everything is in life, and that he can’t even attempt to sleep without checking that the nail-ridden bat is still under his bed, just in case.

Steve owes you an explanation of everything, he knows that. Keeping you hidden from the truth won’t keep you safe. It’s just now, after crying again, he’s ready to pass out for the night, and this will all take quite some time to fill you in on.

As if reading his mind, you speak up, “You’re tired, let’s get you to bed, okay? If you’re still sore tomorrow, I can wash your hair over the tub.”

Steve feels something lighten the heaviness he had been carrying around for so long on his shoulders. The weight of his world lessens just a bit.

“You- you’re- you’ll stay?”

You push to your feet, pulling Steve up with you and holding him steady.

“What did I say when we became friends?” You remind him as you lead him into his room.

Steve sniffles, still trying to shake the sadness clutching onto him so tightly. It won’t leave, not anytime soon. You’re prepared for that, though. You’re ready to pick things up where they were left off, fully aware it would take a lot of work to rebuild the bridge Steve burned years ago.

He won’t have to rebuild it alone, at least.

Steve climbs under the covers, rolling over to the far side to make room for you, and you join him. Limbs aching, he still wraps himself around you, afraid to let go, to lose you again.

“That I could count on you.” Steve finally answers, his voice soft but raspy from crying. “And that you could count on me.”

You nod, wrapping yourself around him in return, afraid to let go, afraid he’ll slip from your grasp again. Not from his own doing, but from whatever demons hold him down.

“I… don’t know what your monsters are like, but I’m going to be here for you, every step of the way. You’re not getting rid of me easy this time, Harrington.”

A glimpse of a smile plays up along Steve’s lips, making your stomach flutter. Finally a good sign. A sign of hope.

“I’m super gluing myself to you,” Steve murmurs, eyes drooping with the need for sleep. “You’ll never lose me, never again.”

As his eyes flutter shut, your eyes fall on the broken bracelet, still wound between his fingers.

“Steve?”

He shifts closer to you, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“Mhm?”

Your eyes trail over his face, still damaged, still in pain, but finally relaxed. You expect he won’t sleep a full night, and if he does, it won’t be without nightmares of whatever tortured him, but for now…. he’s at ease, and you’re right there alongside him.

“I’ll make you a new bracelet tomorrow, too.”

The only response are the soft snores from Steve, reassuring you that he’s safe. He’s okay, even for a moment.

You’re both safe, and in time, you both will be okay.

———

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[godmother-encanto-au]

Godmother Chapter Six-Fire and Darkness

In which everything that can go wrong does go wrong, and then goes a little bit right?

Notes: The good news is, I don't have Covid after all, just a bad chest infection. Hooray and boooo at the same time.

…..

Sewing the wedding dress was more a way for Mirabel to keep herself occupied (distracted)than anything else. The fabric was satin, possibly imported, and she'd been given several skeins of superfine wool in a range of colours for embroidery. She kept the skirt hem just above the ankle and gathered the waist so that it fanned out in layers. The embroidered parts were small, almost hidden; she had the feeling that her groom didn't want any obvious signs of her pining for home. She didn't bother with a veil.

She had never been a person that cried easily; she'd taught herself from an early age to hide her tears and put on a brave face. Even in this place, constantly threatened with rape and violence, she had managed not to shed a tear at her predicament. But once she tried on her wedding gown to check the fit in the mirror, the full enormity of what was going to happen to her hit her all at once.

My father won't be walking me down the aisle.

I won't be able to hug my mother one last time before I become a wife.

My family won't be there to celebrate my marriage.

I am marrying a monster.

I'm going to give birth to a monster's children.

He is going to hurt me.

She sank to the floor in her beautiful satin dress and sobbed her heart out. She was so consumed by her sadness that she didn't notice when the smell of smoke started wafting around her room.

…..

Vargas, true to form, was the first to notice the fire. It had spread quickly in the dry brush of the forest, no doubt helped along by some sort of accelerant, but luckily it hadn't touched the plantation yet. He knew full well that hovering just outside the plantation gates were a rival group waiting to pick them off with guns as they tried to evacuate. It was one of El Verraco's own tricks, he had taken down many of his own rivals with it. Los Brutales, even when taken by surprise, knew better than to fall for such a plot.

El Verraco was calm as he issued the orders to his men. The plantation had to be evacuated of course, but only as far as the storage bins. They could take positions behind them to shoot back at their attackers, the stone roof of the coolhouse would shelter them from the approaching fire and the rivals would soon give up. They always did.

There was the little matter of the girl, though.

Let her burn, Vargas thought, his ego still stinging from his rejection. It was unfair, he knew that, and unlikely to happen, but he really didn't feel like going back into the building when the flames were licking the roof.

“Go get the girl,” El Verraco commanded, as expected. “Find somewhere safe to tether her up.”

