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commander-rahrah · 7 months

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Talking to the Moon

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5000 (haha.. whoops) Warnings: slightly suggestive for a tiny moment but SFW, swearing, PTSD, trauma, past/implied abuse, fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

Summary: Set in early Act II. Reader/Tav's origin of their powers is revealed to the party and there is a negative reaction to it. Astarion attempts to comfort reader with his usual routine and provide a "distraction" but gets rejected. He begins to question their own reasoning and feelings, and realizing that he might be feeling something… different.

Note: This is still a GN!Reader/Tav in second perspective with no names or y/n. However, there is some backstory (noble background and a deity) and appearance descriptors (only freckles and hair colour) assigned to the reader/Tav. I really enjoy the dynamic of the moon/stars that I have with my own Tav named Olympia and Astarion and for this particular idea I wrote I felt the backstory was too important to leave out!

I am an avid D&D player and I loooove making OCs (its a problem I have like 30) but this particular backstory and character that this is based off of is very dear to me, so I really hope your enjoy!

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You were all gathered on the grounds just outside of the Last Light Inn, heading back inside the main doors with Jaheira and Isobel. The safe haven protected from the forces of the Absolute — thanks to you and your companions quick action. The remaining Tieflings and the other inhabitants of the inn still shaken from the sudden attack, but resting safely inside. “I’m thankful you were all here to stop the attack.” The cleric of Selûne said softly.

Isobel then looked over her shoulder at you, stopping for a moment as she looked you over from head to toe. “And you... I recognize my goddess’s powers within you — but they are so different from mine. Your magic is not born out of devotion for her.”

“What is she talking about?” Shadowheart asked from your side, whipping her head to you so fast her black braid flung out behind her.

You swallowed. You had been dreading this conversation. Fearing the moment it came out. “Yes, I, uh—,” You stumbled over your words, your tongue suddenly heavy in your mouth. “I was blessed by Selûne as a babe.”

Isobel raised her eyebrows, her lips stretching into a slight smile. “A blessing indeed. A drop of Selûne's own powers lives within you. You use it well.”

You bowed your head, your cheeks flushing a bright shade. Embarrassment and chagrin flooding you as every single member of your party turned to face you — varying reactions on all of them.

You eyes were still on your boots as both Isobel and Jaheira bid you a goodnight, telling you of your own rooms upstairs before disappearing amongst the many doors of the inn. The rest of your party quiet — not even Astarion had opened his mouth to fill the silence with a comment or joke.

The voice who broke it was the one you had dreaded the most. Shadowheart’s voice was a harsh whisper, but it still cut you deeply. “I cannot believe you. You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

You winced, your teeth biting into your cheek, “I wasn’t lying. I just… didn’t tell you.”

“You just didn’t tell me that you are blessed with divine magic from my goddess’ enemy.” The dark-haired cleric scoffed, her nose crinkling so much that the scar across her face shrank considerably.

You thought of all the nights around the campfire sharing soft laughs, the early mornings that you helped braid her hair. This was why you had been avoiding it. You didn't want to lose that. Shadowheart had become a friend, an ally. “I didn’t want to ruin anything, we’ve grown so close and… it’s not like I worship her. I don’t say my prayers to her every night, I was just a babe—“

“Well I do!” She raised her voice, a few passing Harper’s stirring in shock at the outburst before shuffling away. “In Shar’s name. This is unbelievable — I’ve been mere feet away from you this whole time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But you kept your devotion to Shar a secret and when it did come out all of us have been nothing but accepting.” Your eyebrows were furrowed together in worry. This was going exactly as you had dreaded. You’d hope your friendship would be something she would consider however…

“Alsoooo,” Astarion drawled, “The last time you had a disagreement with one of us, we woke up to you holding a knife to Lae'zel’s neck. Can you really blame them for not bringing it up?” He wagged his fingers at her, a single white brow raised.

Her nostrils flared as she flashed a look to the vampire, before turning back to you. “This is no disagreement. This is wrong, this is against everything my lady stands for."

“Shadowheart, please. You are my friend—“ You began to beg, but the cleric cut you off.

“No. Not anymore. We will continue to travel together to reach Moonrise Towers. We will get rid of these tadpoles and then we are done.” She spat.

“I—,” You choked, unable to think of what else to say. How else to defend yourself. You realized that Shadowheart’s mind was made up, no matter what you said right now.

“Shadowheart,” Astarion cut in again, stepping in front of you almost protectively. “Enough.” His voice a low growl.

Gale and Wyll stepped forward too, concern etched on their face. Karlach’s own features were torn — her eyes flitting between you and Shadowheart with immense worry. Lae'zel remained in the back, her muscular arms crossed over her chest as she observed silently.

The dark haired cleric shook her head, a loud breath escaping her before she stormed off up the stairs. Her armor and weapons clanking loudly as she stormed away.

“Princess, come on!” Karlach shouted after her, starting up the stairs. But she paused for a moment, stretching out to grab your elbow gently. “It’ll be alright giggles, ok? Don’t worry about it.”

You could only nod as you watched the Tiefling chase after her, both of them disappearing upstairs.

“Well, that was hard to watch.“ Wyll murmered, offering you a pained smile.

You waited for the sound of a door slamming above, before turning to head up the stairs yourself. You felt your throat tighten as you fought to keep your tears at bay. "Today was a lot. I think I’m just going to find my room now.” You barely waved goodbye as you took the worn steps two at a time, disappearing from your group without a backwards glance as a few tears broke free.

“Wait, do you need—“ Gale began to trail behind you, his brows knitted together and face pained.

“Let them be, Gale.” Astarion waved a hand to stop him pursing you up the stairs. “Let them drop the mask for a while. If you go barging in there right away, they will paint a smile on their face and act like everything is fine.”

A look of surprise crossed his face before the wizard let his shoulders slump, “You’re right.”

A sound of delight escaped the vampire, before he cupped his pale fingers around his pointed ear, “I beg your pardon, could you say that again? I didn’t hear you.”

Gale let out a large huff, before he admitted “I said you’re right. I’ll let them be.”

“Oooh, Gale. If you’re trying to woo me, at least buy me dinner first.” Astarion pretended to twirl his hair, before flashing him a wicked grin.

Gale pushed his face into a palm, letting out another exasperated sound. “Gods, save me.”

• • •

You were sat on the bed, your back pressed into the back of the headboard with your knees pressed to your chest. It had been a few hours before the tears had finally stopped, leaving you feeling even more exhausted and drained. You weren’t sure when the news of what lived inside you would come out — but it went exactly as you feared it had. The betrayal and anger on Shadowheart’s face was repeating over and over in your mind. The rest of your party had seemed accepting… but it was hard to tell what exactly they were thinking.

A sudden knock at your door had you scrambling to right yourself, wiping at your damp cheeks and eyes with the back of your hands. You fixed your shirt, and stretched out your legs to look as if you were just relaxing on the bed before letting out, “Come in.”

Your voice sounded much more meek than intended.

Astarion poked his head through the door, a strange combination of both hesitation and curiosity painted across his pale face. “Hello pet,” He purred, lingering in the door way for a moment.

“Astarion, hi.” You sat up a little straighter, surprised to see him. “Come in.”

He shut the door softly behind him, “Feeling any better? Or did Shadowheart come find you for an encore?”

You shook your head, “No, she’s stayed in her room — thank the gods. I don’t think I could handle another moment like that tonight.”

His eyes betrayed him for a moment, glancing to the floor, “Yes, well usually I would say it’s entertaining watching someone else’s drama unfold… but I didn’t enjoy that.”

He swayed over to the bed, sitting on the edge. Not close enough to touch, but you couldn’t help the small fluttering that erupted in your belly as he sat next to you. How casual it seemed, how easy it had become.

You shoved the thought away, instead scrunching your mouth up as you spoke, “I was avoiding it for a reason. I feel terrible... I shouldn't have hidden it for so long.”

“Well, if you were looking for a distraction…” He stretched his hand over to you and drew lazy circles on your knee before dragging it up to your thigh. “I can be of some assistance.” A seductive smile curved his lips, his eyes darkening.

Your expression crumbled as the crack you had just soothed in your chest starting to form again. “That’s all you see me as, isn’t it?”

“What?” He asked, his hand freezing on your leg.

“Sex. That’s the only way you see me.”

“I—“ His eyes widened with bewilderment, before he blinked at you. “I don’t— I mean.” He continued to stammer, his fanged mouth hanging open in genuine shock.

You let out a sad sigh, your eyebrows furrowing like you were in pain. You were. The ache in your chest was growing tenfold, the familiar feeling of your heart crawling up your throat returning. “I’m not in the mood Astarion. If you want to feed, do it and go.”

He instantly pulled his hand away at your rejection, clutching it to his chest with the other one. He didn’t give an apology, nor did he seem interested in your offer to feed. His red eyes were blinking animatedly, as if confused. Before he bowed his head and got off the bed quickly. Then the sound of the door clicking softly behind him an instant later.

You couldn’t hear his steps in the hall even if you wanted to — so instead you rolled over onto your side, curling your limbs into yourself as you screwed your face up once more and cried.

• • •

Astarion didn’t know what to think. What to do.

No one had ever rejected him before. This is what he did, this is what he was built for. To manipulate. To seduce.

To play the dazzling, charming distraction. He used to target the lonely, the distressed and upset… it made the hunt so much easier. And Cazador used to praise him for it — he said the miserable and desperate tasted so much better.

But you weren’t like those easy targets. You weren’t simple, and he should have known better. You were complex and contradictory — not something he appreciated in a target. But something he could appreciate in a fellow person. Things were becoming to muddled, too confusing.

Gods dammit, he had been so foolish. His entire plan could be falling apart now — you sitting up in your room alone mulling everything over.

But what really bothered him wasn’t the idea of his plan falling apart. That his protection from his old master could be gone by morning, leaving him behind to suffer the consequences.

No, what really bothered him, what he was really afraid of was how upset you’d been. That he was the cause of that.

Astarion's skin felt hot and crawling as he realized he had treated you as others had treated him all these years. Trying to use your desire as a way to override any other feeling. To seduce you into acquiescence, to fool you into thinking you needed only him. It disgusted him, what he’d done. Shame coursed through him and his fingers clenched onto his leather clad knee.

He was grateful for the little dark attic he had found above the barn — grateful to be away from the prying eyes of the rest of the party. He couldn't explain this to them, he wouldn't.

A splash of wet splashed onto the back of his hand and he realized he was crying. He'd forgotten he could do that. He'd stopped so many years ago, numbing and willing himself so that none would come. So that despite the pain or hurt he was feeling, his tears would not be there to give Cazador anymore satisfaction. His master didn't need anymore physical evidence of his anguish — his screams and blood and broken body was enough. He had stopped crying years ago. Until tonight.

Wiping his face, he took a steadying breath he knew he didn't need. And then again for good measure. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he stood up with a slightly trembling body. He needed to fix this. For you. For himself.

Before he knew it he was back outside of your door, his fist hovering just above the painted wood. His other hand was picking at the seam of the side of his leather pants nervously. His red eyes stared at the little tray of food he'd brought up for you — resting on the hallway table as he waited to see if you would even let him in. A peace offering he'd thought. A way to get his foot in the door before he could… explain. Apologize.

Chewing his lip, he finally let his knuckles rap on the door. He lingered for a moment, before opening it slightly. The small crack in the door angled enough to reveal you still laid in the bed, your back to the door as you were curled up on the mattress. Guilt flooded through him all over again.

“Gale, I told you I’m fine—"

He pushed the door open a little more, just enough so that is creaked to get your attention. He only poked his head through, enough for you to see his pale face as you strained your neck to look over your shoulder.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Astarion swallowed at the sound of your disappointment. It was not something he ever wished to hear again if he could. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he looked down, unable to look you in the eye, “Will you let me try again?”

“What?”

He finally looked up, his red eyes round and soft, “Let me try again.”

You gave him a hard to read look, before nodding curtly.

Astarion grabbed the door, not closing it fully but just enough that the lock bounced softly back. His pale knuckles knocked again gently, before he heard you let out an exasperated breath. “Come in.”

A sheepish, tight lipped smile spread across his face as he stepped fully into the room and looked at you. You were sitting up in the bed now, your arms crossed over yourself with an unimpressed look on your face. He used his foot to close the door quietly as he held his peace offering behind him.

“I won’t bother you, if you don’t want company. But I noticed you hadn’t eaten. I brought you dinner.” He pulled the tray out from behind his back, showing it to you.

“Oh.”

“And a glass of wine.” He placed everything carefully onto the nightstand, before backing away towards the door. “It’s disgusting.”

A soft laugh escaped you, “Thank you." You took a small sip of the wine, before twisting your face. “Ugh — you are right, that is disgusting.”

“I’m almost certain I saw those Tiefling children your so fond of mixing it themselves. Pray this is a part time gig and they don’t become bartenders in the future.”

The two of you let snickers out through your noses, before the room turned quiet again. “Thank you for bringing this up. I mean it.”

“You’re very welcome.” He shuffled his feet, unsure if that was a dismissal or not. But he also found himself not wanting to leave. His hands were behind his back, his own fingers intertwining and squeezing tightly. “I’m… I’m sorry for how you were treated today. It wasn’t fair.”

Your eyes flashed down, your brow crinkling. “It’s okay—“

Astarion shook his head profusely, “No, it’s not. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t owe any of us anything — not your story, or … or anything else. What you decide to tell us, what you trust us with... that is your choice.”

“Thank you. It’s not that I don’t trust you all, I do… I just.”

He cut you off gently, “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know.” Your finger was playing with the rim of the wine glass in mesmerizing circles, over and over. “I do, trust you though.”

His red eyes lifted from your hands, to give you a quizzical look, “Now, why in the heavens would you do that?”

Your laugh was music to his ears. Full and bright. You shrugged, putting the glass back onto the nightstand — abandoning it and the dinner for another moment. “I just do.”

The vampire couldn't stop the purr that escaped his lips, “Hmmm, other members of our merry party would disapprove.”

“Probably. I think they disapprove of most of my interactions with you.” You said quietly, picking at the blanket you were sat upon.

The room filled with silence for a moment as you thought. “I was just a baby… when it happened. I was born ill — so weak and tired, it was almost like I was a dead. My parents threw all of their power and wealth at every scholar and healer they knew to try and cure me.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up as you spoke, joining you carefully on the bed. Much further then his previous visit. His hands settled onto his own lap as he listened.

“Nothing would work. And with every failed attempt, father become more and more distant. And mother became more and more desperate, hoping for any miracle she could find. She began to pray to any God that would listen, traveling to their shrines and statues. One night, my mother had fallen asleep crying while kneeling next to me. She said she awoke to a breeze and silver light — and the most beautiful woman she had ever seen was standing over us. Her hair was set in long silver waves, a flowing dress cascading over her curves, and a small smile on her lips as she watched the scene of mother and child. 'Selûne?' My mother asked, and the ethereal woman merely smiled again. 'I heard your prayers and felt your tears as if they were mine own. No mother should know the loss of their child.' As I slept, she touched my hair lightly, telling my mother I was pure and good-hearted. Selûne told her that she would help me, but that I would have a calling that would lead me away from my normal life of nobility and comfort. After my mother agreed, a white light shone through the Goddess’ hand, spreading into my hair, into my body and creating an aura around me. My hair turned silvery white, and star-like freckles began to shine all over my skin.” Your fingertips danced across your face, touching the skin that showed the blessing.

Astarion was gobsmacked, his eyes lingering over your silver hair and the freckles that dusted your nose and cheeks. His mind struggling to keep up with the information. “So, what Isobel said is true… a drop of Selûne's power lives in you?”

You nodded your head weakly, avoiding his stare.

“Gods… Why tell me this?”

You only offered a soft smile, “I wanted you to know.”

A thousand thoughts were running through his mind — most of them selfish. He'd prayed to the Gods every night for years, asking, begging, willing them to save him. To give him a swift death. Anything. And never received an answer back. But Selûne had for you.

But now that he knew you, he could think of no one else who would deserve it. He couldn't bare to think what the world would have been like if you had been taken away so early. Where he would be now if he hadn't met you on the cliffside after that damn ship. “Well, it seems that you truly are walking poetry, darling. Our little moon shining a light on all of us.”

He swore he saw you bottom lip tremble at the name.

"Let me tell the others, when I'm ready?" You asked quietly.

"Of course."

The room fell into silence again, but it was more comfortable then before. Astarion found himself lost in his thoughts — a confusing melody of haunting memories, and wishful thoughts.

“You never answered my question before.”

“Hmm?” Your voice had him blinking back to reality, turning his body to look over at you.

“About… how you see me.” Your eyes were big and vulnerable. They tugged at his heart, at the knot in his stomach that formed with the thought of you.

“Oh," Was all he could get out.

“I—I just,” Your voice was feint and nervous, your eyes studying the features of his face intently.

“Don’t ask now.” He blurted, his fingers clenching into a tight fist on his lap.

“What?”

“Give me time. Please.” He begged gently.

Your eyes softened, before you nodded in silent understanding. “I can do that.”

Relief flooded him, his fingers relaxing and shoulders drooping.

You seemed content on letting it drop, instead grabbing the plate of food next to you and balancing it on your knee. “Where is my roommate for the evening?” You asked, before taking a bite.

“Lae'zel? Oh she deemed the lodgings unacceptable and that she would rather die than join us soft-skinned weaklings in a room. She set up a tent out front in the dirt.”

You finished chewing, before grinning. “That… checks out.”

“So you get a luxurious evening alone. At least one of us does." He feigned a frown, before waving his hands dramatically, "I get to spend the night listening to Gale and Wyll snore.” He rolled his eyes before speaking again. "I will say charming Wyll did volunteer to sleep on the floor so I could have half the bed, bless him.”

“You could stay here if you want. To sleep, I mean.” You offered easily, pushing the food around your plate with the fork as you waited for him to reply.

He blinked again, caught off guard by your proposal. “Oh, that’s not necessary—“

“Astarion, really? You’ll share with Gale, but not with me?” You teased, a single eyebrow arching.

He stared at you for a moment, dumbfounded before nodding, “Alright. Eat your dinner. I’ll get my things.”

• • •

Slinking into his room, Astarion left out a sigh of relief as he realized it was empty. He needed a moment to ground himself and stop his spinning head. He had no idea what today would bring, but this whirlwind of a night was not at all what he had expected. He started grabbing his night clothes he had laid out on the bed in his shared room with Wyll and Gale, stuffing them into his rucksack.

But he bristled as he heard steps approaching, looking over his shoulder to see his two fellow male companions enter the room.

“Ahhh, they you are Astarion. We wondered where you scurried off too.” The wizard spoke, tucking the book he had in his hands into the crook of his arm instead.

“Oh, I found better company than the likes of you.” He shot back sarcastically — earning an eye roll from Gale.

“Did you now?” The warlock asked with eyebrows raised, before bending down to his own pack to untie his bedroll from it.

“Don’t bother with the bed roll tonight, Wyll. You’ll have to keep Gale warm tonight.”

"Where are you off too?" Gale asked, his brows furrowed.

Wyll studied him carefully, before offering a little smirk to the vampire. “Off to sleep under the stars?”

“Amongst them actually.” Astarion replied, keeping his face perfectly neutral. As if to not give anything away.

Wyll gave him a knowing look. “You be a gentleman, yeah?”

“Aren’t I always?” He said with a little bow before grabbing his bag and slinking out of the room.

• • •

Your room was very quiet when he emerged back in it. Your empty dinner plate was sat on the edge of the nightstand, the glass of wine mostly untouched expect for that first single sip. The candles were starting to flicker with their last remaining life, the glow now a deep set orange instead of a bright yellow light.

You had stepped behind the privacy screen as you changed, only the outline of your figure could be seen through the sheer material stretched across the wood. He’d seen your naked body before, as you’d seen his — several times by now, actually. But he respected the privacy — appreciated it actually. There was something quite raw about getting undressed in front of someone like this. Something vulnerable.

Something he wasn’t quite ready for.

Realizing he had been staring at that screen and your outline, he sat his bag down on the dresser and began sorting through his things. He heard the soft pads of your feet across the worn floorboards, before the creak of the bed as you laid in it. He turned around with a fake cough, his own night clothes in his pale hands. “May I?” He jerked his head towards the screen.

You simply nodded, turning on your side away from the screen to face the ajar window instead.

He changed efficiently, tugging on the delicate breezy nightclothes before padding bare feet to place his folded clothes on top of his rucksack. He swallowed thickly as he turned to survey the room, to the large space you left in the double bed — intended for him.

"I don't bite." You muttered with your eyes still closed. Like you could sense him hesitating.

He barked a laugh, before moving to his side. "Cheeky pup." He slid into the bed, savoring the feeling of the soft sheets on his skin, the way the mattress hugged his tired and sore body. He hadn't slept in a real bed in ages, in well — he couldn't remember how long. He thought he had gotten used to the small comfort of his bed roll and tent these past weeks, especially when he compared it to the stone floor of Cazador's dungeon and kennels. But remembering the simple luxury of this room and bed would put his tent to shame once he returned to it. His pale fingertips rubbed the soft fabric covering his body, committing to memory.

You adjusted yourself next to him, moving your pillow in a way that wafted your scent throughout the room. It made his movements stop, frozen as his senses were overwhelmed by you. You smelled sweet and warm — inviting. And it had nothing to do with the scent of your bouquet that usually clouded his mind. Licking his lips, he forced himself to look away from you — instead looking up at the dark ceiling, as the last flickers of the surviving candle in the room began to fade away.

"Good night, Astarion." You mumbled into your pillow, your voice already sounding heavy with sleep.

"Sweet dreams darling." He whispered back.

You had fallen asleep next to each other before, of course — laid out in that forest or on the sands of a beach after wondering off away from the others to have your way with each other.

This... this was different.

He couldn’t will himself to fall into a trance. No matter how hard he tried. Instead he was still staring up at the grays and blacks of the dark ceiling, becoming more and more increasingly aware of your breaths and the thrum of your heartbeat.

Only once he had heard them slow down, only once he knew you were in a deep sleep, did he chance looking over to you.

Your face was peaceful, serene as you slept. He wasn’t sure if it was actual moonlight trickling in, or just the cleric Isobel’s protective aura that had cast the blueish white light into the room. But either way it was resulted in Selûne’s power, and even in your sleep you were basking in it. The freckles that marked your checks and nose were almost glittering in the light. The silvery white of your hair shimmering. Your soft lips slightly parted as you dreamed.

Gods, you were beautiful.

Astarion closed his eyes as he was suddenly reminded of his times stuck in those wretched dungeons in the palace. Not what torture or pain he had to endure there. No. For once, that was buried away.

No, instead he recalled what he stared at to get him through those never ending sessions of abuse and torment.

The night sky through those barred windows.

The stars, somehow still blinking and winking from him through the city smoke and light.

And the moon. That beacon of light in the black sky — constantly changing its shape and colour. But it was always there when he needed it to be. When he needed to look up, to be somewhere else, to think of something else — the moon was always there.

Shining. Listening. Understanding.

His eyes opened again, staring again at your tranquil face, your slumbering form curled into the soft bed and sheets.

You were so much more than he had bargained for. A companion blessed with a drop of an actual god’s power. He should have been thrilled — that his plans for protection and well-deserved justice on Cazador was even easier to achieve than he first thought.

No. Instead he realized he was feeling something else. Something… new.

That even though he had missed the sun, longed for it for two hundred years, delighted in the colours it cast the world in it. That even though he could finally enjoy the sun's beam, and bask in the it's warmth and golden glow. Despite all that, he knew that the sun would never understand him like the moon did.

Oh shit.

He had royally fucked up his plan.

Part II: here

#bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion/reader #astarion/tav

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mother-above · 2 months

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The Golden Warrior | Chapter 9

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 9/?

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: violence, death, swearing, trauma

*masterlist*

Chaos was the perfect word to describe what had just happened. There was metal, blood, death, and screaming in every direction. The only reason Prythian was still standing was because Amren unbound herself from her fae body and bombarded fire and brimstone onto the Hybern soldiers. It took the Prythians several seconds to realize that the battle was finally over.

Azriel breathed heavily as he looked around, seeing Illyrians and allies from the other Courts. He was waiting for relief to wash over him, but it never came, his gut knew something was profoundly wrong. He looked around and tried to locate his family, his shadows tasked to find you as well.

Hearing a female scream, he immediately slipped into a shadow and arrived at the horrifying scene of Rhysand lying lifeless and Feyre sobbing over his body. He was on his knees barely functioning as Feyre begged the High Lords to revive his brother and when they did, that feeling in his chest never went away. Amren was pulled out from the Cauldron and yet, the foreboding sense was still there. At that moment, a shadowy wisp hurtled toward him and screamed your name over and over again.