There was really only one place that was safe enough to do that. The cliff-face had a series of indents, shallow little shelves carved into the rockface. There was just enough space for a man to stand up, provided he didn't have big feet. Los Brutales used these indents for prisoners they needed to squeal on someone; a few hours there, looking over the drop into the valley, would make anyone talk. But the girl wouldn't be there for long, and she would fit into the floor space easier than the average prisoner.

And maybe some time over the valley would make her rethink my proposal.

She was trying on her wedding dress when he burst in on her, and he half-thought about making her get changed before he pulled her out, but decided against it. The plantation was filling up with smoke.

“What's happening?” she managed to ask between coughing fits, as he dragged her outside towards the back of the house.

“Some stupid cabrónes trying to burn us out,” he muttered back, his face covered with a bandana. “Nothing we haven't dealt with before. But you need to be out of the way.”

Silly little puta struggled with him a bit when he dragged her to the nearest indent and wrapped the chain inside around her waist. It was coupled to something that might have been a large vine or the root of a tree, embedded in the rock. It was safe as could be.

“You're going to leave me here?” she asked. The ground she was standing on crumbled a little under her feet.

“It's safer than where I'm going to be,” Vargas replied with a careless shrug. “I'd advise you to stay still until I get back.”

A few hours dangling over the cliff would do her good, he thought as he picked up his gun to fight back. It would remind her who she needed to stay on good terms with if she wanted to be safe.

…..

The group on the opposing cliff had only one set of binoculars between them, but they were just about able to see a man drag Mirabel out of the plantation house and tie her up on a ledge just over the valley, which was now completely engulfed by flames.

Isabela held the binoculars while the other three tried to find a way to get to her. Her relief at seeing her sister alive was tempered with the anger and sadness of seeing her like this; pale, far too thin and clearly terrified. Blind as she was, all she could likely see was black smoke and flames.

“None of these trees are long enough to bridge the gap,” Luisa called.

The wall of fire was blocking them off, the militia had set it behind them. The valley was the only way of getting to the plantation.

“It's all just gunfire and shouting, I can't tell who's winning,” Dolores said.

There was really only one solution; Isabela would have to make something grow from the other cliff. She handed the binoculars to Camilo.

“Keep an eye on the root she's chained to,” she commanded. “I'm going to try and make it grow.”

….

The rock ledge she was standing on was dangerously unstable, Mirabel could feel it shift with every breath. The chain that was keeping her anchored to the cliffside was obviously meant for someone much bigger; had she been anywhere else, she might have been able to slip out of it and make a run for freedom. Right now, it was the only thing that was keeping her in place.

The valley below looked like the mouth of hell. Nothing but a roaring carpet of flame with plumes of thick smoke and ash, thrashing like a living thing.

Shots rang out all around her, impossible to tell if it was Los Brutales or the attackers. Someone was strafing around the coolhouse carelessly, hoping to catch someone. A few of those shots punched into the rock above her head.

And then, the root that the chain was wrapped around started to move. It pushed against her back, she had to quickly shift to one side to avoid falling forward.

…..

Making things grow had always been so easy for Isabela, but now at the very moment she needed it most, it was a tremendous strain. She found the root her sister was tied to, tried to coax it outwards. The tree was old, sturdy, its roots ran deep into the earth and it was not yet on fire. If she could just get it to grow, it could shoot across the valley and deliver Mirabel safely to them.

The tree was old, sturdy, set in its ways. It did not want to move.

…..

Some fool on the attackers' side was setting off gelignite by tossing incendiary bottles at it, the ground shook, but Los Brutales held firm. Vargas was positioned just behind El Verraco, holding a rifle he had no intention of shooting unless he absolutely needed to.

“Is the girl safe?” El Verraco asked.

It only just occurred to Vargas then, that El Verraco didn't know the girl's name. He never even asked.

She's wasted on you.

“Safe as can be,” Vargas replied, then he ducked as another round of strafing hit the barricades.

…..

Mirabel's arms were pinned to her sides, but gingerly she managed to slide them out from under the chain. She only dared to move an inch at a time, any further sent a shower of crumbling rock down into the hellmouth of the valley.

Despite the combined racket of the fire, the shooting, the explosives and the enemies shouting at and to each other, Mirabel thought she could hear the same whispering that had been haunting her dreams. It sounded like it came from below her, in the flames.

She was wondering about it when two bullets ricocheted off of the coolhouse wall and caught her in the leg. One punched clear through her calf, the other buried itself deep into the bone of her thigh. The injured leg folded in on itself and she fell forward, dragging the chain with her.

…..

“Isabela, stop! She's falling!”

Isabela stopped instantly, and grabbed the binoculars from Camilo.

“What happened?” she asked, her heart beating so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of her body.