Azriel shot up, everyone looking at him as his shadows scattered to find you. “Y/n- “choked out the shadowsinger.

Then in the distance, they heard a deep voice bellowing, begging to be heard. “THESAN! THESAN! HELP!”

Thesan’s eyes widened as his eyes focused on the limp body next to Callon. A split second later, Thesan, Azriel, the Inner Court, and some of the High Lords followed. Once they arrived, everyone gasped as they saw you sprawled on your stomach, eyes closed. Your left wing was completely drenched in blood, the muscle, tendons, and cartilage connected to your back were shredded, the wing half attached. The bones on your right leg were shattered, your tibia sticking out from under your skin.

“She’s still alive,” said Callon. Your pulse was so weak he needed to press his fingers on your neck.

Azriel couldn’t breathe. He was on autopilot and only realized he had made his way to you when his hand wrapped around your wrist as if he needed to feel your pulse too. He breathed out in relief as he felt life under your skin.

Injured Peregryns and Illyrians watched warily, their heads bowed at the sight of your bloodied wings. The Illyrians who gained respect for you saw how you fought and prayed to the Mother and Cauldron that you would make it out alive.

Thesan’s mind whirred, the sight of your body on the ground sending him into overdrive. His hands glowed as they hovered over your body, “Broken bones, wing damage, and a stab wound,” said Thesan. “There’s faebane in her system, I can feel it.”

The other fae looked at your mangled body in horror, if you weren’t part of Thesan’s bloodline, you’d have died the moment you hit the ground. Thesan needed you to sit up so he could have access to both your abdomen and back. With help from Callon, Azriel gently propped you up against him and awaited instructions.

Nicking his finger with a blade, Thesan placed droplets of his blood in your mouth. “This should help the faebane get out of her system faster. I’m going to need some clean water to flush as much as I can.”

Tarquin immediately went to your side and drew water from the clouds, as Thesan magically pulled back your damaged armor. As the cool water cleansed your wounds, it stirred you into consciousness. Azriel felt your body tense up in his arms as you groaned in pain. Your stab wound needed immediate attention, so Thesan worked on your stomach. The pain became unbearable as you slowly gained consciousness. You could feel every broken bone and your back felt like it was on fire.

Your eyes opened and everything seemed blurry, your non-broken hand gripping someone’s bicep as the searing burn on your back grew stronger. You didn’t know what was happening, the only thing you knew was you were in the worst pain in your life, but someone was there to help you.

Your eyes squeezed shut. “Stop,” you said through clenched teeth. “Make it stop.”

Azriel wanted to cry, his arms clutching you tightly. Why wasn’t Thesan moving fast enough? “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. “Thesan is healing you, you’re okay.”

The sound of his voice did little to calm or reassure you, you were in too much agony. You were already crying, your face buried in Azriel's chest trying not to squirm away from the magical tugs of Thesan’s healing. Thesan spoke in a low calming voice as he explained every step to you, and when he was done with your stab wound, he warned you that he would set all your broken bones at the same time. You clutched Azriel’s arm tighter and braced yourself, a golden pulse came out from Thesan’s palms as a scream escaped your lips as every broken bone in your body snapped back into place.

Azriel felt your body seize in agony and he didn’t think he could take seeing you in so much pain. He looked down at the grotesque injury on your back and left wing, now that Tarquin had washed away dirt and old blood, he could clearly see the shredded muscles and tendons made by claws. He and Thesan made eye contact, their faces paling at the sight. Wasting no more time, Thesan began reattaching the strands of muscle as your body spasmed, your screams turning hoarse.

“Stop!” begged Azriel. “She can’t take it, it’s too much.”

“If I stop, she’s going to die. Her body isn’t healing fast enough because she still has some faebane in her system,” said Thesan gravely.

Thesan was right but Azriel couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering any longer. He looked at Rhysand, his hazel gaze piercing into violet eyes.

Please.

Wordlessly, Rhysand dipped his head and mentally reached out, his talons feeling no resistance from your usually heavily guarded mind. The High Lord of Night shuddered as he heard your internal screams of anguish, as swiftly as he could, he took control and brought you peace. Azriel thanked Rhysand as he felt your body slump, your breaths heavy as your body recovered. Thesan continued his healing and did all he could, but he needed to get you off this battlefield.

Careful not to touch your wounds, Azriel cautiously brought you to your unstable feet and let you lean most of your weight on him. He wished he could carry you but there was no way he could without hurting your wings. Thesan placed his hands on you and Azriel’s arms and with a crack, Thesan winnowed to Dawn’s healing tent.

The sight of your bloodied body made the healers gasp and rush as they prepared a private cot for you. With Thesan’s help, Azriel gingerly moved your body to lie on your stomach. A healer slipped a strong painkilling tablet under your tongue, something new that Dawn Court had been developing. Azriel stood in the corner as he watched Thesan and other healers start working on your wings. He wanted to vomit, the left side was half-detached and the flesh connecting your wing was mutilated. He wished the Attor that did this to you was still alive so he could kill it slowly and as painfully as possible.

The shadowsinger wanted to hold your hand but he would just get in the way. He should have been there to defend you, but he knew that would’ve done more harm than good, he would’ve been distracted. That’s why he let a shadow latch onto you, it would only report back if anything had happened. Azriel rigidly stood in the corner observing every single step, it wasn’t until an elderly healer tugged on his arm and urged him to sit on a nearby cot did he realized that he too was in pain. His wings felt like they were on fire and the healer knew it too because the first thing she did was bandage his wings so he wouldn’t be able to fly.

By the time Azriel was covered in poultices and patched up, the other healers left to attend to the other Peregryns and foot soldiers, leaving Thesan to do the final touches. Thesan was the most powerful healer in the universe but even injuries like this were going to take time to heal. The attention to detail was painstaking, every muscle, tendon, vein, and nerve had to be healed properly, or else you may never fly again.

Thesan had to be perfect, you didn’t deserve to lose your ability to fly, you had done so much for him to protect his court and he would never forget that. Thankfully, you were still asleep, the pain medication doing its job. Wisps floated around you, watching Thesan curiously, some of them boldly intertwining with your fingers as if they were comforting you.

The High Lord looked at Azriel and the shadows. “I suppose you’re the person to thank for saving my cousin from Hybern’s first blast. I don’t know how you knew, but if you didn’t call her, she’d be dead.”

Azriel watched the rise and fall of your back, the moment he heard Nesta screaming for Cassian, he knew something was wrong and called for you too. His throat constricted as he remembered how loud and desperate, he sounded.

“You’re her mate,” stated Thesan. Azriel blinked at the High Lord and then nodded. “Does she know it’s you?”

He shook his head. “No, she doesn’t. She uh-- thinks it’s someone else…. I think she thinks it’s Tarquin,” said Azriel as he propped his elbows on his knees. “She didn’t want to tell me but now that I think about it, they seem close.” Azriel thought back to how Tarquin acted on the battlefield, his extra care as he washed all the blood and dirt away. The way the flow of the water knew your body. Azriel scrubbed his face and sighed heavily as he returned his gaze to your prone form.

Thesan slowly nodded as his thoughts flashed to the turquoise-eyed High Lord. Judging by the sight of the distressed spymaster, he wasn’t going to confirm Azriel’s assumptions.

“Did you know she doesn’t want a mate?” continued Azriel.

Thesan’s hands froze over your back, his head whipping to Azriel. “What?”

“She told me she never wanted a mate; she claimed it would make her weak,” said Azriel with a defeated laugh. He thought about the kiss and how you used him to distract yourself. “She really doesn’t want the bond to snap.”

Thesan pressed his palms against his eyes, his mind whirring at the thought of his stubborn cousin. He should’ve guessed you thought this way. “She’s going to need her family and friends more than ever. I am doing everything possible to heal her, but I don’t know how this will affect her flying. With her powers evolving and now her wings, she’s going to need us. If you can find it within you, please be patient with her.”

A corner of Azriel’s lips lifted, “I’ve hoped all my life for a mate, I could never let her go.”

Thesan hummed his approval. “You saw what she did today, she’s more powerful than I thought. The other courts will be wary of her, the humans, and faeries from Cretea and the Continent will see her as a threat. Word will spread about what she can do, and she’ll be in danger,” once again, Thesan paused his work to look at the shadowsinger. “Can I count on you to protect her?”

Without missing a beat, Azriel responded, “With my life.”

Of the times he had met Azriel in the past few centuries, this was the most Thesan had heard him talk. His voice was so soft and sincere, something he didn’t think he’d ever hear from Prythian’s best spymaster. Looking back down at you, Thesan sighed, he hoped you would be ready for the world when you woke up.

***

Rhysand called for Azriel, but he couldn’t stand to be away from you, so he left half his shadows and instructed them to stay with you no matter what. Once you were stable, Thesan winnowed you to your tent, your bed would be much more comfortable than a cot. After that, Thesan had to leave and deal with the aftermath of the war, to mourn and collect the dead so they could be properly buried. You also missed the meeting at the debilitated Archeron estate. Out of habit, Azriel kept looking over at Thesan thinking you were going to be standing next to him. The meeting had just ended and when his shadows informed him you were stirring awake, he winnowed in a heartbeat.

You groaned as you tried to push yourself up, but scarred hands placed themselves on your shoulders.

“Don’t sit up until Thesan says you can,” said Azriel as he gently pushed you back onto the mattress. Azriel crouched and placed himself in your field of vision.

With your eyebrows slightly furrowed, you scanned Azriel’s bandaged wings and your tent around you.

“The battle—we won?” you said trying to recollect your memories. “Something hot and fiery flew above me…. I remember falling. Why was I falling?”

It took you a moment and then you gasped, your neck careening to look at your back. Your muscles screamed as pain shot down your spine forcing your head to slam onto the cot. Azriel winced as a strangled cry came out of your lips.

You remembered the pain of the claws digging into your back. “How bad is it?” Your eyes were big and frantic, your mouth still open, unable to ask the most important question. Are my wings, okay?

Azriel’s gaze swept down to your exposed back, the skin raw and angry, the feathers still stained red. “Thesan worked on you for hours… he said we won’t know until you’re completely healed.”

Your lip trembled as your own healing powers surged within you, trying to understand the damage your body had taken. You sensed the extensive work that was done on your left wing, and tears cascaded down your cheeks.

Azriel explained how the battle ended, how Rhysand died to fix the Cauldron, and how the High Lords used their powers to resurrect him. He explained that Amren had sacrificed herself to save Prythian and how she was also revived by the Cauldron. You were stunned as Azriel updated you, forgetting about your own injuries until Azriel talked about how your body was discovered.

“When Callon found you, we thought you were dead, there was so much blood …” Azriel paused, reigning in his shadows that hovered over you. “You would’ve bled out if… you weren’t you.”

It hurt to nod. You lifted a golden glowing hand to check on your wings, to see if you could do anything to heal it. “I don’t know--I can’t tell if I’ll ever be able to fly again,” you choked out. “I’d rather die.”

Azriel cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears away. “We can worry about your flying later, just rest and heal for now.”

His hands were warm and heavy, you relished it as his thumb stroked your cheekbone. His contact was strangely reassuring, something you instantly missed when he pulled his hand back when Thesan and Callon entered the tent.

Your reunion with your family was only tearful for a brief time because you began to bicker with Thesan about your healing. You finally convinced Thesan you were okay to sit up and with significant effort and clenched teeth, you were able to sit up, the muscles aching. With your armor gone, you were only wearing leggings and a special brassier for females with wings. Azriel averted his gaze, but you didn’t care, you’ve worn more revealing dresses.

Thesan and Callon left to do court duties, you didn’t even bother trying to help them, you were in no shape to walk, let alone bark orders. An attendant stopped by to drop off a tray of food, enough for two people by the looks of it. Azriel took the tray from the attendant and as he set up an impromptu table, you peered through the tent drapes. It was already dawn, it had been a day since you had eaten anything, your growling stomach making Azriel smile.

Reaching out to pick up a cup of water, your muscles spasmed, making your arm feel heavy and numb. You tried reaching for a spoon, but the same thing happened, your still healing back muscles making you incapable of doing simple tasks.

“Here,” said Azriel. “Let me help you.”

He picked up a cup and let you drink, the cool water quelling your thirst. He took the fork and speared some fruit and pancake before holding it up to your lips. You chewed and stared at the shadowsinger who was diligently cutting your breakfast into small pieces. This entire scene felt strange and weirdly domestic, apart from your parents, no one had ever fed you anything and that was over a hundred years ago. This felt intimate and your chest burned at the sight of the handsome Illyrian warrior sitting in front of you. You almost swore something was tugging in your chest but after a deep breath, the feeling was gone.

“Azriel?”

He looked at you with his eyebrows raised.

“Why are you here with me and not your family? Not that I’m not grateful—but you don’t have to help me.”

Azriel paused, thinking of all the things he wanted to say to you.

Because I’m your mate! Because I care! Because I want you to know me and choose me!

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “You’re my friend, you’re hurting, and I want to help you.”

He said it so simply, so nonchalantly and it stunned you that someone could be this kind.

He watched you stare at him in awe, he thought you looked beautiful like this, your subtle glow illuminating the dim tent. He basked in your presence and attention, he hadn’t slept yet, but this restored him. Azriel was ready for anything life would throw at him.

***

You had trained with weapons and magic for decades. You had spent hundreds of hours reading about politics and observing the art of diplomacy for years. All of this was done to prepare you for your role in Dawn Court, but nothing could have prepared you for the aftermath of war. Thesan and Callon watched you like a hawk, your strange behavior wasn’t lost on either of them. Even the Palace staff were keeping an eye on you.

A month had passed, and everything felt different and dull. You had watched your soldiers and friends die.

2,398.

That’s how many Peregryns died, the dead foot soldiers were a number you didn’t want to think about. You made sure each family had sizable monetary compensation, but no amount of money could ever bring their loved one back. There was nothing you could do but at least make it financially easier for them.

You went to visit Wyla’s family to deliver the money yourself and to talk to them about Wyla. Callon begged you not to go since it was his job, but you felt like you owed it to her, she was your friend and one of the best warriors. He was afraid they’d hate you, but in reality, it was the exact opposite. Her family practically worshipped you; they told you how honored Wyla was to be able to work alongside Dawn Court’s royalty. While devastated their daughter died, they were proud of her contribution to the safety of Prythian. Their loyalty to you and Thesan was unwavering.

The moment you stepped out of their house, you winnowed to your secret spot in the mountains where no one would find you. You wished you listened to Callon, you sobbed until you couldn't breathe, and tears ran out. It would have been easier if her family hated and blamed you for their daughter's death because that’s how you felt. If you had been faster, stronger, and more powerful, Wyla and so many others would be alive.

You didn’t even realize, but you had emitted that poison bronze fog again, it hung over you in the air slowly dissipating in the wind. Tentatively, you waved your hand through the fog, there was a chance it would’ve poisoned you, but you shrugged it off. The poison was your essence, you were its master.

While sitting at your desk doing paperwork, you would swear you heard the clang of a sword hitting a shield. Sometimes you could still smell the sharp coppery scent of blood, but it was never there, only in your head. Thesan and Callon seemed to have moved on faster than you did, they weren’t moping around like you were. You couldn’t understand how they acted like nothing had changed.

Your bones were back to their original strength, you were now able to run and train just like you used to. The fear of being ambushed or being thrown into a war was always with you. You slept with a dagger under your pillow and hid weapons in various spots in your room and office. It was a shock to find out that the Palace had no hidden weapons so you installed them and insisted that you, the trusted guards, and Thesan should know where they were located.

Your wings and back had finally healed but the damage was done, neither you nor Thesan could get rid of the scars. Some feathers on the left wing grew back sparse and jagged but that wasn’t too big of a deal, you’d have to adjust how you flew. The thing is… you have yet to fly. In secret, you had tried to launch off your balcony, you were able to take off ten feet into the air until shooting pain shot out from the middle of your back and you crashed and landed on your hands. You fractured your right wrist which you hastily healed before anyone could walk in to ask what the noise was about.

After that incident, you magically hid your wings and refused to let them unfurl. You couldn’t fathom the idea of never being able to fly so you chose to avoid the subject. Callon asked you why your wings were hidden the next day, and you got irritable and snapped at him. You left the poor male trembling and at a loss for words.

If you weren’t doing your duties, you were in your room, you didn’t even venture out to the courtyards. The owner of your favorite tavern even visited the Palace to come and check on you. Things that used to bring you joy no longer did anything to your mood. You didn’t have much of an appetite, you only ate what was enough to maintain your muscle mass, and things like cookies and pastries didn’t appeal to you anymore. Which meant your body had become sinewy and haggard, with dark circles under your eyes because you couldn’t sleep. Everything tasted bland and fae wine did nothing for you.

Thesan didn’t think he’d seen you genuinely smile since before the last battle, you were always staring off into the distance thinking about something. Thesan asked you but you always changed the subject, or you simply refused to answer him. You were secretive about your thoughts because you were angry.

The only reason the Attor had gotten to you was because you were distracted by Azriel. You and his High Lord gave him strict orders not to fly and fight and what was he doing? Doing both fucking things you had asked him not to do. The past few weeks, you’ve had a lot of time to think about your relationship with Azriel. Why did you care so much? How could he be so foolish? His injured wings were what slowed him down, allowing him to get surrounded by Hybern soldiers.

Viviane, Feyre, Azriel, and to your dismay, Tarquin had been sending you letters asking how you were doing. Your responses were always short and cordial, and after two months had passed, they asked if they could visit you, but you always declined. Thesan assigned you more tasks hoping it would get you out of your funk, but it only ended in you making multiple mistakes. Your cousin had enough, he was watching you turn into a shell of a fae, and he couldn’t let you slip further away.

One morning, he entered your room and found you on your balcony wistfully looking up at the clouds.

“Why don’t you go flying anymore?”

Your head slightly turned to him, the scarred side making an appearance before disappearing.

Thesan sighed heavily as leaned against the marble balcony rail. “I want you to get away from Dawn Court and have a break.”

Your head snapped at him. “What? I can’t leave, you need me! There’s so much work to do!”

He shook his head. “You walk around the Palace like a ghost. You barely eat or talk to us, and honestly, you’ve been a shit second. I have to fix every mistake you make. I think you need to get away for a little bit, I shouldn’t have put you to work right away.”

You glared at Thesan as silver tears shimmered in your eyes, his words felt like a slap to the face. Despite the nightmares, and your inability to fly, you were doing your duty and now he tells you you’ve been doing a horrible job? You knew something wasn’t right with you, but you didn’t think it was that big of a problem.

Before you could protest, Thesan spoke with such authority there was no way you could disobey him. “I’ve written to Rhysand, and he’d be happy to have you visit Velaris for a while. Rhysand and Feyre are coming after lunch to pick you up.”

Panic ran through you as you thought of the hazel-eyed Illyrian. “You could’ve written to Kallias and Viviane!”

“They’re too busy to deal with your dramatics. You’re going to Night Court today to rest and heal properly. That’s an order,” said Thesan with finality.

“What the fuck, Thesan. You could’ve talked to me about my work.”

Thesan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks, Y/n.”

Your brows furrowed, the last several weeks have been a monotonous blur. You didn’t have the energy to fight with Thesan, so you simply nodded before heading to your closet to pack. Thesan looked at your retreating figure and thanked the Mother you complied with his request.

Yes, he wrote to Rhysand, but you didn’t know he and Rhysand had a confidential meeting late at night when you were sleeping. Rhysand didn’t need to see you to know something was wrong, your aura was the first thing he felt, your magic radiating from across the Palace. It was stronger than ever, and it was sharp and bitter which made Rhysand give Thesan a concerned look.

***

The small duffel bag by your feet was filled with a variety of clothes, you had no idea how long you were going to stay in Velaris, so you packed the essentials and some extras. There were a couple of daggers hidden in there as well and if they took those from you, you always had a stash in a pocket realm, that’s where you kept Deception most days.

You were standing with your arms crossed in the foyer with Thesan and Callon, you were still outraged at Thesan for kicking you out, but you think you understood why. The clock in the other room struck 3 o’clock and then Feyre and Rhysand appeared out of thin air. You straighten up and give the High Lord and Lady a quick smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

Feyre floated to you and wrapped her arms around your figure, her eyes wide as she looked at Thesan and Callon in alarm.

It’s only been two months since we last saw her, she looks so different! Said Feyre as she telepathically spoke to the three males in the room.

Thesan nodded grimly as Callon looked down at his shoes, he wished he could’ve helped more.

Putting her hands on your shoulders, Feyre smiled at you. “It’s nice to see you again my friend, I’m excited to show you around Velaris.”

Rhysand stepped forward to kiss your hand before picking up your duffel bag. “You’ll love it there; everyone is excited to see you.”

You forced a smile and nodded. “Thank you,” you murmured. You could see the couple not so discreetly looking at the empty space where your wings should be.

Saying his goodbyes, Thesan pulled you into a hug and whispered. “You can come home anytime but I want you to come back when you’re truly happy.”

Your forehead creased. What the hell does that mean?

Preparing to winnow, Feyre took your hand as the High Lord and High Lady nodded to your cousin and Callon.

With a crack, you were suddenly greeted with a cold burst of air. They had winnowed you to the base of a mountain and if you craned your head, you could see a manor that was built into the mountain rock. Looking around, your gaze landed on the glowing nearby city, it was beautiful and for the first time in a long time, something took your breath away.

Rhysand was holding out a coat for you and you gladly took it, it was much colder here in winter than it was in Dawn. By its scent, the jacket belonged to Feyre so you thanked both of them.

Your eyes fleet around, for some reason you were expecting Azriel to be here to greet you. Rhys and Feyre bit back a smile when they saw you looking.

Clearing his throat, Rhysand extended his arms. “Welcome to Velaris, my friend. The house up there is called the House of Wind and that is where you’ll be staying. Normally, we would’ve set you up at the Town House since it’s in the city center but part of it is getting renovated. This house is guarded against winnowing, so you’ll have to fly up there.” Rhysand grimaced as soon as he said it. He glanced at you to see if you were upset but you just nodded blankly.

“If you ever want to head down and visit the city or go wherever, lower your mental shield, and call for me or Feyre at any time of the day. We’ll send someone to come and pick you up,” said Rhysand. “There is a way to go down but it’s 10,000 steps, I would recommend you fetch one of us.”

Feyre was mortified. It was such bad timing for the townhouse to be renovated. “You really can call on us any time,” she insisted. “We’re your friends and we want you to feel at home.”

With you secure in Rhysand’s arms, he shot up to the sky and you closed your eyes, relishing the wind blowing through your hair. He landed on a balcony with a thud and told you to have a look around as he went back down to pick up Feyre and your duffel bag. Feyre could’ve flown up herself, but she wasn’t going to rub her wings and flying in your face.

Rhysand and Feyre took you on a grand tour of the house, the only people here were the handmaidens Nuala and Cerridwen who greeted you kindly and with curiosity. They’ve heard about your unique ability to detect shadows.

The High Lord and Lady showed you the dining room, kitchen, library, outdoor throne room, and the fully equipped training ring atop the house. Lastly, they bring you to the door of your room at the end of the corridor. They don’t tell you that the room opposite yours was Azriel’s, Rhysand was trying not to snicker which made Feyre whack the back of his head when you weren’t looking.

They left you to settle down and unpack and, in a few hours, Nuala would come and fetch you for dinner. Now that you were alone, you slumped into a cushioned chair and stared at the city lights through the window. There was so much to think about, you couldn’t believe Thesan sent you here. Were you that useless that Thesan sent his powerful second-in-command away?

You were admiring the view when a clink made you snap your head toward the table next to you. There sat a steaming cup of tea, the china made of fine porcelain, and the flowers printed on it were reminiscent of the flowers that grew around Dawn’s Palace. Waving a hand over it, you deemed it a normal cup of tea with no trace of poison. Taking the mysterious cup in your hands, you settled back into your chair and sipped on the delicious spices that filled you with warmth.

Nuala knocked on your door and informed you that dinner would be served in 15 minutes. Startled, you looked out the window and saw that time had passed with you barely registering it. You were too engrossed with a book about the Night Court that had materialized on your lap. You quickly changed into simple silk trousers and a thin form-fitting long-sleeve shirt. Unsure of what to do with your hair, you hastily twisted it into an updo.

You used the scent of cooking food to help you navigate the halls and when you arrived, you see Rhysand standing by the Fireplace with a glass of wine in his hand.

“Rhysand- “

“Call me Rhys,” he said with a friendly smile. You were going to be his sister one day, and he wanted you to be comfortable.

“Rhys… I wanted to thank you for allowing me into your home. I- uh, don’t really know what’s going on with me,” you looked up at Rhysand embarrassed at your admission. “I just don’t want to impose, I’m sure you’re all very busy and I’d be happy to help if you ever need anything.”