“I don't know, she just....dropped!”

“Someone was shooting over there,” Dolores mumbled, her hands over her ears. She was rocking on the spot. “Díos Mio, did she get shot?”

“She's hanging on,” Isabela told them. “She's still got the chain, she's hanging on...I need to get her over here...”

She threw the binoculars over her shoulder and concentrated on growing the root that was now dangling Mirabel over the fire, twice as hard as she had before. A burning sensation spread across her brain, little veins popped out on her skin, a trickle of blood started dribbling from her nose...

Grow, damn you! Grow!

The root pushed out of the rock, maybe two feet, maybe three.

Then it stopped.

…..

The attackers had given up. Three of them stayed behind to lay covering fire but one was hit by a sniper's bullet, the other two captured. El Verraco would deal with them later. All in all, the attack had been an annoyance. It was a shame about the forest, which would blaze for hours, maybe days, but they could move out of the plantation into another of the hideouts. They were cut off from the valley but they could keep walking along the river.

“Go fetch my bride,” El Verraco said. “I think we'll be moving the wedding forward, just in case.”

…..

The gunshots didn't hurt much, Mirabel's leg mostly felt numb. But she assumed she'd lost quite a lot of blood, because her head was spinning. She had just about managed to wrap the chain around her wrist before she fell, and the root she was hanging onto felt like it was bouncing around under her weight.

If I fall she thought, with a giddiness that seemed at odds with her situation, what'll kill me first? The impact or the fire?

“Shit,” she heard someone hiss from the cliff-face. “Didn't I tell you to stay still?”

“I did,” she answered, twisting in the wind. “I still am.”

She heard the tall man bark for the rest of the men to help him, she was too far down for him to reach and pull her up. These militiamen, in their khaki trousers and leather boots, they blended into the rocks. To her, they just looked like a group of vaguely dun-coloured blobs.

Not El Verraco, though. Even through her sightless eyes, he was always sharp, made of shadows and corners. He was reaching down his hand to her.

“Pull yourself up,” he commanded.

His men were holding him steady as he leaned towards her.

“Take my hand, I'll pull you up,” he commanded again.

She felt blood dripping down her leg, dangling off of her toe, before it fell away into the fire.

I don't want to die.

The whispers circled around and around in her mind.

Let go. This is not the life for you. Let go, and your suffering will be over.

El Verraco clearly knew what she was thinking, because his next command was tinged with a small bite of panic.

“Get up here NOW!” he bellowed, reaching for her with such force that he nearly brought his own men down with him.

She took a deep breath, made her peace with death, and pulled her hand out of the chain.

She let go.

…..

They watched her fall.

Isabela's arms were still outstretched, as if she could catch her.

They watched as she turned once, in the wind, like a wayward flower petal, and was swallowed up by the flames.

How long they stayed there, like that, nobody could say. They were struck dumb in the aftermath. Isabela wiped the blood from under her nose. Luisa stared at the spot in the valley where Mirabel had fallen, as if she thought time could reverse if she stared long enough.

Dolores was the only one who spoke, when words finally came back.

“She let go,” she said, over and over. “She let go. Why did she do that?”

Camilo huddled close to his sister, his arms wrapped around his legs, staring at nothing.

What am I going to tell Mama?

What am I going to tell Papa?

Isabela only had one answer to that question.

You'll tell them the truth. You'll tell them you failed her.

…..

The men thought that El Verraco had finally lost his mind completely. He insisted they put out the plantation fire and stay where they were, and have the forest searched once it was safe to go inside. Exactly what he thought he could do with the charred corpse of his child bride was anyone's guess.

They had lost much of their stored food and equipment in the fire, and many of the rooms were ruined including his own. The men muttered among themselves, the beginnings of mutiny. Truthfully many of them had felt unhappy about El Verraco keeping the girl captive, some had daughters of their own not much younger. In the old days he would have seen an attack like this coming from a mile away, but the old fool was driven mad by lust and legacy.

Vargas tried to drink his guilt away. He couldn't understand why Mirabel had chosen to let herself drop into the fire rather than live as El Verraco's wife. Sure, the old man was a monster, but she would have had her children to keep her happy, and he would have died in a few years anyway and then she could have had whatever life she wanted.

What a waste.

He had seen a glimpse of something new in El Verraco after she dropped. A strange thing, a look in his remaining eye, as if he'd seen a ghost. Perhaps it had finally hit home what a monster he had let himself become, when a girl had chosen death over being in his bed. He looked smaller, somehow, cowed.

…..

They walked home in angry, tearful silence. Luisa had wanted to stay behind, to see if they could at least bring Mirabel's body home for a proper burial, but she was coldly reminded that the fire was so hot there would have been nothing to find. It was still smouldering when they left for home.

Their parents were furious when they arrived at Casíta's door, they had been worried sick of course, but their anger faded as the whole sorry story came out, little by little, punctuated by broken sobs. Everyone shed tears then.

Except for Julieta.

On hearing how her daughter plummeted headfirst into a raging wildfire, Julieta rose from the table and went to her room. Not even Augustin was allowed in to see her.

“I'm sorry,” Isabela sobbed outside the door. “I tried to save her Mama, I really tried!”

Before, the grief had been tense, fraught with the hope that Mirabel would come back. Now it was replaced by a softer grief, no less miserable but more simple. They shared stories about Mirabel that made them chuckle, the snowdrifts around Casíta dwindled to a gentle summer rain, nobody slept alone but cuddled two or three to a bed for comfort.

Alma, as was to be expected, took the lead when it came to planning a memorial service. She brought in the villagers to take care of the food, for Julieta had stopped doing anything since she heard of her daughter's passing. The Gúzmans offered their support, arranging the decorations, sending the word out.

With no body, it would be an unusual wake, so they gathered many things that Mirabel had made over the years to host instead of the body. Alma was taken aback when many of the villagers brought blankets, shawls, children's toys, until the memorial table was piled with these tokens.

“She made this for me when I learned to read,” a little girl said proudly as she donated a small stuffed eagle.

“She helped me fix my shawl just before my wedding,” a young woman explained, adding an intricately embroidered wedding garment to the table. “I couldn't have gotten married without it.”

“She made this for my mother,” the blacksmith said, unfurling a fine wool blanket. “It's the only thing that keeps her feet warm in winter, so she says.”

It was both heartening and deeply tragic that the village loved Mirabel so much. The Madrigals would not mourn alone.

Later, when the memorial was over and everyone drifted off to bed, Alma found Julieta in the kitchen by herself, clutching a cup of coffee that she wasn't drinking.

“It was a beautiful service,” she said to her daughter. “Mirabel will stay strong in all of our hearts.”

Julieta had been stone-faced throughout the whole ceremony, no tears, no smiles, just blank. She barely said a word when the villagers offered their condolences.

“Do you remember what you said when she came back?” she asked Alma, quietly.

“I don't understand what you...”

“Yes, you do. When she came back to us.”

“...I don't remember.”

“You said, someday whatever it was that took her away would come back for her.”

“That was different, Julieta,” Alma sighed. “Please, it's late...you need to get some sleep, amore.”

“You were right,” Julieta continued, as if Alma hadn't spoken at all. “How does it feel to be so right?”

Her voice broke on the last word and she sobbed wretchedly into her coffee cup. Alma tried and failed to console her until sunrise, when her husband took her to bed.

…..

Burning was supposed to hurt, wasn't it?

And crashing headfirst into the ground was supposed to be unpleasant, at the very least.

But Mirabel's head, from what she could tell, was mostly intact. And her skin was slightly damp and decidedly not on fire. She struggled to open her eyes, expecting to see nothing but burning trees.

There were no trees in her immediate eyeline. Her body was numb, wet, a little cold but not in an unpleasant way. All she could see was an inky black expanse, a few floating orbs that glowed faintly in the darkness.

Ah, I'm in heaven. Or hell is much nicer than I expected.

Curiously though, her leg was hurting much more now than when she got shot. Were you supposed to feel pain in heaven? Or hell? Surely a dead person didn't feel pain?

She tried moving her arms, and realized that wet feeling was because she was floating in lukewarm water. Curious, she always sank like a stone whenever she tried to swim before. Just in her eyeline she could see the layers of her wedding dress float and bob in the water like a jellyfish.

Hang on...

She raised her hand out of the water to hover above her face. Amazingly, she could see the little whorls and lines on her fingertips. She hadn't been able to see them without her glasses for as long as she could remember.

Leaning forward to tread water, her feet brushed the floor. She stood on her uninjured leg and took in everything around her. The water she was in was a great lake, covered with tiny islands, each glowing multicoloured hues in the dark. And as she looked more closely at the one nearest to her, she could see that the surface of these islands, all the trees that stretched up to disappear into the dark, all the flowering bushes and sparkling rocks, were covered with butterflies and moths.

There was that familiar whisper, except now it wasn't so much the sound of rustling paper but recognizable voices, thousands of them. She could even make out a few words.

...missed you...

...don't....

...we are glad...

...she will be....

….honoured...

One of the moths, a pale green creature with dark eye spots on its wings, gently landed on her finger. As she watched, the insect carapace shifted, folded, melted into itself, and a tiny naked humanlike figure stood with its tiny arms outstretched, showing off its new body for her.

And yet, with all this strangeness going on, her mind kept going back to that one discovery.

I can see down here.

#encanto #mirabel madrigal #encanto fanfic #tw: general unpleasant stuff #butterflies and moths #madrigal family #mystery