Amusement glowed in Rhysand’s eyes, he never thought he’d see the day the terrifying Golden Warrior would stumble on her words. “You are here to take some time off from work. I should be the one thanking you, you saved Cassian’s life and saved Azriel’s wings and without your magic, Prythian would have fallen.”

“He’s right, I don’t think any of us would be here without you.” said a feminine voice. Mor was standing by the doorway and made her way to embrace you. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

Mor’s arrival opened the floodgates because everyone walked in at the same time. They were shocked at how different you looked. You used to be ethereal, a soft golden glow always emitting from under your skin. The beautiful large white and gold-tipped wings were something they were used to seeing, and now it was gone.

Cassian came barreling toward you and picked you up and spun you around. Nesta, who fondly rolled her eyes at Cassian came to say hello, her general attitude and happiness were much better now than when you last saw her. She waved Elain over and properly introduced the middle Archeron sister to you. Elain gave you a small curtsy and timid smile. She saw what you did at the battle with Hybern and was both terrified and in awe.

Amren greets you and you are surprised to see Varian in tow. You should have expected to see him here since the last time you saw him, his tongue was shoved down Amren’s throat in the war tent. He hugged you, trying not to act so concerned and shocked at your appearance. Varian had liked you since the day you winnowed into Summer Court, you were a breath of fresh air, something he, Tarquin, and Cressida needed.

Dinner was still being prepared so everyone was milling around between the dining room, sitting room, and balcony. Feyre had hooked her arm around yours and was chatting about anything and everything as you walked from person to person. A familiar handsome red-headed male entered the room.

“This is Lucien Vanserra,” said Feyre. “He helped us get help from the Continent; he was also Nuan’s informant for the faebane compound.”

Lucien bows, takes your hand, and kisses the top. “Nice to meet you, my lady.”

You gave him a pleasant smile as you dipped your head, if Nuan liked him, you knew you would too. He tells you how Nuan helped him tinker something for his eye and you find yourself feeling immensely proud of your mutual friend. Lucien gets called over by Mor and when he leaves, you feel Feyre throw up a sound glamour.

“Lucien and Elain are mates, but Elain wants nothing to do with him. I felt like you needed to know because it will get awkward and uncomfortable. It’s best I warned you because you’ll be staying here,” said Feyre in one breath.

You quickly try to get rid of the shocked look on your face. “Understood.”

The glamour goes down and you discreetly peered at Elain, you guessed you weren’t the only one who didn’t want a mate. You remembered Elain staring up at Azriel with her doe-eyes. Did she want Azriel instead of Lucien? The very thought made you frown. Looking around, you realize that the shadowsinger was nowhere to be found. Your eyes darted around the room for any sign of his shadows but there was nothing.

A faint boom in the atmosphere made your eyes snap into the night sky.

What the hell was that?

Cassian and Rhysand looked at each other and grinned, that was the sound of an Illyrian flying fast. A shadowy form shoots down onto the balcony, its impact shaking the mountain, the floor beneath your feet vibrating. The shadows dispersed and there stood Azriel’s tall menacing figure, his intimidating gaze searching the crowd, and only softening when they landed on you.

a/n: this was so fun to write! What do you like and not like about the characters? I wanna hear your frustrations lmaoo.

taglist ❤️: @inloveallthetime

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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dancingtotuyo · 1 month

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Scathed 8 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, self worth, smoking, idiot(s) in love?, curly hair care (all you curly girls with straigh hair mothers know the painnnnnnn,)

Notes: shoutout @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and for being sad for these characters

Words: 3809

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry July 16, 1994

This summer has been good, surprisingly so. I went to the fair this year. Usually, the kids just go with Dad and Anna. We’ve done movies, and events downtown, and busy Saturday mornings at the hardware store. It doesn’t mean I haven’t puked afterward, but having Javier around has been nice.

Oh, and I registered for classes at the community college. I start at the end of August.

Emily sat on her bed, flipping through the photographs taken over the summer. Most of them were ones she’d taken, but every once in a while, one of the kids got a hold of it. They held evidence of the summer she’d been able to give her kids, and Javier was in almost all of them.

As she flipped through the final few of the stack, the last photo stood out. Her birthday, the one Ale had blinded her with. It turned out nicely. Her smiling at Javier, him smiling at her over the flaming candles, caught before they could react to the flash. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from it. A singular, perfect, magical moment caught on film.

She dropped the rest of them in the shoe box for safekeeping until she was ready to put the photo book together. The birthday one she slipped between the frame of her vanity mirror. She wanted a reminder of that day

“Mommm!” Miguelito called, opening her door.

Emily jumped, hand landing over her heart as she turned toward him. “How many times have I told you to knock?”

“Sorry.” He grinned. “Mateo isn’t getting ready like you said, and he’s making a mess in our room.”

She glanced over her oldest’s appearance, folding her hands over her chest. “And you’re completely ready, could hop in the car right now, I suppose?”

“I still have to brush my hair and teeth.”

“Then I suggest you go do that.”

Miguelito folded his lips in, looking to the side before he spun on his heels and walked away. Emily laughed to herself before making her way to the boys’ room to check in on her youngest. Sure enough, he sat next to the toy chest, playing contently with his new Playmobil set.

“Mateo,” she said, voice soft.

The boy’s head snapped up to her, a sheepish grin appearing.

“Are you ready to go?”

“No,” He shook his head, somehow still managing to look innocent.

“I put your clothes out on your bed an hour ago.”

“I’ll get dressed now.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, holding out her hand. “I’m going to hold onto your Playmobil until you’re ready to go, okay? So you don’t get distracted.”

Mateo looked between his new toy and his mother, not wanting to part with it. Emily waited with patience as he made his decision. “Once you’re ready, you can have it back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Emily smiled. With the added assurance, he handed the toy to his mother and rushed over to his clothes. “Don’t forget your hair and teeth.”

“I won’t!”

Emily smiled, leaving the room as a shirt went flying. Alejandra found her seconds later, brush and hairties in hand. “Can I have two braids today?”

Emily glanced down at her watch. They were already running behind. What was a few extra minutes at this point? “Go sit at the table.”

Alejandra had a big stubborn knot at the back of her head. That was what Emily got for not brushing it out before bed last night and the night before. The detangler bottle was all but empty. Alejandra had more hair than her mother and that was saying something. Emily let out a long sigh as she soaked the knot with watered-down detangler. “You’ve got rats nest back here, Mija. I’ll do my best, but it’s probably gonna hurt.”

Alejandra only nodded. The mother and daughter duo were more than familiar with the process, both individually and together. Emily had her own memories of sitting at the kitchen table as her mother brushed through massive knots, leaving her hair massive and frizzy. There had been plenty of tears in her younger years before her scalp toughened, Her mother hadn’t known how to handle the texture or the amount of hair she had. Looking back at pictures, Emily knew exactly when she began caring for her own hair as a preteen.

It was Emily’s goal to make this time as painless as possible for her daughter. It didn’t mean there weren’t ever tears. Ale’s scalp had started out tender, but Emily was sure to be as delicate as possible, using as much detangler and conditioner as needed, being gentle with the combs, teasing the curls back to life afterward.

Emily didn’t yell or fuss when her daughter tried to get away from the pain. The mother did her best to distract from the pain with jokes or stories. Overall, she shaped the hours of hair care into quality time, something she’d always wanted her mother to do with it.

“Mami?”

“Yes, baby?” The comb caught on an extra ratty tangle. Alejandra hissed. “Sorry.”

She reached back, rubbing her scalp gently before allowing her mother to continue. “I think we need to do that conditioner treatment thing again.”

“I think you’re right.” Emily kissed her head. “I’ll put it on the list. It helped a lot.”

Ale nodded. “Do you think Mr. Javi is going to think we ditched him? We were supposed to be there already.”

“I think he’s very used to us being late.” Emily laughed, freeing the last of the tangle with a deep sigh. She sprayed the hair again, letting it curl up a little before she began to part it.

“I think we should call him.”

“He’s probably at the park already.”

“I’ll leave a message. Just so he knows I was worried when he gets home.”

Emily rolled her eyes playfully, grabbing the phone off the wall behind her. The extra long cord lay flat on the floor between the wall and table. She handed it to Alejandra. “You know the number?”

The girl gave a firm single nod as she quickly dialed the number having memorized it at the beginning of the summer. She kicked her legs back and forth, bare feet brushing the legs of her chair under the table. Emily tied half of the curls to the side. “Look up at the ceiling, Ale.”

She obeyed, pressing the phone to her ear. Emily could hear it ringing as she focused on pulling all of the baby hairs around Ale’s hairline into the tight French braid. “Boys! Time to put on your socks and shoes!”

“Hello?” Javier’s static voice came through the phone.

Ale’s eyes lit up as she sat up a little straighter. “Mr. Javi! You’re supposed to be at the park already!”

He chuckled. “So are you, Alejandrina.”

“Yeah, but we always run late. You don’t.”

Emily shook her head, trying to hold in her laughter as she efficiently twisted Ale’s hair into the braid with minimal flyaways. Nothing like being called out by your own kid.

“I was just about to leave my house. What are you doing right now?”

“Mami is braiding my hair. I had a big tangle, otherwise, we would’ve been almost on time.”

“Well, that means I need to get going if I want to beat you there.”

Emily tied off the first French braid.

“Drive fast 'cause she just finished my first braid.” Alejandra tilts her head back again so Emily can start the second.

“Do your brothers have their shoes on?”

“Nope, still in their room.”

“Boys!” Emily called again. Javier’s chuckle came through a little louder. A faint Coming echoed from their room.

“He’s laughing at you,” Ale grinned up at her mother.

“Tell him to shut up.”

Ale’s eyes grew wide. “But I’m not allowed to say that. It’s not nice.”

“One-time exception.” Emily winked.

Alejandra bit her lip. Her honey-brown eyes sparkled with brief debate. Was she really being given permission? “Mami says to shut up.” She said it quickly like the permission might expire.

Javier kept laughing, it coming from deep within his chest this time. Emily let out a groan as she scrapped the braid and started over. The second one never cooperated like the first.

“I’ll see you soon,” Javier said.

“See you soon,” Alejandra replied and the line went dead. She handed the phone back to Emily who placed it back in the cradle. “We gotta go fast so we can beat him.” She wiggled excitedly in the chair.

The braid slipped through Emily’s fingers again and she let out a frustrated groan. “I’m trying, Mija. Boys!”

Finally, two pairs of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Mateo grabbed his toy off the table with a proud grin. “Tennis shoes with the laces, Mateo.” She reminded him.

Mateo groaned, dropping his velcro shoes where he stood. He was about to start kindergarten in the fall and she was desperate to get him ahead on the shoelace tying assignment. She’d learned her lesson from Alejandra’s kindergarten year. She’d essentially homeschooled Miguelito through Kindergarten in Mexico and managed to skip that assignment.

“I’ll help you,” Miguelito said.

Despite having to start Alejandra’s braid over for a fourth time, Emily found herself smiling as she listened to Miguelito’s patient and encouraging exchange with his younger brother over the tying of laces.

The flyaways weren’t as wrangled in the second braid, but finally, Emily tied it off. The Texas heat and sweat would pull them out soon enough. “Alright, shoes my dear.” She kissed Alejandra’s head

She popped out of the chair, pulling her shoes on as quick as possible. Matoe kicked his feet back and forth on the couch wearing a huge grin. “Done!”

“He did the second one all by himself!” Miguelito exclaimed, looking proud.

“That’s amazing,” Emily smiled brightly, smushing Mateo’s cheek with a kiss. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“Okay! Let’s go!” Alejandra said, panting as if she’d used all her energy to pull on her shoes. “We have to beat Mr. Javi!”

The family of four bustled out of the house, with only one person having to run back in for a forgotten item. Alejandra was certain they would beat Javier to the park until they pulled in next to his faded red pickup. He leaned against it, arms crossed, sunglasses on the tip of his nose, and shirt half unbuttoned as usual.

Alejandra sighed exasperatedly with a loud huff. Javier smiled, waving to her through the window as she glared at him. “He definitely speeded.”

“Sped,” Miguelito corrected.

Javier stuck his tongue out at Alejandra from the other side of the glass. She mimicked him. Emily bit back a laugh.

They set up their picnic under the shade of a large oak tree set off the playground. The park was relatively quiet for a Saturday with only one other family nearby, but they knew it likely would be. That’s why they picked it. Set outside the city limits, it was a longer drive for the Kuykendall crew, but closer to Javier.

After lunch, Emily and Javier were pulled into a game of Blind Man’s Bluff which ended when a blinded Javier knocked his head against the monkey bars. Luckily for the adults, the children from the other family asked to join.

“How’s your head?” Emily laughed, falling to the picnic blanket, laughter still lacing her voice.

Javier rubbed it, easing down with a soft groan. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get off the ground between his aging bones and the hot summer day. “Been better but I’ll live.” He eased onto his back, letting the faint breeze ease over him.

Emily grabbed a water bottle from the cooler. handing it back to him. Cool droplets splashed over his chest and head. Javier placed it against his carotid artery, humming with contentment. “It’s hotter than I realized today.”

Emily nodded, pulling her hair out of the loose ponytail. “Should probably make the kids come cool down before too long.” She dug into the cooler again, searching for her own water bottle.

Javier’s eyes followed the sway of her curls. His hand floated up of its own accord, letting one twist gently around his finger. Emily didn’t even notice. He sighed softly. He needed to tell her. The thought passed as his heat-soaked brain caught up and he let it drop. The feel of her soft hair against his skin stayed.

“They should sleep good tonight.”

“We all should,” Emily sighed, pressing the water bottle to her neck.

“Nightmares been keeping you up?” Javier asked, easing into a sitting position.

“Not as often as they had. You?” She glanced at him, pulling her hair over one shoulder.

Javier bit his lip, arms slung over his knees. A pit formed in his stomach. He knew he had to tell her. He couldn’t put it off any longer, not when he had a date circled on the calendar. “A little more the past week.”

“Something happen?” Javier looked away, a newfound interest in the tree to their left. His brow creased, frown lines appearing around his mouth. Emily felt the air shift. She fought the fight or flight response itching to life inside her. “Javier?”

He swallowed, pulling his attention back to her. “The DEA offered me a position,” he huffed, pulling up some of the grass beside him. “Hell, it’s a promotion really, back in Colombia. They want me to help take down Cali.”

Emily’s heart dropped. She tried to hide the dread that filled her, but he could see it. “When do you leave?”

“Never said I was going.”

“Didn’t have to. You wouldn’t be actin like someone died if you weren’t.”

Javier finally met her eyes through the light tint of his sunglasses. She chewed on her lip, eyes glistening even in the shade. “I’m sorry,” he said. His arm settled across her leg, hand hanging on her calf. Their thighs pressed against each other. Even in the scorching heat, neither minded.

“When do you leave?”

“August 5th”

Emily looked away, eyes tracking each of her children on the playground. They still played happily with the other children, having moved to a regular game of tag. “How long?”

“Contract’s for a year. Could be longer though. Just depends.”

Her gut twisted in a million tiny knots. She had so many questions. Some for him, and some for herself. Would she still be able to do all these things without him?

“You didn’t tell me they’d offered you a position.”

It was a silly thing to say. He didn’t owe her anything, but she felt a little hurt he hadn’t told her he was even considering it. “I didn’t think I would at first, but they kept calling and I-” Javier took a deep breath.

“You realized you had unfinished business.” She met his eyes again.

Javier sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah…”

She nodded, leaning into him slightly so their shoulders touched. He squeezed her calf softly as she wove her arms through his. The breeze picked up a little, providing some relief. Slowly, her body leaned into him more. Emily hesitated only slightly before letting her head drop to his shoulder.

Javier looked at it, almost in disbelief as the faint smell of her shampoo drifted his way. His heart pounded in his chest as his brain ran wild, setting off all the signals like he was a teenager asking his crush to homecoming. He hadn’t felt this way in years.

He wanted to press a kiss to her forehead. He wanted to do more than that, but the better-behaved part of his brain warned against it. One day, maybe he could kiss her head like well-meaning friends do, but not now. He wasn’t in the position to be a well-meaning friend today, and she had still hesitated to fully relax into him. Instead, he settled on resting his head against hers.

She kept her eyes focused on the kids. He kept his on her.

“Don’t forget about us, Okay?” She said.

Javier nudged against her softly, a soft smile ghosting over his lips. “Never. Couldn’t break Alejandra’s heart like that.”

She laughed and his heart lifted. “She’s grown quite fond of Mr. Javi.” She nudged him back, looking his way again. The whole world melted away when she looked at him like that.

Javier chuckled. He tucked a runaway curl behind Emily’s ear, careful not to linger. “Hope she’s not the only one.”

“I mean I think the boys will miss you too, but they don’t seem to have the same… affinity for you,” Emily winked at him. “that Ale does.”

“And my best friend?” Javier said. It was the first time the words felt painful to say like they didn’t cover the full scope of what Emily was to him.

“Will miss you greatly.” She squeezed his arm. “Not sure how I’m gonna function without you really.” She said it with an air of humor, but they both knew there was a real question buried under it.

He searched her eyes, racking his brain for something to say, but nothing came.

The kids came running back, Alejandra running through their bubble first followed by Miguelito, and then Mateo lagging behind on his shorter legs.

“Everyone needs to sit and drink some water,” Emily instructed.

Javier thought she might pull away, switch instantly into mom mode as he’d seen her do so many times, but she stayed against him as the kids followed her instructions with heavy panting.

Javier smiled taking in the scene. It made him wonder if he was doing the right thing. He had doubts about going back to Colombia, but the pull to finish it once and for all had outweighed them all. This right here, balanced the scales, tipping them in the other direction even.

Without warning, Alejandra gasped looking directly at the adults. “Don’t move.”

She dug around in Emily’s bag, pulling out the Polaroid camera Emily toted everywhere. Ale had as big of an affinity for taking pictures as her mother.

“Ale, I’m all sweaty,” Emily said as her daughter held it up.

“No mami, you look beautiful,” She chastised. “Now smile.”

“Do as the lady says.” Javier chuckled, shifting so his arm was behind Emily’s back as he let a genuine smile overtake his face. Emily’s hand fell to his knee. She sighed, but obeyed, smiling at the camera.

Ale shifted around, making sure to get the correct angle until finally the camera flashed. She announced it was “perfect” before the photo had fully spit out of the camera and placed it carefully in the case Emily kept for developing photos.

Javier chuckled next to her as he slowly pulled away from her. Even in the sweltering Texas heat, Emily missed him next to her.

Emily lay in bed that night, sheets kicked to her feet. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Javier was leaving. Leaving Texas, leaving her, and he didn’t know when he was going to be back. What if he didn’t come back? The thought turned her blood to ice, sparking the flame of anxiety. She shot up, sweat gathering across her skin as she struggled to catch her breath. She couldn’t go there, couldn’t let the thoughts consume her, but they already had. Try as she might, none of her usual tools worked to combat it as images of Javier lying in the street with a bullet hole filled her brain.

Finally, she pulled herself out of bed on shaky feet. She grabbed a stray pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the table on her way to the backyard, barely keeping it together long enough to flick the lighter to life and inhale the smoke. Her shaking steadied with the first hit of nicotine. The rhythm of it gave her mind a distraction, pressing the butt to her lips, the orange glow at the tip, smoke filling her lungs and then releasing into the air. She hadn’t smoked in months, deciding to stop when Javier did, but tonight none of that mattered. He was leaving her.

The door opened behind her. She spun around to find her father, looking disheveled in his boxers and opened robe with his hair sticking up. He lifted an eyebrow. He returned the gesture, holding out his hand for the pack of cigarettes. She handed it over with the lighter.

Jaime methodically pulled one out, flicking the lighter with more ease and steady hand than Emily had moments before. The father and daughter stood next to each other, their silhouettes copies of the other in the moonlight.

“Haven’t caught you out here in a while.”

“Was I loud?”

“Rattled the whole house when you slammed the door.”

Emily cringed, taking another drag from the cigarette. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

She waited a second, flicking the ash. “I’m guessing you already know.”

Jaime sighed. “I knew he was offered it. Just found out he accepted last evenin.” Emily bristled slightly. “It’s just a year, Sweetheart.”

“No, the contract is for a year.”

Jaime turned toward his daughter. She looked like the Emily he’d known before the spring, the one who was scared and jumpy all the time, not the blooming flower he’d come to know in the past few months. The difference was night and day. He didn’t want to see her go back to that place.

“Em…”

“What if he doesn’t make it back?” Emily interrupted him, letting the internal thoughts become external. “What if he gets shot or worse, and I never see him again?”

He reached out, putting an arm around his daughter. He kissed her head, rubbing soothing circles against her back. Tears gathered in Emily’s eyes.

“He’s good at what he does.”

“Even the best agents get killed.”

Jaime nodded. He’d know some of those. He kept his mouth shut and let Emily talk. That was what she needed anyway. She talked through all of it until she started leaning into him more, words slurring with sleep until she all but fell asleep standing against him.

He smiled, guiding his grown, sleepwalking daughter through the house. He tucked her into bed, all the nights he missed when she was little flickering through his mind. It was these nights when it hit the most. The what ifs. What if he’d pursued more legal action against her mother? What if he hadn’t let the DEA whisk him off to Guadalajara without a custody agreement? The guilt of it all never left him.

He pushed the hair out of her face, setting one last kiss on her forehead. As he closed the door behind him, he heard her soft, slurred words. “Goodnight, Dad.”

He smiled to himself. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

#javier peña x ofc #javier peña fanfiction #Javier peña #Javier peña narcos #scathed (javier peña)#pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories #Javier peña series

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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 5 months

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A Dance in the Snow - B.Barnes

Summary - Bucky and Y/N have similar trauma so the pair of them usually avoid holidays together, however, this year, they are forced to go to the Avengers holiday party. They find their way to the balcony and spend their whole night on that balcony, dancing in the snowfall under the moonlight.

Word Count - 827

Warnings - Mentions of the winter soldier, mentions of the red room, kissing, female reader, use of y/n, mention of mind control, mention on manipulation, Sam and Tony have a bet, (Let me know if I missed any)

Author's Note - Welcome to day four!! I'm doing good thus far keeping up with my 25 fics leading up to Christmas. I have been writing in advance as well as scheduling my fics for noon the day they are supposed to go up. Let me know if there any mistakes!

my masterlist

25 days of fics masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

The holidays at the Avengers tower were magical, not only because of the people around but also the way the building was decorated. Now, Bucky hadn’t been one for holidays since returning from Wakanda for deprogramming. The only other person in the tower that wasn’t a fan of holidays was Y/N. She was trained in the Red Room much like Natasha, she was also trained directly by the Winter Soldier but she never held that against Bucky. She understood the mind control and manipulation thing.

Usually Bucky and Y/N spent the holidays cooped up in their respective rooms and away from everyone else. However, this year, Tony insisted that everyone join for the holiday party and the movie night that followed. He was not letting the two skip out on the party once again. So their respective friends had taken them under their wings to get them ready for the party. Natasha dressed her in a fitted black dress and gave her gold jewelry to wear. Steve dressed him in a simple white button up and black slacks, telling him to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

Of course Nat did Y/N’s makeup and hair as well, getting a chance to doll her up when she never got the opportunity to do it. Bucky was impatiently waiting for her to show up to the party so the two of them could find a quiet and dark corner to talk.

“Why are you so antsy, Buck? You haven’t stopped fidgeting since you showed up,” Sam pointed out.

“None of your business,” Bucky replied bluntly, eyes traveling to the entrance where he finally saw her. She looked ethereal in the lighting, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, “Holy shit,” He said under his breath. Sam and Steve took notice and followed his eye line, Sam letting out a low whistle.

“Damn, who knew Y/N could clean up that well,” Sam joked, earning a shove from Bucky before he made a b-line to her. Her face lit up when she saw Bucky.

“James! You look so handsome! It’s nice to see you without a million layers on.,” She smiled at him, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“You look breathtaking. Let’s go talk on the balcony,” Bucky replied after kissing her cheek. She took his hand and dragged him to the bar first, getting drinks before the two of them went off to the balcony. It was empty because of the cold air but it was welcomed by the two.

They spent a majority of the party outside, talking about anything and everything. They had always found peace in each other, trusting one another with everything. She had cut her sentence short when she noticed a snowflake fall from the sky, followed by more falling at a faster rate. She giggled as she watched the snow fall, enjoying every second of it.

“Wanna dance in the snow?” She suggested, breathless from her excitement. Instead of responding, Bucky took her hand and wrapped his vibranium arm around her waist before slowly swaying the two of them. They could hear the music from inside the tower, swaying to the beat of a slower song that was playing.

From inside the tower, Natasha, Steve and Sam all watched the pair from the window. Tony had announced the end of the party, urging the guests who didn’t belong in the tower, out of the tower. The billionaire joining the trio looking out the window.

“They’re gonna kiss, I guarantee it,” Tony predicted. The pair outside were still swaying to the beat of the song that was playing inside.

Bucky was looking at her lovingly which she took notice of. Her heart was racing, she knew that Bucky could hear it with his enhanced senses. He let out a chuckle because his heart had too picked up speed. “Can I kiss you?” Bucky asked with a shy smile.

“You don’t even have to ask,” She replied, returning the smile. Bucky leaned down and connected their lips, both of them feeling like their world had stopped and it was just them. Nobody else, just them finally kissing after years of chasing after each other.

Their friends inside were cheering them on, Sam handing Tony money after losing a bet they had made on a whim. The pair only pulled away because they couldn’t breathe and the snow was falling at a faster rate than before. Bucky grabbed her hand and the two of them ran inside for warmth as they laughed joyously.

“Merry Christmas, James,” She said breathlessly.

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” He replied before pulling her in for another kiss. Their friends cheering not going unnoticed but just ignored by the pair. Y/N throwing up her middle finger before focusing on Bucky once again. She got a taste of the super soldier and she knew she’d never let him go and he wouldn’t let her go either.

#bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #winter soldier #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you

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keithsandwich · 2 months

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Seven Rooms

Pairing: Keith and Alter!Keith/OC (Maeve)

Word Count: ~4k

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Breastfeeding, Parenting, Past Trauma Mentions, Family Fluff, Domestic.

Prompts: Storge (Familial Love) mainly, but with hints of Pragma (Enduring Love), and a teeny tiny bit of Eros (Sensual Love) in the Seventh Room.

Summary: Series of drabbles showing Keith and Maeve putting their six children to bed before finishing the day together.

Notes: Written for the Shapes of Love Creation Challenge, hosted by the amazing @lorei-writes and @violettduchess. Thank you so much! And special thanks to Lorei for being the best beta reader!

Watch out for the little Beatrice cameo @bicayaya 💕

First Room —

It was a quiet room where a beautiful scene unfolded, one that Keith looked forward to watching every evening.

By the door, he could see their figures bathed in the dim light of the candles — Maeve rocking in the nursing chair slowly, with their youngest latched onto her breast. She was focused entirely on their baby, smiling and softly cooing, while the little one made little murmurs and stretched his round fingers as if responding to her.

It had been a while since they had a baby as shy as Cosmos. In front of others, even his siblings, he would always hide behind his parents’ legs or stretch his little arms to be picked up, curling up against their chests while avoiding eye contact with anyone. But when alone and enveloped in his mother’s warmth, he would look at her attentively, smile, babble, and move with no inhibition.

And Keith understood him. Dealing with people could be overwhelming, but Maeve possessed this comforting aura that could make anyone feel free to be themselves around her. It certainly worked its magic on him, as her husband. He could only imagine how much more magical it could be for their children, enveloped in her neverending motherly love.

Maybe this was why he enjoyed silently watching such scenes for a while before getting inside the room. The tenderness melted his heart, making all of the day’s hard work even more worth it. Granted, he loved Jade and would give all of himself to his kingdom and for the flowers of happiness to bloom all over the land. But his family were his own flowers of happiness, and witnessing his garden grow radiant and full of love was much more than he could have hoped for in this life.

He would never understand how he could be so lucky.

When Cosmos unlatched and gurgled softly, announcing his satisfaction in his own way, Maeve gently cleaned his little face before covering herself. Finally, she looked up to meet Keith’s loving gaze, offering him a welcoming smile.

“Just in time! His belly is full of milk, and now he’s ready to sleep!” Maeve said with gentle excitement, hoping to make the baby smile without causing agitation. She kissed his cheek before holding him against her shoulder. Meanwhile, Keith approached them, joining their little, perfect world with a delicate touch on Cosmos’ back.

Together with his wife, he would sing him lullabies and rock him to sleep.

Second Room —

The room belonged to a girl that was a bit demanding, nonetheless sweet.

“Dada, tell story.” Aurora squeezed the deer plush tighter in her little arms, hanging on to keep herself awake with her sluggish voice and heavy eyelids.

“But mama just told you one, flower,” Keith said softly, his fingers running soothingly through her olive curls as he gently tried to coax her to sleep. She was properly tucked underneath the blankets, the room was warm, and Maeve, standing on the other side of the crib, had already told her a little fairy tale. However, her mind remained stubbornly alert.

“Baby like story…” she murmured so heartfelt a manner that Keith felt a pang in his chest, tearing up. He blinked back his tears and looked up at Maeve. She seemed to be more prepared to handle Aurora’s pleas than he was, discreetly gesturing for him to just go on.

Trying to convince her to sleep would only make her start fussing and maybe even crying. His heart couldn’t bear to see her cry. Given her drowsiness, telling another story would certainly be more effective, and Aurora would probably drift off in the middle of it.

“Alright…” he said, trying to think of a story to tell her. “Once upon a time, in a mystical forest far, far away, there lived two tiny fairies…”

Aurora wasn’t fully focused on his gentle voice. Her eyelashes fluttered more and more as she battled to keep her eyes open, and she cutely yawned every now and then. Still, Keith continued with the story patiently until her lids finally shut, and Maeve leaned in to place a kiss on her temple.

She was asleep at last.

“Good night, little sweet,” Keith said gently and mimicked his wife, kissing her other temple. Aurora stirred a bit, worrying him for a second. However, she simply turned to her side, still hugging her plushie.

Now that the room was completely silent, Keith caressed her soft hair for a while longer. She was a lot like Mireille, not only in the way she looked but also in her demeanor. He couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for the times when he used to look after his little sister, trying to be there for her since their mother couldn’t, and their father wouldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t really replace them, and eventually, he felt like a failure, which led him to distance himself from her, despite her own opinions about it.

Thankfully, a lot had changed since he found true love. Not only the one he shared with Maeve, although it was what opened his eyes and his heart to everything else. Self-love, loving his other self, and renewing the love for his family through his children by welcoming them with open arms, caused him to no longer feel like a failure when it came to caring for and protecting his loved ones. It had been a long journey, but one that had brought his sister, and surprisingly, even his father closer again — although the former king would always be a better grandfather than a father.

It all fell into place, and everything was flourishing as peacefully as Aurora was sleeping now.

“I promise I’ll always listen to you and never push you away,” he vowed to her silently.

Keith felt Maeve’s hands on his shoulders, and they brought him back to the present. He offered her an apologetic smile before moving on with her to the next room.

Third Room —

The room was… empty.

He and Maeve looked around to find evidence that Iris had been in the room, and that the maid had put her in her pajamas, but her robe and her slippers were missing, as well as the girl. Maeve huffed, placing her hands on her hips and turning to Keith with an exasperated look.

“I bet she’s on the training grounds, again.”

She wasn’t happy, for a good reason. Although Iris developed this habit only recently and had never gone farther than the training grounds — unlike two other little rascals — they couldn’t help but worry about her. Iris had way too much confidence and energy for someone so tiny, and they knew it could put her in trouble, something that definitely gave them a headache.

“She’s been getting a little too much into it, hasn’t she?” Keith asked Maeve with an apologetic tone as they rushed to track down their little girl.

“I wish she was into the discipline part of it as well,” his wife was starting to breathe in relief as they approached the training grounds and the sounds coming from there indicated what they expected.

Iris, in her pajamas and with a wooden sword in her little hands, was sparring with her big brother Helia. During the brief seconds between finding and interrupting them, Keith could see how fiercely the girl charged against the boy twice her size. Granted, Helia was most likely going easy on her. Iris had just started learning how to use a sword — a decision made not by himself or Maeve, but by him. She was younger than her brothers when they had started, but she had always been such an unstoppable force that he assured it was for the best for her to spend her energy in fighting rather than just studying and learning manners. Although it was unusual to have princesses joining in military training, there wasn’t anything official preventing them to. Keith and Maeve didn’t concern themselves with conforming to tradition anyway.

And Keith had to admit, Iris seemed so happy sparring that it warmed his heart and made him feel proud. But too soon him and Maeve had to intervene, and he knew the part each one would take.

Or the one he would not.

“Helianthus!” Maeve surprised the children by calling Helia by his full name. She would only do it when he was in trouble. Wooden swords dropped on the floor when the protective mother stormed in towards her children. “You’re her older brother, you’re supposed to be taking care of her!”

“But I am, mama! She was sneaking out to come here anyway. It’s better if I am with her, is it not?”

By the time the boy replied to Maeve, the other Keith had already surfaced, watching the little troublemaker start running around, yelling “I don’t wanna sleep! I don’t wanna sleep!”. He chuckled. He hadn’t switched because he didn’t want to deal with Iris, but because he knew he was better suited for it.

Each one of their children was unique, but he could also see something of the three of them blooming in their personalities. And Iris was the one who carried more of his heart within her. If Keith had had a chance to enjoy childhood, he could see himself being as free and full of life as she was. This is why what could be considered a challenge was delightful to him. He had fun chasing after the little one while Maeve was busy covering Helia with her cloak and chiding him over the risks of catching a cold. Then both his wife and his son would go inside, and in a more carefree manner, Keith would catch his daughter, throw her in the air, tickle her, and play tag again if it was needed to tire her out.

Because much like Aurora, Iris would only fall asleep when there was no energy left. But while Aurora’s mind was more alert, Iris was more physically active, and getting her to lie down in her bed to sleep was almost an impossible task. In the end, Keith would have to carry her to her room, wrapped snugly in his cape and curled up in his arms, deeply asleep.

Only then could he tuck her under her blankets and kiss her lids goodnight.

Fourth Room —

In the boy’s room, Maeve had already seen that Helia was in bed and with a warm mug of milk in his hands. Despite telling him off only a while ago, she was now caressing his soft hair like the doting mother she was while he drank his milk.

Being born the way he was, Keith had been free to avoid the King and only watch his demands and demeaning insults to his other self. He had never met his mother, and there weren’t good examples of a father around. When Maeve got pregnant for the first time, all he could do was promise to himself that he would be different — he couldn’t risk his children growing up believing themselves a failure. And it got even more important when they had Luna and Helia, twins to be looked down upon by the shitty nobles who still believed that nonsense about twins being bad luck.

In this, Keith ended up being too lenient with them, even more than he and Maeve could be, which ended up causing some problems. “They can’t always ask for fun dada whenever they do something wrong,” his wife told him one day. “Kids need space and encouragement to grow, but they need boundaries too; otherwise they’ll end up hurting themselves.”

And so he understood that being a father should be both fun and boring, at the right times.

“Everything alright there, buddy?” Keith sat on the edge of Helia’s bed and poked his nose playfully, making him giggle. “Did mama explain to you why you can’t train swords with Iris late at night?”

“Mama did, but…” Maeve pursed her lips when the boy said but. Sensing his mother’s disapproval, he leaned towards his father and proceeded more quietly, as if he could keep it a secret between both of them. “Dad, you know I can protect her if anything happens, don’t you?”

“Helia…” Keith understood him, with all his heart. He himself was born to protect, after all. This is why he meant every word when he said next, “I know ya can protect your siblings if you have to, but I don’t want ya to ever need it, especially not now. You’re a kid, shouldn’t be worrying about that.”

Maeve reached out to touch Keith’s hand. Only then he realized he had been tapping the edge of the bed lightly. There was a look in her eyes he was used to seeing when she dealt with him, not him. He turned his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

Meanwhile, Helia, who couldn’t understand it, frowned.

“Only Aster is older than me! And Luna by some minutes, but it doesn’t matter…” he muttered in the last part. “I’m better than him with a sword, and he’s good with swords! And I always take care of him when we…”

“When ya both are out there sticking your noses where they don’t belong,” Keith finished the sentence for him and poked his nose again to make him stop frowning. “Gotta stop that, and gotta be a good role model for ya sister. I don’t wanna see any of you gettin’ trouble, gotcha?”

“Gotcha…” the boy echoed halfheartedly.

Some things take time to sink in, and Keith could only hope he would learn this lesson smoothly. Until then, he and Maeve would keep a closer eye on the three little rebels they had.

She took the empty cup when he finished his milk, and together they kissed their son goodnight.

Fifth Room —

The room was as peaceful as the girl who lived there. Luna was sitting by the window, a colorful picture book on her knees and a lantern by her side. Her green eyes lit up when she saw her parents by the door, and she immediately closed the book, set it aside, and blew out the candle in the lantern before rushing to meet them. Keith knew she had been eagerly awaiting their arrival, and had she been more outspoken, she would have complained about their delay.

But she was too sweet to say anything. Instead, she took Maeve’s hands and asked, perfectly politely, “Mama, would you braid my hair, please?”

“Why won’t ya ask me to braid your hair?” Keith asked with a playful tone before Maeve could reply to her. He knew his oldest daughter well; she was a reflective child, and he enjoyed teasing her with sudden questions to see her little face twist while trying to find an answer.

And without failing, the girl blinked in confusion a few times, trying to think of an answer to that question. The truth was, both Keiths had done her hair multiple times before, but for some reason she couldn’t quite understand — most likely sheer habit, or the memories of the fun girl’s slumber parties she attended with her mother — Luna always turned to Maeve first.

“Well, do you want your dad to braid your hair, sweetie?” Her mother asked with a smile. Keith could see that she was finding that little interaction funny.

Luna was still hesitating when she nodded in agreement. He clicked his tongue, crouching down to meet her eye level.

“Why don't we each do a braid, and then you can decide which one is better?” Keith suggested, and she paused again to consider.

“I don’t see why not,” she spoke like a true lady, graciously moving between them so she could take both Maeve’s hand and his, and walk with them to her dresser.

Luna sat down and her mother took the hairbrush, parting her long black hair in two so they could each work on one side. Keith still played with her hair a bit, messing it up to try to make her laugh. When he succeeded in amusing his shy and serious daughter, those cute little giggles were enough to warm up his heart. He could keep going just to make her laugh more, but it was late, and she was supposed to go to sleep soon.

“How was your day, flower? I heard you got a letter,” Maeve asked her when she caught her breath. That moment when she was relaxed and enjoying her parents’ company was the best time for conversation.

“Indeed! From godmama. She said Lianna remembers me, can you believe that? We haven’t seen them in two months!” Luna exclaimed joyfully.

“You’re like a big sister to her too, see?” Maeve said with a smile, reaching out for a pink ribbon to tie off her braid.

“There’ll be a goodwill ball in Rhodolite in a few weeks, so we can pay a visit to ya godmama, sweetie,” Keith decided to cheer her up even more, and the gleam in her eyes were better than her giggling.

“Can I write to her to tell we’re visiting?” Luna turned to her mother to ask her.

It was Keith’s turn to fetch a ribbon to tie off the braid he had done.

“Of course, dearest! Beatrice will be so happy to know,” Maeve leaned closer to see her reflection on the mirror, and Keith followed her. “But now tell us. Which braid is the best?”

“Mine, naturally! Isn’t it a perfect braid?” he said with a smug smile.

“I don’t know… Mama’s braid is more neat, but yours got style, papa!”

Keith chuckled. She was way too sweet.

With that matter settled, they tucked her in bed where she talked a bit more about her day before starting to yawn. It was time for their goodnight kiss, and Luna, being the affectionate child she was, returned the kiss on their cheeks every night.

“Papa…” she murmured drowsily. “I wanna give the other papa a kiss too.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He would do anything for her.

Sixth Room —

The room wasn’t as cozy as the previous ones, with too many candles lit as if the boy who lived there was still fully active, rather than getting ready to sleep. However, the truth was that Aster was deeply asleep, his head resting on open books as he sat by his desk in an uncomfortable position. He probably had dismissed his attendant earlier that night to study, but had eventually become so tired he dozed off while doing so.

Maeve silently brushed his curls away to reveal his closed lids and flushed face, confirming his slumber. She nodded at Keith, signaling that he could pick Aster up and place him in his bed.

His little boy was growing taller and heavier by the day, Keith thought as he carried him in his arms. Being his first child, he clearly remembered how it felt holding him right after he was born, when everything was new and made him so scared. He was so tiny that Keith felt safer holding him in his hands, where he fit better, rather than in his arms. Now he knew Aster would easily grow as tall as him in some years.

It was magical how a small and fragile sprout could grow to be a tall and strong tree. And Keith knew he would become really magnificent. Sure, he had his share in his parents’ headache when he joined Helia and Iris for some mischief, especially the former, when the boys’ need to explore took them too far into the woods, mobilizing searching parties just to find them. “If I am to be king, I need to know every inch of this land, papa,” he would try to explain himself. And studying how big Jade actually was never made him fret. There were no efforts he wouldn’t make to meet the expectations people had over the prince heir.

Keith placed him in his bed, and he and Maeve gently removed his shoes, belt, and vest to help him feel more comfortable through the night. As Keith tucked his son under the blankets, Aster stretched his body a bit, and his eyelids opened just slightly, revealing unfocused golden eyes that looked straight at him.

“Dad… Will you help me with politics?” His voice sounded distant, and his speech was groggy and slow. Aster wasn’t quite awake, but he echoed a request he likely had been thinking about before falling asleep. “It’s… So hard to get…”

Maeve, who was ceremoniously extinguishing the candles of his room, turned to stare at father and son with a worried look.

“Don’t worry, bud. We will study together in the morning. Now sleep tight.” Keith ruffled his hair softly and reassuringly. The boy didn’t answer, but he smiled before closing his eyes again.

“Isn’t his tutor pushing him too hard?” Maeve finally expressed her concerns in a quiet whisper, moving closer and taking Keith's arm. They watched their son sleeping together. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s the future king of Jade, love,” he kissed her forehead and brought her a little closer. Even after all those years, he knew many things about the royal life were still new to her, or just hard to accept. “I’m ensuring that his tutor isn’t overwhelming him, and I’m assisting him in every way I can.”

Maeve sighed, but ultimately she smiled and nodded. She trusted Keith would always take the best care of their children, no matter their responsibilities as little princes and princesses. With time, he had learned to accept that he had done the best he could for Mireille and Tio — no matter how painful the memory still was to his heart. Now, he and his other self could do a lot better to nurture, protect, and work side by side with Maeve and their children as he intended to with his brother.

His family, for Keith, was a chance to start over. And together, they would ensure that the flowers of happiness were always blooming in Jade.

Seventh Room —

Every night felt like Heaven. After so much work, and so much love, Keith still could snuggle with his wife, laying his head against her breast and intertwining their legs together. He would never be able to describe that feeling. Maeve had become even warmer and softer over the years, so naturally it took a while for him to realize that all of that comfort he felt whenever they were alone in their bed, right before sleeping, emanated from her. And from the neverending love, support, and acceptance she gave him.

Keith closed his eyes and let himself dive into those delightful sensations. The flowery and herbal scents of her, mixed with the milky one on her skin, filled his mind so deeply he was sure it reached the forest in his head, and his other self was likely indulging in it too.

Maeve was his safe haven; the one who showed him what true love was in many of its shapes. She had taken them — him and his other self — as lovers, as husbands, as the fathers to her babies. She had changed her life to embrace the title of princess and of future queen out of her immense feelings towards them and their land, and she would always be the symbol of that eternal bond between Jade and the spirit of nature. The Goddess she served, he saw, felt, lived and loved in her. For there was no other word to define Maeve to him that wasn’t sacred.

“I love you…” Keith whispered against her skin, pressing their bodies together even further. He wished he could simply melt into her.

“I love you too…” She murmured so softly and earnestly in return that he felt like it could be possible.

They could melt and become one forever.

Or at least until next morning; when the sun would bring their children barging into their room and jumping on their beds so they could live it all again.

Happily, and full of love.

Tagging: @bicayaya @olivermorningstar @queengiuliettafirstlady

#shapesoflovecc #ikepri #ikemen prince #keith howell #ikepri oc #my maeve #oc children #fanfic

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sailoryooons · 11 months

Text

Break | ksj (m)

☾ Pairing: Witch!Seokjin x cursed!reader

☾ Summary: Seokjin has been at your side for the last few years. He’s your closest friend, and the one person you don’t think you can live without. But what happens when you discover that he might be the source of the curse he’s been trying to help you escape from?

☾ Word Count: 18,990

☾ Genre: Supernatural, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Death and implied accidental murder of a sibling, childhood trauma, creepy vibes, heavy angst, a lot of internal monologue featuring angst, physical and verbal abuse from members of the town toward reader, sometimes confusing mentions of magic systems, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), rough fucking from behind, dom/sub dynamics if you rEALLY squint, subspace/blacking out post sex, unhappy and ambiguous ending!!!!!!

☾ Published: May 22, 2023

☾ A/N: Hi hello this is one of the most random things I’ve ever written. I made a last minute choice to nosedive into this fic at the last second, which was certainly a choice. While it’s not my favorite work because of how hard I struggle to write it, I have a feel people are going to like it regardless and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself about it. Once again, Hali writes way too much for a small project and doesn’t even dip into the lore the way she wanted to! Thank you to @here2bbtstrash who was the amazing beta on this and fixed easily over 200 errors that I made while rush typing this. I handed this over unedited and unread from myself and they put this through the wash to have it in tiptop shape!

❀ A/N 2: M created their own Little Hut rhyme and I have opted to feature it here for reader’s enjoyment:

Little hut, little hut

Killer dick game

Little hut, little hut

All men is the same

Little hut, little hut,

Murdered your twin

Little hut, little hut

Time to fuck Jin

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | A Spring Offering Collab

Seokjin is good at holding grudges. Even as a child, his mother always said he had a tough time letting things go. He never knew how right she would be. His mother’s words are all he can think about as he storms through the dark of the forest, shadows whispering about him as he looks for the lone hut in the very dark of the woods.

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

If his parents could see him now, he knows they would be broken. Tear-streaked and shaking, a lost boy alone in the woods and drowning in anger so hot that the ground scorches beneath his feet. Looking for a salve. Looking for vengeance.

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Blood witches are dangerous. Seokjin knows this, everyone knows this. A blood witch is the reason why his parents are dead and he is storming through the darkness in the throes of madness. But Seokjin is only thirteen and full of pain and desperation, vowing to never let something happen like this again. If he has to use a devil to defeat a devil, he will.

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

A dark stream wends its way through the trees. Seokjin gets a running start and jumps across the whispering waters. When he lands on the other side, he waits. It took a lot of searching to find someone to tell him how to find the witch in the woods. No one comes here, especially not in the dead of night on Beltane.

They say only evil comes from the little hut in the woods. Seokjin knows now that it isn’t true. Evil comes from anywhere and everywhere, even from the people that one least expects. Evil killed his parents. Evil is why he is alone, crying on the edge of the stream, waiting for the sound of a banshee's call.

He hears it then. A one-note wail, thin and high-pitched. His blood goes cold and the fight in him nearly goes out at the sound. His heart begins to pound so loud that it’s all he can hear, the thundering beat of panic and terror as he realizes what he’s about to do.

“Little hut, little hut,” a voice that he cannot see calls to him. There is no hut that Seokjin can see. Only omnipresent darkness, cloying the air in front of him. A tingle skitters over his arms and he becomes acutely aware of another presence there with him in the dark. “I call to thee. Little hut, little hut, come to me.”

Seokjin blinks rapidly a few times and sees the outline of a hut in front of him. It has a blurry shape like it’s really the idea of a house. It’s so shadowed and opaque that he’s not entirely sure if it’s really there. He walks toward it anyway, one foot in front of the other, looking at the hut.

If a home could be a phantom, he thinks this is what the hut is. There is a vibrational pull here, a dull buzz in his veins as he gets closer and closer to where the blood witch lives. His stomach turns and his instincts beg him to leave. There is evil in this place. He knows it. Can feel its oily presence like a poisonous slick in his veins.

A door - or rather what he imagines is a door shape - stands open in the hut. Inside is eternal darkness like Seokjin has never seen before. The buzzing in his veins has become stronger, an itch he can’t scratch. A ringing in his ears.

Sometimes to beat evil, you must use evil. So Seokjin steps into the house despite all the reasons he should turn around and run. Because he is alone, he is in pain, and he needs some sort of penance. Justice.

So he asks the blood witch for a favor.

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

When the rock hits you right at the top of your spine, you know it isn’t an accident. All the same, you spin on your heel and look at the edge of the lake where the kids are skipping stones. They squeal and look away from you, huddled together as they giggle and look over their shoulders with frantic and excited faces.

You clench your fists and keep going. What can you do to a group of kids? Tossing them into the lake while you’re an adult seems unfair, though it certainly crosses your mind. It isn’t necessarily their fault that they were taught to have such hate in their hearts at a young age, after all.

So, you keep going, grinding your teeth as you march up the slope toward the main pathway that cuts through the park, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you quicken your strides to put distance between you and the cackling children. You’re not positive they won’t throw another rock at you, and you think that it might send you over the edge.

Early preparation for the Beltane festival is in full swing all over the park. There are trucks unloading carts and piecing together stalls, vendors and contractors with clipboards walking through spray painted grass with city officials, and a giant maypole waiting to be constructed.

Living in a town of witchy folk can be fun, you suppose. The only downside is that most of the witches in your town despise you and think you’re an abhorrent blight to the earth. If killing and sacrifices hadn’t been outdated and frowned upon, you’re sure they would have stuck you to an altar as a child the first time you showed signs of being a leech.

Leech.

It’s an unkind thing to call witches who siphon magic. It isn’t something you can control - it isn’t even something you were born with. Most witches who siphon magic are born that way. A sort of magical defect in the way they interact naturally with the world.

Most think of siphoners as a plague to the witch community. Thieves and monsters who can only feed on magic to make magic, a perversion of the natural balance of things. The way you look at it, witches who siphoned aren’t really any different from the natural order of the world. All living things need an energy source: food for animals, sun for plants, bacteria for amoebas. It isn’t different, really.

Perhaps you would not be so kind to leeches, though, had you not began your existence as a siphoner at thirteen years old.

It isn’t a night that you enjoy remembering, but it is certainly a night you can’t seem to forget. One moment you could command your magic like most other witches. Most, because you were a blood witch with raw talent and a powerful relationship with the earth’s energy.

Blood witches were as revered as they were feared, witches who needed no spells. Who could use the magic within them instead of their connection with the earth to conjure. To blood witches, all other witches were leeches, really. You didn’t tell that to your coven, though you thought about the irony often.

Your blood magic had vanished, though. It happened while you lay asleep in your bed, pressed up against your twin sister. Twins were a special thing in covens, a rarity in the magical order of the world that was seen as a good omen. There was a connection you shared with her deeper than the connection to your own magic, a bond that rooted the two of you together. That made you seek one another out for comfort.

It had been storming that night and you had sought out the warmth of her bed and the vanilla sugar of her hair to soothe your nerves. You didn’t like storms and thunder very much, but she was wide awake in her bed, watching out the window as purple lighting cracked across the sky and thunder shook the house.

You’d slipped into her bed without a word and she stood guardian over you, hand tucked in yours as she watched the sky light up. You remember her laying down next to you after the storm passed. The warmth of her breath on your cheek as she fell asleep. The hum between the two of you, soul recognizing soul.

She’d been dead by morning, magic siphoned and drained dry in the middle of the night.

The memory of it is metallic in your mouth. You head toward your apartment, hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans, head down. Beltane always makes you think of your sister. Makes you think of the morning you woke up on your thirteenth Beltane to find her cold and dead, magical signature gone. Severed. Torn away from you.

Losing your ability to generate magic was only second to losing your sister. You still feel adrift fifteen years later. Moving through the world with a piece of you missing. Two pieces of you, if you count the fact that you can feel the magic around you but not reach for it. You never reach for it, though you suspect that no one believes you.

Except maybe Seokjin. But even he doesn’t know the story of how you became what you are. All he knows is that you can’t create your own magic, and yet he’s never shamed you for it. Never turned his back on you, or berated you or bullied you.

That sort of kindness is a rarity in your world.

Your small northeastern town is easy to navigate. There’s not much that happens that doesn’t immediately become the knowledge of all citizens, and there’s not really a way to get lost unless you’re a tourist coming to visit the country's spookiest and most magical town. The locals are pretty firm believers in magic, but the out of towners don’t really believe. They just want camp and kitsch.

It’s busy season, the streets filled with people buying decorations to celebrate Beltane, restaurants full of tourists trying out local fare between going shop to shop. The festivals always draw a big crowd to your corner of the world, making it easier for you to blend in with all the rest of them. It almost makes you feel normal when someone doesn’t recognize you and immediately scowl. Sometimes you can even get away with eating at places that wouldn’t normally serve you, the workers too busy to really look at your face and see you.

A few people have taken pity on you outside of Seokjin. Namjoon and Jimin would never turn you away, always welcoming you with open arms, a warm cup of tea and free books for as long as you like at their bookstore. You’re not technically allowed in the metaphysical store on Fourth, but as long as Yoongi is working, you can walk through the rows and rows of crystals, grimoires, spices and charms. Seokjin is where you’re really home, though, his bakery a place of safety and fresh-smelling sugar cookies.

It’s where you go now, sticking to the shop windows and away from the tourists flowing all over Main Street like ants. There’s a line stretched out the door when you get to Magical Moon Bakery, and Jungkook looks helpless behind the counter as he nods while taking an order, wide-eyed and terrified.

Seokjin is at the delivery counter, flour staining his cheek and brow as he nods politely and hands a box of cupcakes over to his customer. As though he can sense you, he lifts his head and swivels, eyes scanning until they land on you, immediately shining. Your stomach leaps the way it often does around him, especially when he breaks out into a beautiful smile and jerks his thumb at an apron.

You roll your eyes. You’re not technically an employee at the bakery, but you help often enough that you tease Seokjin sometimes that he should start paying you. You never mean it, of course. Your reward is his unearned and unlikely friendship, and the fact that his friends have taken you in even when other covens have turned their backs on you.

Perhaps if he’d grown up here he’d hate you. It’s a thought you have often, even when you’re pulling the loop of a lavender apron over your head and tying it around your waist. You can’t imagine Seokjin ever hating you for no reason, but sometimes you wonder if he had the influence of the other kids of your town if it would be different.

“Can you take over the order counter?” he asks, the blush on his face the only sign that he’s getting a little frazzled. You nod and he winks at you, leaning over to press a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek. “Worldwide best friend.”

“Mhmm,” is the only response you manage to string together, flustered by his proximity.

It’s no secret that Seokjin is one of the best looking men in town. Even among witches, who are unnaturally beautiful to begin with, he stands out. Dark, silky hair swept back off of his forehead, dark eyes with a spark of caramel right around the pupil, lips full and lush like Aphrodite, and a face molded from the finest clay, glazed and perfected.

Loving him isn’t hard. He’s as kind as he is beautiful, and Seokjin is silly. Able to make you laugh and draw you out of the melancholy that is permanently affixed on your person. It’s been that way since you met in your early twenties right after he moved to town, and you’re grateful for it.

Even if loving him is pointless. He can never be yours - would never want to be yours in that way, anyway.

So you settle for less. Settling for crumbs is what you’re good at. What people think you deserve, being the little leech that you are.

No one you’re serving at the bakery knows you’re a leech, though. All they know is that they are eager to try the best baked goods in town, wondering at the menu as each item has a list of things it’s good for. Rose scones to make someone fall in love, marshmallow fluff cupcakes to soften the blow of bad news, gumdrop cakes to summon rain.

Everything on the menu has a charm to it, both literally and figuratively. Seokjin is wildly creative in his carefully crafted menu, and he imbues magic in everything he makes from the eggs to the whipped frosting.

Being here is nice. Jungkook grins when he sees you behind the counter, happy for the help. He still gets overwhelmed behind the till, and he’s more than happy to step back and chew his lip nervously when he processes a discount wrong. You’re up next to him before he can ask for help, typing on the screen while gently walking him through it again.

Jungkook is a good kid, an elemental witch who is prone to cause rainstorms when he gets stressed. For now, he is a bottle of sunshine, thanking you shyly and letting you know that he saved you a bag of butterscotch cookies in the back.

“I put in a little extra sunshine,” he promises. By that, you know that he means magic. To give you. You open your mouth to scold him but he shakes his head furiously, long, wavy locks shaking. “I wanted to do it. Please don’t yell at me.”

That gets you. It’s hard to be mad at him, especially when anger is likely to set him off into a rainstorm. Jungkook’s round eyes are pleading and he pouts, a tactic you know he has learned from his boyfriend to use as a weapon. You think about sending Taehyung some choice text messages but instead, thank Jungkook for the cookies and continue to help him.

This is what keeps you going most days. The unfettered kindness that Seokjin and his friends show you. None of them are locals to town, but they had formed their own coven a little at a time, a circle under the broad umbrella of the town's overall witch population.

Covens are difficult. You’re both in and not in Seokjin’s coven, an unofficial member by friendship. But you don’t practice anymore - won’t let yourself - so you’re on the outside looking in most weekends and during spiritual times of the year.

But by witch standard, you are a part of the covenstead of the town, the larger collective of witches who are loyal and responsible for one another, all answering to the high priestess. Who has begrudgingly let you stay as a member of the covenstead for the sheer fact that you’re her niece and nothing more.

When the rush of customers and crinkling to-go bags slows, you lean against the counter and reach a hand out just as the door to the back swings open. Seokjin has a glass bottle of soda ready for you, and he blinks in surprise when he sees your hand ready for it. You’re a little surprised as well. Though you have no magic on your own, you still sometimes predict things before they happen. Or at least, your instincts do.

“It’s freaky when the two of you do that,” Jungkook comments, eyes bouncing between you and Seokjin as the older hands you the bottle. “You’re always so in-tune.”

“She’s a witch,” Seokjin snorts, leaning against the glass case of mostly empty dishes as he takes a swig of his own. “Divination and all that is sort of what we do.”

“Yeah, but it only happens with you.”

You don’t meet Seokjin’s eyes as you swig from the bottle, the carbonation fizzing on your tongue. “I can’t help it that I inspire magical abilities,” is Seokjin’s answer. Always deflecting. You're grateful for the way he rolls with the punches, easily accepting the way others talk about you two as an item so you don’t have to. “Plus, even witch-adjacents have the ability of foresight.”

What he doesn’t say is that even in your dishonored position as a siphoner, you can get sensations and feelings. While you can sense magic and you’re still in tune with the world around you, Jungkook is right: you only have this sense of knowing with Seokjin, like there is a tiny string of fate connecting the two of you.

When it’s time to close down the shop, you help the two of them out. Seokjin goes to the back to begin batching things anew: fondant, bread, frosting - anything that he can let sit overnight or prep while the lights are out and he’s gone home. You focus on cleaning with Jungkook, letting him put on a pop playlist while he sings along, siren voice lulling you into a steady rhythm.

Part of you wants to ask what they’re doing for Beltane. Celebrating the holidays use to be your favorite, threading flowers through your hair, blessing your hearth and home, weaving new spells of prosperity and happiness alongside your sister. Now you don’t participate in any of the rituals with the others.

Most of the time, you celebrate alone in your room. Mark the points of the elements and the compass on your bedroom floor alone. Sit in front of a single candle, watching the flame flicker as you draw your circle of salt, murmuring blessings. It isn’t a powerful place of practice and you have no alter to command, but it's something. It’s yours.

Instead of asking, you follow Seokjin and Jungkook out of the door on the promise of dinner. It is the one thing that does feel like a ritual you’re allowed to participate in, holding chapel at Seokjin’s dining room table and elbowing with Jimin and Taheyung to reach for the food piled high.

Evening sky stretches overhead as you walk between Seokjin and Jungkook. You cast your eyes upward, watching the gray clouds float by. Seokjin throws an arm around you, pulling you in close and squeezing you to his side. He smells like vanilla and sweet orange from making his tangerina vanilla cakes for Yoongi. You breathe in his scent, letting it wash through you like a balm.

His arm presses a little too hard on the bruise where the rock from earlier nailed you, and you hiss, reaching behind your head automatically to adjust his hold on you.

“What?” he asks, lifting his arm and slowing his gait. Seokjin’s face is picture-perfect concern, mouth tilted downward, a crease in his brows. Before you can explain, his hands are pulling at the collar of your shirt. “You’ve got a welt here, what the hell is that?”

You smack at his hands and step away from him, pulling his warm fingers from your shirt. “It’s nothing.”

“Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ it's always something. Why do you have a lump on the top of your spine?”

Dancing away from him, you grab Jungkook who grunts, mouth full of corn chips as you shove him between you and Seokjin. More unhappy noises come from the youngest as Seokjin grabs for you but you squeak and use Jungkook’s broad body to block him again.

“Yah!” Seokjin yells, reaching both arms around either side of Jungkook to grab you. He manages to get one of your arms, pulling you toward him - and by default, Jungkook - and keeps a firm grip while you swat and fight back.

“Nooo!” Jungkook howls between the two of you, adding to the chaos as he shoves both of you away from him. “Stop using me as a battering ram! I’m going to drop my chips! Guys!”

“Tell me why you have a wound!”

“It isn’t a wound!”

“It’s a type of wound!”

“Ugh let my arm go, hulk!”

“Stop hissing at me like a rat!”

Jungkook drops his bag of chips and lets out a long, forlorn wail. “My chiiiiiiiiips!”

After a struggle, you manage to shake Seokjin off of you, taking a few steps back as you huff angrily, fists at your side. Seokjin sidesteps Jungkook who is pouting and looking at the ground, wavy bangs falling in his eyes as he stares at the spilled corn chips. Seokjin makes it worse by stepping on them, earning a shriek from Jungkook that goes ignored.

“Did someone hurt you?”

A rumble rolls through the sky from up above. You cast your gaze upward, looking at the clouds that are a little more swollen than they were a few minutes ago. You can sense the static in the air, a promise of lightning if you don’t diffuse Seokjin’s anger quickly.

Similar to Jungkook, Seokjin is sensitive to the elements. Where Jungkook has an affinity for the sky and the rain, Seokjin has a lot more skill with fire. Still, Seokjin is a powerful witch and his rage on more than one occasion has disturbed the sky and the lake in the middle of town.

It’s partly the reason he works so hard on never getting angry.

“It’s nothing, Jin,” you answer softly, eyes pleading. You desperately want him to drop it. Part of you is honored that he cares, but the other half of you can’t bear the way he looks at you. “Please drop it.”

“Someone hurt you. Again.”

Thunder echoes across the sky. Jungkook looks upward. “That isn’t me, even though I am mad about my chips.”

“Jin, it isn’t a big deal. Please.” You glance upward, thunder rolling again. “You’re going to make it rain.”

“I’ll make it do more than that when I find out who did it.”

“They were just kids, Jin. You can’t-”

He swears loudly and there’s a flash of lightning above your head. It makes you think of that night with your sister, laying in bed to let the storm pass. You clap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, automatically crouching to make yourself small.

Behind your shut eyes, you try not to let the memories come. Try not to imagine the vanilla scent of her hair, warm hands on your skin turned cold the next morning. You block out the screams, the way your mother shoved you away and your father yelled and yelled and yelled.

Above, the thunder stops. The rain doesn’t fall, and the air pressure returns to normal. Shivering, you crack an eye open to look at Seokjin, terrified at what you might find. His anger is so rare but flips on a dime, catching you off guard any time it happens.

Jungkook is murmuring in Seokjin’s ear now, voice hushed and urgent. Seokjin’s eyes become unfocused as he nods, Jungkook’s hands grasping the older’s biceps firmly. When Seokjn’s eyes find yours over Jungkook’s shoulder, they’re fathomless. Endless pools of black and something else that you can’t decipher as he murmurs something back to Jungkook, who steps away.

Licking his lips, Seokjin offers you a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.”

You swallow thickly. Reach out a tentative hand. “It’s okay.”

“You know I would never hurt you?”

Of course you know that. You aren’t afraid of Seokjin or the power he holds. You aren’t afraid of what he can do. You are afraid of the memories that nip at your heels like a pack of jackals, waiting for you to grow weak and fall before they attack. You are afraid of the way that it makes you feel when he cares about you.

“I know that,” you murmur, letting him pull you to your feet. “It’s just the thunder, that's all.”

His smile is soft. “I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand. It’s a perfect fit, your palm in his. His skin buzzes with magic and you’re careful not to take any, always keeping your guard up so that you can never siphon again. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Home isn’t the small apartment on the west side of town that you keep by yourself. Home is Seokjin’s two-story house in the suburbs made of brick and mortar. It’s the crowded dining room with eight chairs pulled close to the wooden table and a chandelier full of burner candles and incense. It’s Seokjion’s cat familiar running yowling down the corridor as Yoongi’s maine coon chases it, hissing.

Home is seven witches who don’t care that you can’t generate your own magic, all of them laughing and pushing empty plates toward the middle of the table where Namjoon collects them with a snap of his fingers, the cutlery lifting and stacking neatly with the soft click of ceramic.

Bloated and overly satiated, you lean back in your chair, sighing heavily. Yoongi is next to you, quiet and staring off into space the way that he often does. Next to him, Jimin and Namjoon have their heads bowed together whispering, a blush flushing across Namjoon’s wine-glazed expression and tops of his ears.

Namjoon and Jimin strike something in you. A longing that tugs at your heart strings, drawing your gaze to the man sitting on the other side of you. Seokjin is leaning back in his chair, arm stretched over the back of your seat as he yawns mid-conversation with Hoseok.

Seokjin is barely touching you, but just the warmth of his arm is enough to make you dizzy. It’s barely there, just against the top of your back. You lean into him a little, resting your head on top of his arm. He maneuvers his hand to scratch the top of your head lightly. It feels so nice that your eyes flutter shut, letting him play with your hair as the noise in the room drifts to a dull buzz.

In another life, you think that this touch could be something more. Sometimes, you let yourself wonder if it is. Let yourself pretend that maybe Seokjin’s lingering gaze and lingering hand is more than the platonic affection he has for you.

It’s a silly dream.

When the dishes are washed and the others have said their goodbyes, it’s just you and Seokjin leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He has a glass of wine, sipping it thoughtfully as you put the cork back in the wine bottle. When you meet his gaze, you see something there. Hesitance. Anxiety.

Seokjin chews on his lips and swishes the wine in his glass. The red arches elegantly along the sides of the glass, slowly dripping back down to pool in his cup. You remember once at a winery you could measure the legs or something when swishing wine in a glass to learn some small factoid about the wine, but it’s far from your memory now.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, taking a sip of your own. It’s a strong mulled wine with notes of cherry, you think. “You look nervous.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Your heart beats hard once. Then twice. Speeds up. Instead of answering right away, you take a sip of your wine, mind running through all of the things you think he might say. Maybe this is it, he’s going to tell you that you can’t come around as much. That though you’re his best friend, you have to stay away from his coven.

Instead, Seokjin says, “You know I’ve looked into your situation.” You wince when he says it but he pushes forward, leaning off the counter as he grows eager. “You said you weren’t always a siphon, that you could control your own magic as a child. I’ve been researching similar cases, and there is a lot of evidence that supports that it might be a magical block.”

“Jin.”

“Look, I’m happy with the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with you. But I know that you aren’t happy with it.” His jaw flexes. “And I care about your happiness. I just… Yoongi and I have been reading up on rituals to release magical blocks, and with Beltane in a few days, we thought…”

Warmth bubbles in your chest. You know how much this means to him, trying to help you. To free you from the burden that you carry with you wherever you go. This is not the first time he has brought up trying to figure out your ailment. Your situation. And though you’re glad he cares about you enough to try, there is something humiliating about it.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Seokjin murmurs. You look up at him and his gaze is soft. Vulnerable. “But if you want us to try, we discussed it. And our circle is strong enough to try it on Beltane.”

Licking your lips, you nod once. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you.” You give him a look and he smiles, a little sad. “What? I am.”

“Stop trying to be charming. I’ll only say yes if I want to.”

“I have no doubt about that. However, it is impossible for me to stop my charm. It is a natural gift.”

You roll your eyes. “Along with your insufferable humor.”

“There is nothing insufferable about me. Especially with Yoongi around.”

You don’t push the argument. Seokjin grins again before opening a drawer in his kitchen, pulling out a small, cloth bag. There’s a green ribbon tying the top of it shut, and you smell the herbs inside of it immediately: cedar, bay leaves, mugwort.

Seokjin holds the bag out to you and you frown, taking it. It’s weighted with crystals. You squeeze the bag a little, feeling the crunch of crystal fragments and herbs. There is a vibration that travels from your fingers up your arms and you feel a sense of solid warmth.

“A protection bag,” you deadpan. “Really?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t need this.”

“The welt on your neck says otherwise.”

“Please stop!” Your voice is loud in the empty kitchen. He pulls up short, leaning against the counter and watching you with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. You sigh deeply and close your eyes for a moment, calming yourself before you open them and say, “I don’t mean to yell, it’s just - it’s hard when I feel like all of you coddle me. It’s humiliating.”

“It wasn’t my intention. I’d never want to make you feel that way.”

“I know.”

You do know. The intentions are good, but you can’t help the raw, venomous edge of frustration. It makes you feel less than, this constant need to help you. To do things for you.

“I don’t want to be a problem that everyone feels like they need to solve. There’s more to me than being the covenstead’s leech.”

“You know that isn’t how we think of you.”

You give a frustrated noise. “Then please. Let me ask for help when I need it.”

Seokjin is quick to catch the protection bag when you toss it back to him. He nods silently, eyes fixated on the floor. It feels like a hot stone has been dropped in your stomach, burning and weighing you down. How quickly a good dinner has turned sour, how the light air between the two of you has gone cold.

“Thank you for dinner. And for looking into a way out of this,” you gesture wildly to yourself. He nods, but there’s no mirth in his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah of course. Let me know about… you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

That night, you have trouble sleeping, just like that night when you were thirteen years old.

The back door to Shadow Metaphysical opens, creaking as Yoongi sticks his head out. His long hair is styled behind his ears and he’s in a soft-looking black sweater and jeans. He smiles when he sees you, gentle and kind as he opens the door a little wider, beckoning with his head to enter.

Slipping through the back door, you enter a dark office. It’s only lit by candles spread over various shelves and desks, and a few hovering candles near the ceiling. It’s warm and cozy, and you spot Yoongi’s familiar napping on the chair pulled up to the desk where a computer shows some sort of accounting system.

Yoongi leads you to the front of the store. It’s closed for the evening and he has receipts and cash laid out on the counter as he balances his drawer for the day. The shop has tall ceilings and is lined with rows and rows of dark shelving. The lighting here is not powered by candles or magic, but rather golden cafe lighting strung on the ceiling.

Shadow Metaphysical is one of your favorite places. It smells different each time you go in, the magic and the herbs and the spells inside of its four walls shifting with the energy of its employees and customers at all times. Today, it smells like night rain and crackling lightning.

Wordlessly, Yoongi gestures at the shelving, signaling to do whatever you need. He busies himself with going back to counting bills, head down and trusting you not to steal anything. Not that he would care, as he’s always emphasized he has no problem not taking your money.

Still, you always pay him, especially since he lets you in after hours where no one can yell at you for being inside. The covenstead has barred magical stores from siphoners, convinced that they would cross the threshold and drain the shops of magic.

It isn’t true, though you can feel the ebb and flow of open magic sources around you. You’re not here for magical purposes, specifically. There are things you can buy yourself and keep in your apartment to ground you to the earth, and there are still rituals and practices that you keep up with, even as your connection is severed.

As you pass rows and rows of books on rituals, you think about Seokjin’s offer to help you figure out your block. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried and failed to figure out what happened. With magic, the point of origin is always the key to any spell. The how and the where of your condition are important elements to figuring out the solution, but no one really knows the how and the where.

Your friends don’t have full clarity on that night. You’ve never told them in explicit detail of how you woke up, full of your sister’s magic. The town calls you a kin killer and a leech, so you’re sure they know enough to know the source of your hesitation is violent and personal.

Still, you slow as you pass a grimoire. The runes on it shine gold when you pause, winking at you, begging you to touch it. You feel the whisper of the spells of dozens of witches inside of it, their phantom fingers brushing down your arms. Your spine. You shiver and look away from the book, pressing on to the herbs section.

It would be nice not to feel the lure of power. Not to feel the itch and the cunning voices of magic begging you to use them use them use them use them-

“Stop,” you growl out loud. You don’t know who you’re talking to - yourself, the magic in the store, the universe. Taking a deep breath, you gather your wits and complete your shopping, moving with a robotic pace around the store to get what you need.

At the register, Yoongi gives you a wary look as you set things down on the counter. He takes his time scanning them, glancing at you occasionally. You can sense he wants to ask a question, dark eyes lingering a few times. That’s the thing about Yoongi, though. He’ll never ask, he’ll just wait until you give up.

Which you do, sighing and saying, “Ask.”

His lips twitch as he bags a few jars of thorns. “How often do the books in here talk to you?” You level a stare at him and he rolls his eyes. “I can hear you. And every time you’re in here, it’s like they all turn to look at you. Is it often?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Since it happened, there’s always been a pull or like magical objects to taunt me.” You chew your lip and rub your sweaty palms on your jeans. “It’s worse around the sabbat holidays.”

“Stronger magic.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Jin explain what ritual we talked about?” You shake your head. He pushes over a paper bag filled with all your things and you hand over your card. As he swipes it, Yoongi explains. “Two smaller rituals wrapped into one. Namjoon found a really old binding ritual that was used to form a bridge between multiple rituals.”

“So like when you chain spells together,” you offer. “Impressive. I guess that would be used for improving upon old rituals?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Seokjin had been doing some research on magical blocks and shit, and found one that locates a point of origin of the block whether it’s internal or external.”

“External?” He nods. “Like a curse?”

“Yes. Any reason anyone would want to curse a thirteen-year-old?”

Yoongi phrases it like a joke and chuckles. But you don’t laugh, stilling as you think about his question. Your immediate answer is no, at thirteen there was certainly nothing you could have done to be cursed. But you think about your parents, thinking about the fear revolving around their gifts for blood magic, think about the way they were always regarded with equal parts fear and reverence as coven leaders.

Curses aren’t common. It would take a coven of extremely skilled witches to curse someone, but it could take a single very skilled blood witch to toss one. Hexes aren’t long-term and are far more manageable, but you think about the way your power vanished, the way you bled your sister dry.

The misery you’ve faced since, the loss of your parents shortly after, the hatred from the covenstead.

“Holy shit, you don’t think you’re cursed, do you?” Yoongi’s question brings you out of your daze. All of the amusement has been wiped clean from his expression, eyes deadly serious. “Who would curse a child?”

“People were really afraid of my parents,” you admit. “My mom used to lead the covenstead here, you know?” That surprises him and you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, before my aunt. She isn’t a blood witch. My mom was and led the covenstead until um - my sister died.”

“I never knew that. No one talks about it.”

There is a question there. Yoongi won’t say it outright, but you sense the curiosity nonetheless. You feel your throat constrict a little as you murmur, “She stepped aside when my sister died. It was more political than anything, but no one talks about it out of respect for my aunt.”

“But still, to curse a child?”

“There was…” You think back to the time when you were thirteen. Those days are painted so painfully when you think about them that it is hard to remember anything else. “My parents were involved in the Trials that were going on at that time. Hunting Dissenters.”

Yoongi’s face darkens. “I see.”

“They had a lot of enemies. So maybe… I don’t know.”

For a few moments, Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He busies himself with packing away the rest of the till and waving his hand, dousing all the lights in the store with ease. There’s a little pang as he does it, such simple magic that costs him nothing. That you have no access to.

“Well,” Yoongi sighs, a little awkwardly. “Think about it. If - and it’s unlikely - that someone cursed you, you’ll know if we go through with the ritual.” He pauses and levels you with a look. “It is dangerous though. So consider the risk before you agree, hmm?”

You nod and thank him. He leads you out of the store and gives you an awkward smile goodbye. Never affectionate, but always polite and warm nonetheless.

Sunset-purple skies stretch above you. It smells like fresh rain and earth outside. Town is quieter now that the evening crowd has finished dinner and gone home or back to their accommodations for the evening. You pass places with patio seating and small diners tucked between stores, wary eyes of the workers following you as you walk down the sidewalk.

No one says good evening. Some don’t look at you at all.

Curse.

The word weighs heavy on you. You’d never considered that your condition could be from a curse before, but now that you think about it, you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind.

The Trials had been a scary time for witches, Dissenters leaving covensteads to start their own, dark and forbidden spellwork becoming more and more popular among covens. Your parents - especially your mother and her sister - had been a huge part of cleansing the covenstead from witches who practice dark magic.

Especially the few blood witches.

You had been a blood witch, though. Like your sister, like your mother. People had always been wary of them, which is why your mother worked so hard to get rid of the Dissenters when she was the head priestess.

They give us a bad name, she would say darkly when you and your sister asked why she was getting rid of witches like you. Like her. In times like this, we have to work extra hard to prove we aren’t evil.

And then you bled your sister dry. Drained her magic until she couldn’t fight you back and you woke up to that feeling of her cold hands on your overwhelmed skin. Your mother had never really looked at you the same after that, stepping down as the high priestess immediately.

You suspect she protected you in the only way she could. Disallowing you to use magic of any sort, placing hard restrictions on how you could live, outlawing you from spaces where you had grown up. It was better than death.

At least, you used to think so.

Yoongi’s words weigh heavy on you as you sit in your apartment alone. You don’t bother to put the TV on, knowing that you won’t be able to pay attention to anything. Magic always comes at a price, and two rituals wrapped into one is going to take a toll.

And yet, you think about getting to the bottom of this sickness, this curse. This inability to do anything but steal magic, to leech off of others. You think about how your magic used to feel, the way you could command fire with a snap of your fingers or make stars fall from your bedroom ceiling.

An ache settles in your chest as you lay back on the couch and close your eyes, throat tight and eyes burning. You have been without magic for so long. Part of you thinks what's a little longer? But deep down, you crave it. The spark, the life, the touch of magic.

You want to be able to enter stores without the itch underneath your skin, an addiction you can’t cure nor divulge in. You want to be able to be a part of a community again, to do rituals with Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin. You want to be able to help him in his bakery, imbuing his scones and cupcakes with love and a little spark of something extra.

Tears flow hot on your face. You know what you want, and you know that it’s going to cost you to get it. You know that to do this, you’ll have to be open and honest, because there are only two possible options for your magic block: you are cursed or you have a mental block.

It’s hard to know if being cursed as a result of your parents’ policing is worse than potentially having an internal block, an innate refusal to do magic because of what you did.

That night sits at the back of your mind like a stone, sinking sinking sinking. Pulling you under as you think about it in explicit detail. Maybe you simply killed your twin. A horrible accident, but perhaps it was just you. Your magic. Your fault.

And your magic had fled because of it, a self-inflicted punishment.

Before you’re aware of what you’re doing, you have the phone in your hand, sniffing and wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Your face feels swollen and sticky with tears and overwarm and it’s hard to get a breath as you press the phone to your ear, listening to the ringing.

Seokjin picks up on the fourth ring, his voice cheery. “What, did Yoongi forget to let you in the store?”

“No.”

“I’m coming now,” Seokjin says, completely forgoing humor when he hears you sniff, hears the waver in your voice. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“No,” you hiccup. “I’m just really sad and I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Do you want to stay on the phone?” You shake your head and let out a little sob. Something about knowing he’s coming over to be with you cracks your resolve a little more. You realize he can’t see you when he prompts, “Hey, you there?”

“Sorry, no. Drive safely, please.”

“For you? Anything.”

Despite your tears, your mouth wobbles into a weak smile at that. It makes your heart squeeze just a little, underneath all the hurt.

It doesn’t take him long to let himself in the apartment. You can sense him before he even gets to the stairs leading up to your unit, his crackling energy like a beacon to you. When he opens the door with the key you gave him, he fills the space with static, magic snapping and tinged with worry.

Magic always belies how Seokjin feels. Like now, as he rushes across the apartment, he is lightning, all energy and anxiety popping and snapping as he sits on the couch next to you, pulling you into his chest.

Seokjin is warm and smells like vanilla and sweet orange from the bakery. It’s soothing. You close your eyes and clutch the hem of his shirt, resolve cracking the rest of the way as he becomes your anchor as you drift out to sea, holding you so that you can be lost in the overwhelming feeling of loss without getting too far.

He doesn’t tell you not to cry. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Seokjin leans back on the couch, pulling you into his lap, holding your knees so that he can hold you. One hand rubs your back and he rests his chin on the top of your head, leading you to use the crook of his neck as a place to hide - and turn into a waterfall for your tears.

This is what you love about Seokjin though. He doesn’t pry. He just lets you use him, lets you cry it out and he waits.

When the tears begin to dry and you find it easier to breathe again, you shift away from Seokjin and wipe your face. He smiles down at you, eyes glittering and expression so fond that you find yourself staring blankly into his face.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff. “And thank you for coming.”

“Anything for you.” You hate the way it makes your heart flip when he says that. You start to pull away from him to sit on the couch properly but his arms constrict you, keeping you to him. You frown but he asks, “I want to know what happened, if you’re ready to talk about it.”

Seokjin is so close his breath fans your face. You look up at him. Silky, long lashes that you could individually count with your proximity, beautiful tan and smooth skin with a glow all witches have, strong brows that you always thought made Seokjin’s face the perfect balance of boyish and beautiful.

Your heart starts to speed up and your mouth dries out with the way he looks at you, intense and searching. Suddenly you’re afraid if he looks too hard, he’ll see down to your core.

“I- yeah. I need some water,” you croak, pulling away. He lets you go this time, unaware that what you really need is space between the two of you, a barrier so he can’t see. So he won’t know. “Turns out sobbing makes you thirsty.”

Before you can get all the way to the kitchen, there’s a soft clink accompanied by a full glass of water on your counter. You glare at Seokjin over your shoulder and he winces and shrugs in apology.

As you gulp down mouthfuls of cool water, you wonder how to word exactly what you’re upset about. How you’re tired of existing in the world without your magic but you’re also unsure if you want to know the truth about why your magic left you.

Seokjin is iffy on the details about the night your sister died. He’s never asked you explicitly for the story before, but if you want to go through with finding out the root cause of your block, you know you’ll be exposed. To him. To all of them. To his coven.

The desire to be one of them is so strong that it makes your knees weak as you walk toward the couch. You sit abruptly on the couch arm, staring into the distance as you drink the rest of the water. You want to join them so much, to celebrate the sabbat holidays, to feel the rush of a closed circle of magic and yet…

Would they accept you if they knew you killed your sister? You’re not so sure.

You look at Seokjin. He waits patiently, watching you with soft eyes. Moonlight seeps in through the blinds behind him, wreathing him in silver light. He looks like a god, then. Of shadows, of night, of mystery. This best friend of yours who you love so much and who has loved you indiscriminately when he didn’t have to.

“I talked to Yoongi about maybe doing the ritual,” you start slowly. Seokjin nods, encouraging you. “And I think I came to the conclusion that I want to do it. I’m tired of feeling everyone’s magic pull at me, like a vice that I have to ignore every day. And I’m tired of wanting to do things I used to, to feel the world around me. But most of all, I just want to be a part of something. A part of a coven, a family.”

Understanding paints Seokjin’s face. He reaches a hand out and takes yours, giving you a firm squeeze. “You know even with no magic, you’re our family, right?”

“It’s different.” He starts to protest but you shake your head. “I want to be in a coven and to feel the power of a circle. I want to celebrate and do rituals with you, I want to be a part of something magical. I can’t do that like this, not without the fear of draining everyone.”

He nods. “Of course. We’ll have you either way, you know? We’d still welcome you like this.”

“But I’d never be able to close your circle.” Seokjin nods. He knows the truth of this. “But this ritual requires truth, and there’s some things about me that I’ve never talked to you about. Things about the night I… I could no longer do magic. I want you to be informed, to know what we might find if we do this.”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“A coven and a working circle requires trust and honesty. I can never be one of you if you don’t know me completely.”

He nods. “That is true.”

“I’m going to tell you about the night that my sister died.” He squeezes your hand and nods, but says nothing else. “My sister and I were twins, both blood witches. Unusual enough for our parents and the covenstead to be incredibly proud of us, but not unusual enough for people to be afraid, you know?”

“Twins… That’s incredibly powerful.”

“Yeah,” you agree, throat tight. “We were really fond of the connection too, you know? It was nice to always have someone to rely on who was my perfect balance. We were never-” You take a breath. “Neither was more powerful than the other. There was never any jealousy or overpowering the other. We were always evenly matched.”

“Whenever it would storm,” you continue. “I would go lay in her room. I hated storms but she loved them. I did this countless times up until we were thirteen. I don’t know… Jin, I don’t know what was different that night. I think back to it every single day, what did I do differently, was there an object I touched, a spell I used? And I come up with nothing. But on Beltane when we were thirteen, it was storming. We’d already finished the festival and our parents were out doing their duties and I went and I fell asleep in her room and… and I woke up…”

For a moment, you can’t get the words out. They get trapped in your throat and you stare, unseeing. You imagine the lightning against the window. The warmth of your sister's hands. The tree tap tap tapping against the window with the strength of the wind.

“I drained her in the middle of the night,” you whisper. It’s out now and you can’t stop, can’t look at Seokjin’s face to see his reaction. “I went to sleep as normal and when I woke up, she was freezing and lifeless and I felt more powerful than I ever had before. Like I was this magical battery charged up and sparking.”

For a moment, you pause and look at Seokjin. You expect to see horror or disgust or a variety of negative emotions, but he’s still watching you. Fond. Waiting. No judgment. When he sees you staring, he gives you a tiny smile and a squeeze of your hand.

“I’m still listening.”

“Aren’t you…” You trail off and shake your head. “I killed my sister. Are you not horrified?”

He frowns then. “You didn’t kill your sister.”

“Yes I did.”

“You weren’t born a siphoner, how could you possibly predict that would ever happen? You didn’t get in that bed with her and then leech her magic, no matter how much it must feel that way. It wasn’t your fault, though I know hearing me say that doesn’t make it feel any less true in here.” He reaches forward and taps your heart lightly. “There is nothing I can say to ease the pain and guilt of that, but what you’re describing to me isn’t the tale of a murderer. It’s the story of someone who had a freak accident, which is more common among the magical community than one might think.”

“I don’t know what happened,” you admit, a tear escaping your eye. Before you can wipe it though, Seokjin’s thumb is there, swiping across your face and collecting it. You watch with wide eyes as he cups your face, looking at you with so much something that your head spins. “But in the morning, I was alive and she was dead. And my parents and everyone else hated me for it. That’s why they treat me the way they do. That’s why my mother stepped down as high priestess, why my parents were driven to grief. Why I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

“How can anyone accept me like this?”

“Because it isn’t what defines you. We are not made up of only the things we do and the things that happen to us, and I promise you, this is something that happened to you.”

“But why? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin admits. “But we’re going to find out, okay?

“What if the others don’t want me?”

“They would never,” he’s quick to say. He’s still holding your face, wiping tears from your eyes. “And if they did, I don’t care. I’d do the ritual myself, just to prove to you that this burden you carry isn’t your fault.”

You crack a grin, despite the dark topic. “Yeah? You’d try and do a circle for you?”

“I would walk through fire for you.”

You pull your face out of his hands and shove him a bit. “Fire is your favorite element, Jin. That’s not impressive.”

His laughter fills the room and he tugs at your hands. You grapple with him as he tries to pull you down, your ache forgotten as you laugh and squeal. “Yah! Let me try and be poetic! It was the first thing that I could think of.”

“You’re a witch, you’re practically impervious.”

Seokjin overpowers you and pulls you down against his chest. Suddenly you’re very close again, your palms pressed against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat vibrating through your fingers. You make a surprised sound as he looks up at you, gaze a little darker. A little hazy.

Gently, Seokjin reaches up and brushes his fingers across your chin. It’s featherlight and more intimate than you expect, making you blink in surprise. You’re frozen, limbs stuck and heart racing as you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Suddenly the moment feels different - this feels different.

“Not impervious to you though.”

When he says it, you don’t answer at first. You think you imagine him saying it. That suddenly this has blurred into a fantasy of yours. Perhaps you’re actually asleep, soothing your pain with dreams of Seokjin. Of being like this with him, pressed closed and intimate with his gaze burning.

“What?” you whisper back, unable to string together a better response.

He doesn’t seem offended though, huffing a laugh. “Fire might not get to me,” he says. “You certainly did, though.”

“I don’t…”

“We’re practicing honesty because you’re right. If we’re going to lift this block on you and let you join our circle, there can’t be secrets between us. There’s so much to tell you, but I need you to know before we do this how I feel.”

“How you feel?”

“Yes. As the leader of our circle, it’s my duty to be honest with you and to give you an out. I don’t want you to cast our first circle and suddenly be able to see - feel - how I feel and then there’s no way out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’d walk through fire for you - hey, stop laughing at me! Because you are an amazing person. But I would also do it because I have fallen head over heels for you. Chaotically so. Painfully so.”

This is a dream. It has to be, because there is no way that Seokjin is lying under you, face so close to yours, hands gripping your forearms, and staring at you like that, gaze dreamy, smile on his face.

“It’s not a dream,” he laughs, making you realize you’ve said it out loud. “Or perhaps it is a dream and I am once again imagining that I am the hero to your tale, a knight saving you because he likes you and you will let me because you like me. But that would be a silly dream, because you have always been the bravest person I know and you have always refused to be saved.”

“You like me?”

“I do. And it’s okay if you don’t like me back. But I wanted you to know before you step into a circle with us. The others know - can see it light up inside of me every time we cast. But I didn’t want to surprise you with that. Not with this, not when it’s about you. It would have been cruel.”

Seokjin could never be cruel. The word cruel doesn’t even exist in the same plane of existence as this man. This witch who has never done anything but ask if you need help. Who simply enjoys baking things for the community and its visitors, filling every good with magic. A little extra something to make their lives more manageable, more fruitful.

This man, who would have you even as you are in his coven of witches. Even if a circle couldn’t be drawn and salted correctly. Even if they have no use for you. This friend, who has heard what you’ve done - or didn’t do - and looks at you all the same. Doesn’t see a monster or someone terrible, doesn’t see someone capable of murder.

The very thought of Seokjin loving you even as you are is enough to send a shiver through you.

“You know why I thought I was dreaming, right?” you ask him. Seokjin shakes his head, watching your every move. “Because I have dreamed of you saying that often. It was always a comfort to me when I was sad or my longing to have you was intense. I just thought I never could. Wasn’t worthy of it, wasn’t-”

Seokjin moves faster than you can finish your sentence. He surges forward, hands skimming up your arms roughly to cup your face and pull you down to him. He presses his lips firmly to yours and anything you were going to say vanishes, thoughts a wisp of smoke.

Sparks fly quite literally. Seokjin’s magic crackles and you resist to pull it in and consume it, too distracted by the soft feel of his lips. It’s just an innocent press of mouths at first, making your head spin as you realize you’re kissing Seokjin.

Then, he pulls away to look at you, face aglow. You’re a little breathless and reeling when you open your eyes to see his grin.

“You’re worthy of so much more,” he whispers.

There’s no time to respond as he pulls your lips to his again, this time kissing you properly. He tastes sweet, like one of his meringue treats. The slide of his plush mouth against yours makes you dizzy. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping slightly and you become ravenous.

Your tongue brushes against his teeth and he makes a throaty sound, opening up to let you deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping against his. He’s a slow kisser, dragging his tongue against yours and letting you fall fall fall into him.

Seokjin’s hands slide from your face down your shoulders and past them, stopping only at your hips where he squeezes. Your stomach flips at the contact and you twitch a little bit, grinding down into him as his kisses go from languid to a little needier.

“Fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, mouth going to his jaw. You press wet kisses there, messy lips followed by your tongue, leaving a spit-slick trail. His skin makes your tongue tingle, magic vibrating.

He slips his hands under the hem of your shirt and digs his blunt nails into your hips. “You know what?”

Grinning, you bring your mouth up to his. Slowly, you lower your hips so you’re pressed flush to his, rolling them again, this time painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat at the slow-drag friction, the feeling of him shivering underneath you.

“That?” you ask, breathless against his mouth.

“Enough,” he hisses.

The world spins. Seokjin grabs you and in a single, swift movement sits up and stands, carrying you with him. You squeal, hands shooting to grasp at his shoulders as he walks toward your room. He kicks his shin on the coffee table as he stumbles with you, balance off with the added weight.

He curses loudly and you can’t help but laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when his sharp gaze snaps to yours. His eyes are dark dark, hungry and fathomless now as he raises a brow. “Yeah, you’re laughing?”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” you admit.

“You’re gonna be.”

A wild thrill shoots through you as he carries you to the bedroom. You forget how strong he is, muscles flexing as he shifts you again, careful not to drop you. It makes you feel giddy, but you squeak in a moment of terror when he drops you unceremoniously on your bed, the brief moment of freefall startling.

You land with a huff and he grins down at you as he stands up against the edge of the bed, knees squeezing your legs together as he reaches behind his neck to yank at his t-shirt. You watch, slack-jawed as he pulls the material up and over his head in a way that is somehow hot, as benign as it is.

Seokjin is all gold and tan planes, body perfect in the low light of your room as he tosses his shirt. You take a second to admire his broad chest, dark nipples pebbling in the cool room. Dark hair trails from his belly button and vanishes in the waist of his jeans.

Seeking warmth, you reach for him. He leans forward, pressing his palms into the mattress to hover over you, knees placed on either side of your thighs. His muscles jump when you brush your hands up the softness of his stomach toward the harder muscle of his pecs.

It feels like the sun is trapped underneath his skin, burning its way out of him as your fingers explore. You’ve never touched him like this, slow and reverant and full of unbridled desire. He watches you, drinking in the way you take him in. The way you take your time.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at him. His ears turn red and he rolls his eyes. You grin, dragging your hand up to rest over his chest where his heart thuds wildly beneath your palm. “I mean here, idiot. Yeah you’re hot too, but you’re beautiful in here.”

Unreadable emotion flits across his face. Something like joy and pain - the pain of wanting to hear that for so long, waiting for the admission. You understand the same pain of desire filled so unexpectedly that it hurts.

Seokjin kisses you again and this time with intent. He shifts and slides a knee between your legs, pressing up to the apex of your thighs. You groan and lift your hands, sliding them through his hair. The strands are silky soft and long. You twist your fingers at the nape of his neck, pulling him to you as the kiss turns messy.

Whatever this is between you is more magic than you’ve felt in years. You feel breathless as he kisses across your jaw and toward your neck, sucking harshly on the soft skin underneath your ear. You whine and he chuckles, hot breath hitting your ear.

“Why don’t you do that thing you love so much, hmm?” he asks, nipping your ear lobe. “Are you shy now? Don’t wanna grind on me?”

You do want to, but you hesitate. He encourages you, taking a hand and skimming down your waist to your ass, sliding under and squeezing your cheek as he lifts your hips in a motion to grind against him. The friction is good but not nearly enough and you let out a pitiful sound.

“Come on,” he urges. “Do it right, then.”

Fuck. Fuck.

You grind your cunt on his leg properly, planting your feet on the edge of the bed for leverage as Seokjin’s mouth ravages your neck. You’re lost in him, letting your mind go a little empty as you seek friction, needing to relieve the pressure throbbing in your cunt.

Arousal gathers in your stomach and you feel yourself slow-drip into your panties, so turned on by the sudden confidence Seokjin has when kissing you, when telling you to move. This is a side of him you’ve never explored and you dive in head first.

One hand leaving his hair, you grab his hand that’s on your ass as he continues to nip your collarbones, tongue laving over the sting of his bite. He lets you lead him by the wrist, and you guide his hand between your legs where you press his fingers to your zipper.

“Please,” you rasp. “I need more.”

He sinks his teeth into the top of your right breast, tongue tasting your skin. “Is that so?”

“Please. You said you’d walk through fire for me.”

His laugh is loud and he buries his face in your neck. You can’t help but laugh too, pausing your greedy hands in exchange for mirth. “Yeah,” he agrees with a chaste kiss to your throat. “I did say that, huh?”

“Yes, so gimme.”

“Yah. Of course I am.”

Years of friendship have erased any ability to feel awkward with Seokjin but for a moment, you’re afraid it’ll be weird, touching one another like this. Seokjin has no such qualms, unbuttoning your pants and yanking them down your legs with ease.

When he comes back up to lean over you, he doesn’t slot a knee between your legs. Instead, his fingers press firmly to your clothed cunt, a curse falling from his mouth as he feels how damp you are. You’re hot all over and yet you feel hotter still as he circles his fingers gently over your clit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, lids fluttering closed. “Feels good.”

“You’re fucking drenched, all from a little kissing huh?”

“And grinding,” you add.

“Yeah, like a hungry little vixen, huh?” You nod, biting your bottom lip as you get lost in his lazy ministrations and pressure on your clit. It’s relieved some of the ache, but not nearly enough. “I can see on your face you already want more.”

This time, Seokjin doesn’t make you ask for it. He hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them to the side. Immediately you feel cold air against you, but he’s quick to slide his fingers up and down your wet folds, slicking them up to trail back up and circle slowly around your clit.

“Damn you’re fucking wet,” he curses. He leans up a little, eyes fucked out. “Take the rest off for me, baby.”

Baby. It shivers through you and you comply, though a little haphazardly. It’s hard to remove your shirt and bra with the way his fingers are slowly pressing your clit, making you thrash and gasp.

As soon as you lay back down, no shirt and no bra, Seokjin is leaning forward, tongue darting out to flick against a stiffened nipple. You let out a loud moan and he hums in response, attacking his mouth to you and sucking. Fuck it feels good. You arch off the bed and his fingers leave your swollen clit to slide down your sticky mess to circle your entrance.

Gently, he sinks in a single finger. Your eyes roll back a little, pussy fluttering as he strokes your front wall. You’re tingling all over, buzzing with pleasure as he slowly fucks you with his finger, mouth busy plucking at your nipple with his teeth.

You’re lost in it, melted into the bed as Seokjin plays you like a well-tuned instrument. The heel of his palm presses against your clit, providing just enough pressure as he fingers you to send the room spinning on its axis.

He tongue-kisses across your chest, mouth ravenous against your heaving gasps as he finds your other nipple. The tip of his tongue circles, making you keen and squirm underneath him. He watches you with dark eyes, teasing the aching bud before nipping you lightly.

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, dragging spit-slicked lips against your breast. “Can you take another finger?”

You nod eagerly, hungry to be filled. Your orgasm is starting to build slowly, worked up by the way he mouths at you, by the way Seokjin’s fingers reach so deep, pressing against your g-spot as he sinks another into your heat.

“Shit,” you pant. “That feels so fucking good, Jin.”

“Mhmm.” He brings his mouth up to yours and your tongues tangle, teeth clinking together as he fucks you harder, the wet smack of your pussy against his palm loud. “Tight fucking pussy,” he pants, pressing hard against your front wall. Your heels dig into the bed as you try to keep up with the pleasure blooming in your stomach. “Gonna need to fuck you open a little if you’re gonna take me.”

If you’re gonna take me.

The promise of more has you rolling your hips up to meet his hand. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers, dropping his gaze to look between your bodies. Your thighs and his stomach are slick with your juice, leaking around his fingers uncontrollably.

When Seokjin introduces another finger, you hiss. The stretch is hard and it burns. He doesn’t keep thrusting right away, letting your cunt stretch around his three digits. But he’s pressed up against your soft spot, making you see stars as he puts unrelenting pressure on your nerves.

It feels like insanity, the way he does this to you. The way Seokjin buries his face in your neck, your chests pressed together to provide friction against your teeth-marked nipples as he starts to build up a pace again, thrusting.

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, hands grabbing frantically at his sweaty shoulder blades. Your thighs are shaking and it’s hard to get a breath in. Your voice quakes as you gasp. “Fuck, Jin I’m - ah ah ah.”

“So come,” he says, as if it’s that simple. He puts weight behind the hand fucking you, quickens the pace. Presses so fucking hard you think you might blackout. “If you’re gonna come, then do it.”

And you do. Just like that, nails digging into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, you come around his fingers. He fucks you through it, breath hot in your ear. Your knees squeeze around his hips until you’re spent, collapsing against the mattress, boneless.

Seokjin retracts his fingers. The sudden feeling of being empty makes you huff in protest and he laughs, lifting his face from your neck. You pout up at him and he kisses you again before leaning upward, straddling your legs.

Your eyes zero in on his hands as they undo the top of his belt. His hand is covered in a wet sheen, cum-slicked and sticky. He doesn’t care, popping up the belt and pulling down the zipper of his pants. You grow eager, leaning up as he pulls the waist down, revealing the dark briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he is.

With no warning, you reach for his clothed cock, squeezing firmly. He hisses and drops his hands, jeans only pulled halfway down his thighs. Seokjin tips his head back and moans at the ceiling as you lean forward and mouth at the damp spot on his briefs, tasting salt.

“Fuck,” he swears and you grin, pressing and holding the flat of your tongue to the cloth to wet it. “You’re a little slut, huh?”

You hum in agreement. Fingers dancing up his thighs, you pause at the elastic band, looking up at him through your lashes. “Can I?”

Seokjin tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes half-lidded. He nods, watching and dazed as you peel the elastic down his hips slowly. You lean forward as you do, pressing a soft kiss to his hip bone. He twitches and sighs in response.

You look at his cock as it bobs against his stomach, brown tip smearing precum against his navel. You lick your lips and drag your hand up, fingers gripping his velvety shaft. He’s thick and heavy in your hand as you grasp him firmly, stroking upward.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, hips twitching. You grin up at him, swiping a thumb over the crown of his cock to spread the wetness down his shaft. He hums, entranced. “More.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. You lean upwards, pulling the tip of his cock toward your mouth. You slide just the tip into your mouth, suckling generously and running your tongue along the slit. His hand slips to the side of your neck, resting there but not doing anything. It’s a comforting weight as you take him in your mouth properly.

Seokjin is art above you. Chest flushed, mouth open, eyes closed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was on his knees at worship. It is a sort of worship, the way you sink down on his cock, lips stretched wide, drool dripping down the side of your mouth and running down your jaw and neck. Is it not the spirit of loving him moving through you? Is this not heaven, looking up at him and seeing someone that has chosen you over and over again?

No pagan ritual in your life as a witch has felt like this. You swallow around him, eyes watering as you choke on his length, pulling back a little to catch your breath. Your hand squeezes him at the base, slick with your spit and his precum. Your mouth is wet and swollen as you lick the underside of his shaft, never looking away from his face.

“Fuck that mouth,” he sighs, eyes opening and looking down at you. He squeezes the side of your neck a little, fingers right against your throat. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I can’t hold out if you keep going. How do you like it?”

Instead of answering him, you pull off of him with a sloppy, wet noise. You make a show of running your tongue along your lips before turning around and crawling up the bed, wiggling your ass a little. Seokjin groans as he sheds his jeans and briefs the rest of the way.

The bed sinks when he crawls behind you. You go down on your elbows, ass up high. He smacks each cheek firmly with both hands, making you yelp as he grips the stinging flesh, squeezing. “You have a good ass.”

“You have a nice dick.”

He laughs loudly at that. Seokjin’s hand skims down to your thighs, grabbing them and pushing them open. You sink a little lower on the bed, face pressed to the sheets and letting your eyes shut. The hair on his thighs sends a shiver up your spine as his legs brush against yours, hands roaming and squeezing your hips, your butt, your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters. His hands come back over the globes of your ass and sink toward your wet cunt. You moan as his thumbs peel you open, pressing around your clenching hole. “Shit.”

The bed bounces as he moves again and then your eyes are snapping open, fingers twisting in your sheets when you feel the flat of his tongue swipe up your pussy. He hums in delight and you’re reeling, trying to catch your breath as he licks at you.

“Just wanted a taste,” he says, more to himself than you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times and you nearly crumble right there at the unexpected stimulation. He slow-licks up to your hole, tracing it once before retracting his mouth. “I have all the time in the world for you to come in my mouth. Right now I just wanna feel you.”

“Yes, please.”

Your breath gets stuck when you feel the head of Seokjin’s cock catch your entrance. He’s thick, and even though you’re dripping down your thighs and stretched from his fingers, the pressure of him sinking into your heat slowly sends you moaning like a wanton whore, unable to stop the sounds escaping your mouth.

Seokjin is precise, hands holding your hips firmly until he’s fully seated in your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. You feel so full, his cock reaching deep enough to feel in your gut. When he pulls all the way out, you think something is wrong, but he fucks back into you hard.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, feeling the full weight of him spear you. “Holy shit.”

He doesn’t say anything but he grunts, setting a slow but deep pace. His hips snap into you with force, your knees spreading a little bit wider. He leans into it more, moving his hands to press into the small of your back. The full force of his weight pushing your hips into the bed as he slams into you makes you dizzy.

An orgasm starts to build deep in your stomach. You claw at the bed, breaths coming out in a hiss. Seokjin grabs one of your hands, pulling it backward to pin it against your lower back before doing the same to the other. You’re completely pinned under him, pushed so far into the mattress you think you might fade and vanish into foam and sheets.

Nothing here matters but the way he fucks into you, unrelenting, heavy, precise. He says your name and it rolls off his tongue sweeter than any pastry he’s ever made. Your orgasm creeps up on you, shaking and thunderous. It feels stronger than before, a pressure that makes you start to shiver, feet kicking under him.

For a moment, he slows, pulling off you a little. “Okay?”

“Keep going,” you beg him, voice high-pitched and strange to your ears. “Please don’t stop, I’ll tell you if I can’t take it.”

That’s all he needs. He redoubles and this time, changes his direction, hits that spot inside of you head on with his cock and you think you’re going to pass out. You become lifeless under him, unable to do anything but take it. The wave of your orgasm builds and builds and builds until finally, it breaches.

You come for a second time, no noise coming out of you. It’s all white vision and squeezed thighs and ringing ears. You think you feel something like a bolt of lightning, a snap of power so strong as you clench around Seokjin that you taste static in the air.

It’s hard to know how long it lasts. One moment you’re shaking and the next, you’re drifting, feeling weightless and exhausted. The weight of Seokjin’s touch keeps you tethered and from straying too far, but you’re somewhere in between nonetheless.

Slowly, reality drips back to you. You think you may have dozed a little, your eyes dry as you blink them open. Seokjin is lying next to you, arm wrapped around you and eyes closed. He’s not breathing deep enough to be asleep, confirming it when his eyes open, sensing your gaze.

A smile lights up his face and you smile tiredly at him. Your cunt aches and your legs and arms are sore from being pinned, and you’re still a little shaky. Thoughts of your orgasm make you twitch, post-sex tremors that you can’t escape.

“Hi,” you rasp. “Did I fall asleep?”

“I think you blacked out.”

“I- what?”

“I sort of…” he frowns. “There was like this electrical snap when I came. You clenched me so fucking hard I just… let go. I think we sort of had a magical orgasm.”

“A magical orgasm.”

He grins. “Just say thank you for the witch orgasm.”

“Ugh.” You smack his chest and he laughs hoarsely.

It did feel like that though. Like a crackle of energy, like being struck by a storm of electricity and heat. You feel tired and heavy-limbed, but you feel sticky and sweaty too. “I need a shower.”

“Mhmm. I was waiting for you to come to.” He starts to sit up. “Come on, I’ll shower you. Then we need to sleep. We have to prepare you for your big day.”

“My big day?”

Seokjin grins as he reaches a hand for you. There’s a spark again when you touch and you hesitate, feeling the well of his magic there. It hums in him, a thunderhead of power and fire. He sees your expressions and softens. “You can’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Baby, I just fucked the everloving shit out of you and you know what you didn’t do?” Your brows pull together and he smiles. “You didn’t pull an ounce of my magic from me. I think you’re a lot better at control than you think you are.”

Licking your lips, you nod and let him pull you from bed. You are good at control. You had to be after your sister. It’s something you’ve practiced nonstop, the unconscious control of your desire for magic. Even when you sleep, you wake up often, fearful of losing your grip on yourself while you slumber.

It hasn’t happened yet. And as Seokjin leads you to the shower, you think… maybe it never will. Especially if the ritual goes right. Especially if you can get your magic back.

Perhaps for the first time since you were thirteen, you feel a sliver of hope. When you look at Seokjin and you feel your heart stutter, you know that even without your magic, you’ve found something.

“Oh for the love of the land,” Yoongi groans when you appear in the basement of Seokjin’s home. “Look at the two of you.”

Everyone swivels to look at you and Seokjin, who are hand-in-hand. You freeze, pulling up short to take in the candle-lit room and the six other men who are all looking at you with equal parts happiness and a little bit of amusement.

You shift from foot to foot and chew your lip. Suddenly you want to turn tail and run back up the stairs and away from the watchful eyes of your friends - of Seokjin’s coven members. But Seokjin holds your hand tight, tugging you down the rest of the stairs into the gloom of the room.

Perhaps gloom isn’t the right word. The room is much too warm and smells of sage and thyme, a good feeling if not a little overwhelming. Outside this house, there is an entire festival going on at the park. The covenstead witches were furious when Seokjin let them know that he and his six would not be participating this year, as they had private matters to attend to.

It’s common for covens to use the holiday for something specific. Perhaps to bless a witch in need, or to strengthen a spell, or to defeat some evil. You remember that night that your parents left you alone for Beltane duties to fight and remove Dissenters, and how that turned out for you.

Magic hums all around you. It’s in the sigils on the ceiling of Seokjin’s sanctum and it’s in the ley lines that you can feel now more than ever as the veil between worlds thins. Each member of the coven has magic humming in their veins, a sort of signature taste and feel to it. You sense Yoongi’s deep shadows and Namjoons vibrant green, taste Jimin’s clean water and feel Hoseok’s pure air. Taehyung and Seokjin are the flickering flame that fills the room with light and heat, and Jungkook’s crackling storm greets you in the corner.

It’s hard to imagine where you fit in with them. But they don’t have a blood witch, who is all of these things wrapped into one. You know that they support you. The eight of you have gone over the ritual what feels like a hundred times at this point, perfecting it and making sure you know it inside and out.

The two rituals are wildly different. One to seek and find the source of your pain, led by Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi’s shadows and connection to the other side will help seek answers and provide clarity on whatever signs and hints come through the vision you’re supposed to have, and Hoseok’s strength with air will help keep you protected and clear of any negative energy.

Then, a small spell to build a bridge between the two rituals that Namjoon will handle with Jimin. Namjoon has it down to a science and has previously used it to link spells, and his affinity for earth will ground the entire circle. Jimin’s skill with water is to help guide you from ritual to ritual with ease and clarity.

It’s the second half of the ritual that’s the most demanding, which is why it’s Taehyung and Jungkook conducting the destructive half, breaking whatever stands between you and your magic. Two warriors meant to sever your block or the target of your curse, whichever it may be.

And it’s possible that you’re cursed. You have briefly spoken about what that means. About what to do. It will most likely mean something damaging and life-threatening for whoever did curse you, if you forcefully try to shatter it instead of finding the cause.

But there’s also potential for you to be harmed if the two of them try to break it and it’s too strong. It’s a risk that you have to assess in the moment, which is terrifying. You want to do it anyway, and you’re happy to find that they support you. That they’re there for you.

Coven members already, really.

All seven of them are dressed to perform a ritual. Dark robes, anointed element symbols in dark ash on their brows. Yoongi has a small circlet around his head, making you pause and tilt your head as you glance at Seokjin. He sees your confusion and smiles. “Yoongi is our high priest tonight,” he murmurs. “He will start and end the circle so I can be here with you.”

Yoongi is blushing and looking up at the ceiling when you turn back to him. For him to step up and hold the circle as the beginning and end is a huge risk on him. He’ll be providing the most magic and taking on the most risk second only to you, all so that Seokjin can move freer and have more control.

“Yoongi is a very powerful witch, as you know,” Seokjin murmurs, steering you to the center of the room. “He holds circles for a lot of our rituals when we feel he’s better suited.”

“Which is often,” Yoongi mutters at the ceiling where he keeps his gaze.

“Yah, shut up, hag. Everyone get in their places.”

Seokjin puts you in the very center of the room. There is a pentagram chalked in powder, but there is no glow to it, no light to signal that it’s being used. He squeezes your shoulders and you look at him, wide eyed and afraid. His smile is warm and a little nervous, but he leans in and kisses you once.

“Trust us,” he says. “This will be hard on you. But we’ve got you.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t break the circle,” he reminds you. “If you have to break, do it when Namjoon is at the middle part and before we start the second ritual. He will open the circle a little, but it’ll be just for a moment before the second is started and locked.”

“Right. Ten second escape if I need to.”

“You only have that window if we need to stop. Once we start the second, there is no stopping until the full ritual is complete.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck,” Seokjin whispers and kisses you on the brow. “I’ll be right here.”

With a deep breath, he steps to the side and grasps your hand. The two of you stand alone in the middle, you and your anchor. Silence settles over the room. You haven’t been in the middle of a circle since you were a little girl receiving her first welcome into the coven. You had done that with your sister by your side and your mother at the head of the circle.

Now, you’re with Seokjin, with Yoongi at the head of the circle. Yoongi doesn’t really make eye contact with you, but you sense his calming aura even from where he stands at the first point of the circle. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, lifting his palms upward. “I stand at north, the beginning and end, start this circle, spirit ascend.”

You feel the ripple of magic in the room. Fire crackles at Yoongi’s feet, making you flinch. You watch as the red flames lick toward Hoseok, who is quick and light as he murmurs, “I stand northeast, to cleanse and protect, continue the circle, spirit to the next.”

You watch the flame as it sparks to life, moving clockwise around the room. Every time a member joins the circle, you feel the power thrum through the room, the pentagram beneath your feet beginning to glow. The flame comes all the way back around to Yoongi and he closes it, eyes opening and looking right at you.

Yoongi looks different than before, eyes shadowed and full of stars. “Begin,” he commands, voice like a thousand whispers.

A little spike of fear goes through you as Hoseok begins to chant. You recognize the Latin immediately but your unpracticed ears lose trace of the meaning. It’s picked up slowly in the room and you feel your palms slick with sweat as the light of the pentagram pulses beneath your feet, the flames flickering around the feet of the coven members.

Yoongi’s voice picks up the chant like you’ve never heard him before. It’s uncanny and you lean into Seokjin, who squeezes your hand and looks down at you.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “This happens when he leads a circle. Veil is thin.”

Nodding your head, you turn to the front again, feeling the itch to pull power from the circle, to draw their magic into you. There’s so much of it filling the room, an open tap of water spilling into the sink. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, worried that you won’t be able to resist, worried that you’re going to pull from the magic and-

A wave of dizziness hits you. You gasp and bend over, hand circling your middle as though you’ve just been punched. Seokjin’s hands are on your back but you can’t hear him, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the sound of his voice. For a second, you’re lost in the sensation of having the air sucked from your lungs and the whine in your ears getting higher and higher.

Just when you think that your ear drums will burst, the ringing stops. There is a hushed whisper filling your ears and you still can’t catch your breath. The room spins a little and when you look up expecting to see Yoongi, all you see is dark trees and a blurry shadowy… building. Something.

The whispers creep up on you. There are so many of them, hundreds - no, thousands - of voices brushing against you, dragging their fingers along your skin, touching you, hissing, singing, screaming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced and their words are jumbled, sliding over one another.

Terror begins to claw at you. You try to remain calm, remembering that these are not the voices of spirits or something evil. Hoseok is commanding this ritual, an element of purity and guidance. He won’t let anything bad happen to you.

With faith in your future coven member, you try to focus on the voices. Try to decode them. Namjoon warned you that the messaging might be confusing. That you might not follow or understand what it’s saying. Symbols, images, key words. You need to reach for anything that seems like something, that can point to the origin of your block and follow it.

Yoongi’s presence presses at the back of your mind. It startles you at first, to feel who you know is innately Yoongi. You follow the press of whatever he’s doing and you catch a few words that fly by you: little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. Little hut little hut.

Unsure what it means, you cling to that. Little hut. It means something… you remember something about it. Yoongi’s presence fades away, satisfied that you’ve picked up on whatever it is he sees or senses.

Flipping through memories, you try to remember why a hut might mean anything to you. There were no huts by your town… nothing that you can remember no one you know of.

Little hut, little hut.

One memory sticks with you. Your sister playing in the background, hopscotching to a little tune that Mila down the street whispered to her about a witch in the woods.

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Yes, you think. A rhyme about a witch who lived in the woods. More thing than witch, really. A shadowy being that took the shape of a hut, a creature of magic and curses that could be found in the darkest part of the woods when the veil is thin.

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

You see it now. The blurry shape of a house that’s not really a house. The witch in the wood was a blood witch once, it was said. A witch who had long since dissented and practiced arcane magic, following a path that led her here. That led her to this. A thing of the woods.

It occurs to you the weight of the appearance of her. This hut in the woods. Yoongi’s flippant remark about you being cursed is suddenly real.

Dread drops down in your stomach like a weight. You can’t hear anything beyond the rhyme, the chant to find the witch of the woods. You’re cursed, you realize. All the fear that your condition was self-inflicted, that it was your fault, that this was something you did.

This is something that happened to you, Seokjin had said.

And he was right. Someone cursed you - did this to you. A child.

Out there in the world, there is someone responsible for the death of your sister. Someone who took your magic, who turned you into a leech. The reason for your family's pain, the reason for them throwing you away. For your father and mother being driven mad, for the town turning against you.

You think about the rock that hit you just days ago. Thrown by a child taught to hate you. Taught that it was okay to hurt you because it was you. The town siphoner. A witch who couldn’t make her own magic, a parasite.

Anger wells up inside of you and you latch onto the rhyme swirling around your head, clawing through it. This is the thread you must follow to find your curse giver. This is the clue.

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Dully, you are aware that Seokjin is next to you. You see him from the corner of your eye but it’s not Seokjin at all. Well - not as you now know him. This Seokjin is younger - a teenager by the looks of it. He’s not doing anything except staring out into the darkness. He fades in and out like a bad TV picture, glitching and blurring. But you know it’s him.

His face is different though. Twisted in grief and pain, a frozen picture of angst. You imagine this is what you looked like when your sister died, a tableau of hurt and hate.

Little hut, little hut

I call to thee

Little hut, little hut

Come to me

The Seokjin in front of you fades away. You reach out for him but your hands cut through empty air and darkness. He’s not really there and you have a hard time grasping the meaning of this. The voice sounds almost like Seokjin but not quite. Not as mature.

Young Seokjin doesn’t show up again. You can feel the real Seokjin somewhere in the mess of the vision and the darkness, but you can’t hear him. Can’t see him. There is only the omnipresent darkness of the hut and the whispers of voices.

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

There’s a flash of lightning. A storm in the darkness, splashes of purple and blue electricity. You cover your eyes as you hear thunder, low and soft somewhere. Across from you, your sister appears. She’s a fraternal twin who looks nothing like you except in the eyes. Your eyes look right back at you.

She’s the same age she was when she died. When you took her magic away. When you were cursed. She looks the same age as the apparition of Seokjin, and you try to understand. To make the connection from what you're seeing as the lightning lances again like it did that fateful night.

The rhyme keeps circling in a hurricane of whispers.

As the ritual comes to a close, the vision begins to fade. You’re no better off than where you started and in a panic, you reach for the vision of your sister. You just want to hold her one last time, to feel the warmth of her skin.

But she isn’t real and she fades as Hoseok’s chanting falls to a murmur and then to a whisper, the air returning to normal. You can breathe again, and as you look up from where you’re bent over, you see Seokjin kneeling on the ground in front of you, holding you by the shoulders. His face is swimming with fear and concern, gaze searching.

Seokjin looks so much like his younger self. He’s matured into his face and is a handsome man, but he was a cute teenager. His face now is full of love and concern, but you think about his face in your vision. Twisted in pain and years.

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

You straighten up suddenly, knocking him over on his ass as you do so. It feels like you’ve been slapped as you stare at him, a sudden buzz in your ears as you stare and stare and stare. The ritual comes to an end and Namjoon opens the circle - a foot in the door, more like - and begins to start his spell for Taehyung and Jungkook to weave the new ritual into the circle.

Without thinking about it, you dash for the edge of the circle. Seokjin yells but you’re fast, surging between Namjoon and Jimin where the door exists. Namjoon’s head snaps to look at you, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Close it and close the circle,” you pant.

“I-”

“Close the fucking circle!”

Seven pairs of eyes look at you then. They hesitate for a moment, the flames around them wavering. You can feel the power licking at their heels and something like rage shudders through you. You don’t know where to channel it yet and you begin to pace as Namjoon recloses the circle and turns to Yoongi.

Slowly, Yoongi begins to finish the ritual. They work backward from Yoongi to Jungkook to Taehyung to Jimin. You don’t look at them, wringing your hands as you pace back and forth, heart reaching a wild beat.

Images fly by. The hut, the whispers, Seokjin’s face, the thunderstorm, your sister.

The narrative isn’t straightforward. You don’t quite understand the rhyme, or its function, but the second half sounds bad, sounds perhaps like a plea. A bargain. A need for a curse. You recall the thunderstorm on the night of Beltane, the way your sister watched with wide eyes while you sought her out. You think of Seokjin’s affinity for fire and storms, the way he can command thunder just by being upset. You think of his face, so full of pain and hate.

Finally, they finish the circle. Seokjin rushes to you, hands outstretched and a question on his mouth but you jerk away from him.

“Did you curse someone?” you demand, making him pull up short. He opens and closes his mouth. The silence in the room is deafening. You can hear your own heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your ears. “Seokjin, did you curse someone?”

“I… what does that have to do with-”

“Little hut, little hut. Hear my strife. Little hut, little hut. Ruin this life.”

Three things happen then. The first is Seokjin’s confusion as he shakes his head, lost as to why you’re repeating a rhyme back to him. Then a flicker of memory followed by the drain of color on his face. He straightens up, blanched and shaking his head back and forth as he takes a step away from you.

“No,” he says and takes another step back. “That’s not right, I didn’t curse you.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t curse you,” he says again. He seems lost in it though, like he’s saying it to himself. Yoongi takes a step toward Seokjin and he holds out a hand, warding Yoongi off. “I cursed the witches responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t curse you.”

“You cursed someone?” Taehyung hisses from across the circle. “And you never thought to mention it in preparation for this?”

“Shut up, Taehyung,” Seokjin snaps. “I didn’t curse her. I did go into the woods that night to find the hut witch and I cursed the people responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t even know you then.”

“Did you give a name? What did you say?”

“I didn’t know their names!” He answers, frantic and looking at you pleadingly. “I didn’t - no. I remember it, I shared my blood with her, to show the memory. I saw their faces, but I didn’t know their names. We were -” his voice cracks and he clutches his hands against his chest, tears in his eyes. “I was so afraid when they came. We’d been going from town to town, trying to get away. My parents wanted to go back home, overseas. We just had to get there and then these witches, they came and blew down the door and they killed them.”

“So you cursed them based on a memory?”

“Yes,” he insists. “Baby, I didn’t curse you. How could I? How would I?”

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

“Seokjin.” You say his full name, voice ringing and calmer than you feel. Your stomach is in knots and you feel your mouth water, hinting at the nausea working its way up your throat. “Did you ask the blood witch in the hut to ruin the lives of the witches who killed your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Were your parents Dissenters killed on the night of Beltane?”

A long stretch of silence takes up the space between you. You stare at Seokjin and he becomes a stranger. Become another person on the street that looks at you with hate. Another face in the dozens of the town who don’t care if you exist.

When Seokjin says nothing, it says everything. The final piece of information slots its way in and you feel like you’re going to crack open like an egg and spill out. Gooey and yolk-yellow.

“That was why there was a storm,” you whisper. “Because you were angry and upset, wherever it was that you were. And you cursed my family. Not my parents. Our entire family. That’s why I lost my magic and siphoned my sister to death. That’s why my parents were driven to madness and their eventual end. It’s why everyone hates me. You cursed me with ruin.”

“I…” Seokjin shakes his head but can’t make the words come out.

There is no way out now. You get everything picture perfect for the first time. It’s the perfect curse, really. Driving your family to ruin in different ways. Pushing you, the final member of the family, to the person you would eventually fall in love with, to the person that cursed you.

You can’t break it. Not knowing that it’s most likely at the cost of Seokjin’s life. Giving his blood to the witch was a terrible thing. She used it to cast the curse and likely to bind it to him. Which means if you want your magic, you must kill Seokjin.

Instead of standing there to consider the possibility, you turn and run. He tries to run after you but someone stops him. He has his coven to comfort him for what he’s done and you have nothing and no one. Just how you started.

Your runaway is messy. Tripping over thresholds, slipping down stairs. Night stretches over the world and the air is thrumming with energy. You think it would be so easy to tap into, to take and take and take the magic around you that echoes from the Beltane festivals. Would anyone even notice if you took a little?

Still, you don’t. Hot tears blind you as you stumble into the woods behind Seokjin’s house. It’s not the best shortcut when you’re distraught and overcome with tears, but you think you can get to your apartment building by memory alone.

Around you, the world grows darker and quieter. Eventually, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and sniffling as the tears freefall. Something prickles on your skin and you slow your tangled escape to look around you.

The woods are unfamiliar. At least, they seem darker and hazier, like you’re somewhere that looks like the woods behind Seokjin’s house but isn't quite right. You’re more careful as you move forward, one foot in front of the other.

A breeze cools the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, feeling more like a finger running down your spine than the actual wind. A whisper of noise wisps by you and you stop, frowning. Trying to grasp the words as they float by, indiscernible.

You start walking again, following the sound of a voice that is always just a little too far ahead. A little too soft spoken for you to make out the words. When you do manage to catch up, you hear a soft little rhyme.

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Something like a high-pitched wail rings out behind you. Your limbs lock and goosebumps explode over your arms and legs as you slowly crane your neck to look in the direction that you came. There’s no clear path, just tangled trees and darkness.

A soft buzz tingles along your skin. You sense the magic, static that you can’t hear but you can feel and taste on your tongue. Slowly, you turn back to face the direction you’re walking. There is a tiny little stream in front of you, trickling and black.

Carefully, you step over it. Your hands quake. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck and your upper lip, your mouth trembling as you see the vague shape of a hut. Or perhaps it's just the idea of a hut, with a hole for a door that looks endless. Void. Dark.

You think about your sister. See her face swimming in front of you, so full of life. Then it drains of color as you bleed her dry and steal everything from her. Every drop, turning her from a beautiful girl full of the sun and the sky into a husk.

You clench your fists.

Vengeance can’t bring her back. Vengeance can’t make them love you. But it can take away this fucking hurt inside of you, the pain that you have carried for so long that it feels like a wound that will never close. So you decide to take a page out of Seokjin’s book.

“Little hut, little hut,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Feel my ache. Little hut, little hut, make him break.”

#seokjin smut #jin smut #jin bts smut #seokjin angst #jin angst #jin bts fanfic #seokjin bts fanfi #kim seokjin smut #jim seokjin fanfic #jin x reader #jin you #minors dni #minors do not interact

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annie-creates · 1 year

Text

Just a few grapes

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1000

Note: Reader has trouble eating, so even tho there's nothing explicit be aware of possible triggers. Thank you so much for the kind message and request, notes like these are what gives everything I do meaning. I hope I did your idea justice.

You were what people would describe as sunshine. Everyone knew your peculiar ability to make your vicinity feel better. Your mere presence conjured smiles on people’s faces and your aura radiated peace and calm. Many would seek you out to help them forget about sad thoughts or just to make them feel a little happier. You were quite popular around the school for good. There was no doubt the universe prepared great things for you. Dean Dovey would often say you’re the definition of the greatest good, the white swan of innocence and purity.

Maybe the noble treatment was the reason why the real life took by such surprise. Graduating and claiming your own story was supposed to be something magical, yet you found yourself on a path of hardships and struggles. You weren’t treated like a godly princess anymore, people in the real world found you average, if not a bit annoying. Your fate dimmed your light of innocence and purity, making you experience all the doom of those who aren’t prepared.

When you returned to the school for good and evil, you weren’t the enchanted girl who left, full of silly hope and innocent imaginations. You were a woman carrying her own ills and scars. Yet your presence still calmed others and your smile made everyone’s day just the tiniest bit better. You were tested by the life, coming back wise and cannie. Who was once a naïve little girl came back as experienced sharp-witted woman.

Now years later you found yourself at the side of your girlfriend, mingling the dinning hall as others chatted the night away. It was a significant evening, celebrating the equinox as per an old tradition. Tables were full of the most remarkable food and drinks, successfully satisfying everyone’s taste. You’d find anything you could imagine, yet you didn’t feel like using the opportunity right now. You just couldn’t find the need within yourself. Everything looked boring and tasteless to you.

Leonora gave you a side eye seeing you just nibbling in your dinner, not really eating. She was used to all your routines and bad habits by now, having trouble eating properly being one of them. You couldn’t help it, it was just one of the things your brought back from your uneasy life in the outside world. She’d lie if she said she couldn’t understand it though, having worked through traumas and vices herself when she was younger.

You excused yourself from the table, having been counting seconds for the past couple minutes until it was formally okay to do so. You weren’t going to spend more hours sitting around pretending to enjoy the food and conversation for longer than absolutely necessary. Snuggling into bed you had no intention waiting awake for your girlfriend, but your rumbling stomach didn’t wanna let you fall into a peaceful slumber, so you just tossed and turned around in the sheets.

You were finally distracted by Lesso coming through the door, carefully assessing the situation in the room to not wake you up in case you’d be already sleeping. To your dismay you weren’t. She smiled at you as you sat up in the bed, knowing there’s no reason trying to fall asleep anymore. You didn’t like to sleep without her anyway, her arm was your favorite pillow and the beat of her heart your favorite lullaby.

“Hi, did I wake you up?” Lesso asked as she came into the room, gently sitting on her side of the bed.

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep,” you shook your head hair flying into you face.

“Good. I’ve brought you a little snack, in case you were hungry,” Leonora placed a plate on the bed, knowing you might eat something little.

“You didn’t have to…” you tried to dismiss it before even looking at the plate full of apples, bananas and grapes cut into little pieces and ridden of seeds so you can easily eat it. The thought and care behind it almost brought tears into your eyes. “Wow, thank you.”

“Don’t even mention it. You can take whatever you want if you want,” your girlfriend knew there’s no reason trying to force you to eat, it only made you shut down more. Giving the option while making it the most accessible was the way.

“How was your day?” you asked her to distract yourself, and just because you loved listening to her voice.

“Well, I had a few successful attempts in death traps today, Satan knows those kids might actually be of some good use. And Avery, remember the reader kid? She actually got her first magic trick, I bet she’ll be a real deal with her finger glow…” she went on about her day and anything she could think of that would be of any interest to you.

“Wasn’t she one of the Nevers you said had no business in your school?” you asked with a smile, stuffing your mouth with more grapes.

“Yea, but she was actually good this week. I mean bad… evil… you know what I mean,” you both laughed over it. “I think that with a little guidance, the right friends and a few nights in the doom room she could actually achieve something.”

“Well if anyone can make her a good evil it’s you,” you admitted cleaning the plate of a few last pieces. “Thanks for the fruit, it was actually good.”

“No problem love,” Leonora put the plate away, proud of your progress in eating. You still needed to be focused on something else, but you ate more easily.

Crawling into bed with you, she fluffed up the pillows and sheets to have a good warm cozy nest to sleep in. Laying down together you placed your ear over her heart being calmed by her even breath as she tucked you closer to her chest with her strong arms. To you the only nest you needed was her.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered before falling asleep.

“Always.”

#lady lesso fluff #lady lesso x you #lady lesso x reader #lady lesso #lady leonora lesso #lady leonora lesso x reader #leonora lesso #leonora lesso x reader #tsfgae #sge #charlize theron #the school for good and evil #school for good and evil

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ggomos-maribat · 28 days

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 3: to remember and forget | AO3

CW: Panic attack, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death

If Marinette can put it in simple words, the Justice League's prison doesn't look like a prison at all.

The neatly-done bed, a queen size perhaps, leans against a large headboard. There's a desk positioned at one corner with a rolling chair tucked into it; at the center sits a sofa set on top of a comfy rug. In the other corner, a narrow door leads to the bathroom. The room is well lit, the palette is quite friendly, and the golden accents speak of lavishness.

She barely caught onto what the Justice League discussed with the Parisian Government, but suddenly she found herself escorted into the Watchtower. Into space. If he had not already known where she was taken, Adrien would've freaked out.

Speaking of Adrien, her biggest inconvenience is her lack of direct communication with the others. She trusts that her second-in-command will take care of things while she's gone but if they do get into non-guardian-permitted trips, it's not her problem if they incur more expenses.

She looks down on the special handcuffs they put on her. Apparently, they are supposed to suppress powers, whether of the meta kind or the magical kind, but as soon as the metal hits her skin, she realizes that the cuffs don't do anything to her. Next, she stares up at the two heroes ordered to escort her. They stare back at her.

“Um . . .” The shorter one breaks silence, rubbing the back of his head, “You're not actually a bad person, are you?”

Marinette blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Are you actually Hawkmoth?”

“What difference does that make?” She asks. “If I say no, will you let me go?”

“I—um, no we can't but why didn't you insist that you're innocent?” The masked man asks, “With the right evidence you could've won, but you weren't saying anything. How do you not care about being imprisoned?”

“I'm not the only one falsely convicted because of the flawed justice system, you know,” says Marinette with practiced nonchalance. “The judge said I'm guilty, so I'm guilty. Nothing I can do about that.”

“But this is a serious crime. Terrorizing Paris? Causing widespread trauma?” This time, the taller leather jacket-clad one interjects.

“How is this any different from the situation of the ones wrongfully accused? Does that mean I deserve freedom and they don't?” She tips her head towards the room. “Ironic, how you're imprisoning me, a supposed ‘world threat’, in a luxurious room. If you ask the people in Paris, they'd probably tell you I deserve a death penalty, so this is actually a light punishment.”

The two seem to have difficulty replying to her words, until the shorter one sighs and tells her, “Still, keep in mind that you still have a chance. The members of the JL are still half-and-half about what to do with you. Some of them want to keep you here under close watch while you're serving your sentence. The others are pretty convinced you didn't do anything—they're having a pretty heated debate right now.”

“What do you guys think?”

“I dunno, really. You're weird,” says the tall one.

“Cool. I'll take that as a compliment.”

“As a detective, I'm taught to consider every clue first before I act,” says the other. “For now, I still can't say for sure.”

“Okay, that's reasonable.” She gives a flitting smile. “Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

She can tell they're feeling awkward based on their expressions and stances. She holds out a cuffed hand. “I'm Marinette, by the way. Nice meeting you both.”

Marinette nearly laughs at their astonishment. She's aware she's unexpectedly direct even though she's the criminal. The brightly-dressed man steps forward to shake her hand first. “I'm Superboy.”

And the other tentatively follows: “Nightwing.”

“Superboy. Nightwing.” She nods, finally stepping into the wide threshold of her room and activating the automatic barrier. “I like you both. Before you go, can I ask when I can eat?”

The two share a look before Nightwing replies. “Your meals will be delivered at set times. There's some kind of chute over there.”

“Thanks. See you around?”

---

Marinette easily falls into a rhythmic routine inside her ‘prison cell’. Though the bed is beyond comfortable, and the meals are filling, she finds that she has nothing to quell her boredom. So instead of walking around aimlessly, she decides to make use of the space to exercise. The other heroes don't seem bothered by this; in fact, in the first two days, rarely anyone stopped by her room. Later on, she wonders if she can request a sketchbook or two.

Finally, on the third day, she's taken out of her cell, bound into handcuffs again, and brought to what looks like an interrogation room. There is only one occupant—Superman—but the glass panel on one of the walls tells her otherwise.

She looks up and down at the hero, who gives a polite smile and motions for her to sit.

“I think you're already aware of the situation you're in?” Superman asks.

Marinette nods. If unfair treatment and injustice is her current situation then, yes, she is very well aware of that.

“I know there are things you cannot simply say in court.” His face is grim. “I was there the whole time. But you can tell me, and we'll see what we can do for you. It's safe here.”

Her eyes stray towards the glass panel, wordlessly saying, ‘Is this what you call safe?’

“Fine,” Superman sighs, “But can you at least elaborate on why you can't tell us. Is this a binding secret? Will you be harmed if you divulge anything or are there drastic consequences for it?”

“I'd say a little bit of all three.”

“Is there anything that will make you talk?”

She shakes her head. “By keeping silent on the matter, I'm not lying, but I'm not giving the full truth either. I can't tell you because this is what I think is the best course of action to protect you and many other people.”

“What do you mean?” he presses.

“You know about what happened to Paris, yes?”

“Hawkmoth and the akuma attacks . . .”

“Let's say Ladybug and Chat Noir decided to globally broadcast the existence of miraculi, magical jewels that can grant anyone immense power. What do you think will happen?”

“It will be chaos. Everyone would be fighting to get a miraculous for themselves.”

“A perfect example of why knowledge is dangerous.”

Superman looks like he's thinking it over; she can only predict that he's trying to guess what kind of knowledge she holds, and how far worse it is than the Paris situation.

“Fine,” he relents, “Can you at least tell us about Hawkmoth's reign?”

Marinette notes how he said Hawkmoth's reign, which leads her to inwardly ask if he's one of those who believes in her innocence.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do I owe you my trauma?” She makes her tone calm but her words impactful. “I've set my expectations for the Justice League, and now I can say that you've gone below it.”

“What are—”

“What gives you the right to persecute someone from Paris when you neglected our city when it mattered?” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Much less ask that someone for intel you can't be bothered to find yourself?”

It's already common knowledge for the Parisians: at one point, the young heroes had called on the JL for aid during Hawkmoth's time, but they were unanswered again and again. It’s just bemusing, how in the most urgent of times, they haven’t responded at all, but when a random girl is convicted of terrorism, suddenly they're all up in their feet.

The silence in the room is deafening, and Marinette can tell the onlookers outside are speechless as well.

Superman's voice is painted with deep regret. “I'm sorry. We’re trying to extend our help to the city, even if that doesn't make up for our mistake. We want to do that with you as well, but why do you want to be in prison?”

Partly, it's because she owes Paris that much. The city never found out who Hawkmoth was, so their anguish was directed at the heroes instead for keeping them in the dark. Then a year later, they find a girl fitting into the profile of their villain. If she's the convenient scapegoat they choose to blame, then so be it.

“I didn't go here on my own. You guys brought me here,” Marinette says pointedly.

“That's not what I meant.”

“You know I can't cooperate even if you try to convince me.” She looks at the window, even if she can only see her reflection. “I think it's best for you to spend your energy elsewhere.”

---

“That sign is flickering,” Adrien comments with a mouthful of burger in his mouth.

Eating double-decker burgers in a Batburger parking lot at nearly two in the morning certainly isn't their usual gig. But Adrien gathered from the reliable internet that the Batburgers are a must-try during a Gotham visit, so he decides to hunt for them. Kagami surreptitiously heard about his plans and wanted to tag along, as did Luka. Fei has to join to babysit them.

“Here, Gami, flip it upside down. The bun will absorb the sauce,” Luka suggests to the girl beside him, who has been attempting to bite down on her burger for a minute already.

“Seriously, we are being americanized,” quips Fei, who squeezes out some more ketchup on hers.

“Aw come on, it's a celebration for Adrien,” Luka says, “He did a good job in his defense attorney debut.”

The boy in question groans, pausing mid-bite to drop down his head on his free hand. “I did so badly! Even when I spent all night reading that textbook on French law and making my cute little badge. She was still proclaimed guilty!”

“We all know Marinette doesn't mind.” Fei picked up her soda from beside her to let Adrien have a sip. “You could've, you know, told her you'll be representing her. To get the trial running more smoothly.”

“I had it under control,” the blond insists, “It's just that they brought up the childhood issues card, which is a foul by the way, they basically breached her privacy. I'm still so mad about that!”

“If I could give my critique, I'd say you should've done a worse number on Rossi,” says Kagami.

“I couldn't. They would've kicked me out of that trial and disbarred me.”

“Adrien, you're not a real lawyer in the first place,” Luka reminds him.

“Whatever. That trial's done and we just have to think about what to do next.” Fei makes a face at the grease on her fingers and furiously rubs them into a napkin. “Marinette's aboard the Watchtower now, so we have to do our work down here—”

“Marinette's in the Watchtower?!”

“Yes, Adrien, the JL took her away, remember?”

“Do you think if I turn myself in for fraud, the JL will take me there too?”

“Adrien—”

“What if I say my father's the supervillain, do you think they'll take me? That earns me criminal points, right?”

Kagami delivers a light slap to his arm. “I thought we agreed that you would not joke about that.”

Adrien lets out a huff of defeat, focusing back on his burger. Just then a noise sounds out from above them—looking up, he sees that a vigilante has landed on top of the restaurant, partially cloaked by the night. The figure offers a friendly wave, which Fei snorts at.

“Did we do something?” Adrien whispers as he looks at his friends. “If this is about the camembert stash in our hotel room, I swear to kwamis, it's not me.”

“What does the infamous Red Robin want with us?” Fei yells up at the stranger.

“Oh good. You know me.” Red Robin drops down to a ledge, much closer so they can hear him.

“This is about Marinette, isn't it?” Luka guesses out loud.

The vigilante nods. “The Justice League is conducting its own investigation for her case. I was hoping to hear from you, since you four are her closest friends.”

“What's there to hear from us?” Adrien asks. “I already gave my statements to the court.”

“Before you ask us, we knew nothing about her involvement with the Butterfly miraculous before the whole thing blew up,” Fei supplies firmly.

Red Robin taps his fingers on his leg. Adrien wishes he can see him better, because he's pretty sure the Gothamite is buzzing with eagerness. Entertainment. “This isn't a formal interrogation so I call your bullshit. You're obviously lying.”

“Even if we are, you don't have the evidence for that claim.” Adrien licks the sauce that has gathered on his thumb. “The police already asked us. They got nothing from us.”

“But aren't you concerned that your friend just got thrown into jail?”

Ah. All the while, they've been munching on fast food in a deserted parking lot. Adrien can tell there's something wrong with that picture.

Kagami smiles wryly. “Marinette assured us she'll be fine before she was arrested. Unless the Justice League has turned inhumane and is currently torturing her?”

“No—no, of course not! A handful of the heroes want to prove her innocence, in fact. Don't you want to help out?”

“Even if we do want to fight for her freedom,” Fei replies, “Are you insinuating that we try to break her out of space prison?”

And Luka adds, “Marinette's very stubborn if you haven't seen yourself already. We can't help her if she doesn't want to be helped.”

“Any idea why she's like that?”

The four of them simultaneously shrug.

“So your lips are sealed like hers. Got it.” Red Robin sighs. “Why are you in Gotham?”

“Oh? Did tourists need clearance from the Bats before vacationing in Gotham?” Adrien quips, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I thought you'll be in Paris. Imagine my surprise tracking you down here.”

Fei crosses her arms. “Marinette's trial opened up fresh wounds in that city. Of course anyone would want to escape for a short while.”

“You're not from Paris.”

“I was close enough to Marinette to understand what it was like. I'm from Shanghai, which Hawkmoth also targeted once, in case you haven't done your research.”

“You're having a getaway in Gotham, though. Why in Gotham?”

“Why does that matter?” Adrien rakes a hand through his hair. “If you're concerned about our safety here, don't be. We have experience beating up akumas while half-awake.”

“Actually we wanted to see what's so great about Gotham that Batman chose to neglect Paris all this time,” says Kagami casually.

That seems to have struck a nerve. “We didn't know—!”

“You ignored a city crying for help,” Fei says, “Sorry birdy, but this is a touchy subject if you ask all Parisians. They may have given Marinette to the JL, but everyone still holds a grudge. It's not just us.”

Later on, they finally chase off the talkative bird, but Adrien has grown quiet. While the burger did lift his mood a little, Red Robin's appearance has soured it again. He angrily sips on the last of Fei's drink (which he promises to replace at another time), leaning against one hand on the pavement.

“The nerve of them,” he mutters. “Now I don't want to stay in Gotham anymore. Let's go back to base.”

---

Damian's heart is practically leaping out of his chest. The incidents in Paris and the convicted girl are all the talk in the Wayne manor. At first, he had no mind of looking into it himself until he saw a picture of her.

Before he knows it, he's suited up, headed towards the Zeta tubes and the Watchtower, breathless but persistent. He knows that face from his dreams. He has memorized that girl in his memories. If there is a chance she's alive after all, he doesn't care how; he just needs to confirm it with his own eyes.

Finally he's there and he sees her sitting on the foot of the bed. Her blue eyes widen when they meet his, and she presses herself against the wall when he subconsciously opens up the barrier himself. That's when it dawns on Damian that it is her, it's Marie in the flesh, the girl he killed when he was a child. Overwhelmed with the tightness in his chest, he drops on the ground, trembling.

“Hey, are you okay? What's going on?”

He feels her presence nearby but her voice seems warped, like he's hearing her underwater. He tries to blink his eyes back into focus, only to be met with a hazy double vision. Hot tears run down the sides of his face; he doesn't notice the hands holding onto his arms.

“You—you . . .I don't—” he chokes out.

The voice is closer now. “Stay with me, okay? You're going to be okay. Come on, deep breaths.”

Damian cannot even control himself, which is such a foreign feeling. His body is wracked with sobs as he holds onto her tightly in the fear she'll disappear before him again. He can't form coherent words, nor stop the shaky cries from his throat. It's as if all the grief he's bottled up in his childhood is coming out all at once.

She slowly shushes him. “It's okay. I'm going to touch your back now, is that okay?”

He nods against her shoulder, hearing his heartbeat become less erratic. A small hand presses against his suit and rubs circles on it. He starts to savor the warmth—

“What are you doing?!”

He's suddenly separated from that warmth, but he can't register what's happening. He can hear loud yelling and footsteps rushing, and from the corner of his eye, he catches the movement of his father's cape. Damian whimpers, clutching his head.

“I don't know! He suddenly came in and—”

I needed to see her!

“You used magic on him!”

No, she didn’t harm me. I need to talk to her!

“No, I did not, he's having a panic attack—”

Stop, please—the words seem to dissolve on his lips.

“Stay away from my son!” Damian doesn't know how or when, but he's being carried away from the warmth, from her. His body struggles to break free, but he's forcefully held down. The tears come again, unstoppable as his whole body shakes.

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Fun Fact! The idea of Adrien being Marinette's defense lawyer came from a joke between him and Kagami. If you ask Luka, he'll say he had no part in it. They carefully kept the secret from Fei and Marinette until the day of the trial . . . for obvious reasons Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

#tw child abuse #tw suicide #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #daminette #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #tw blood #ggomoz #maribat damian wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #SS:H&G #tw panic attack

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just-an-enby-lemon · 1 year

Text

Steph: Hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if all B's villains had backstories like the new Disney villain-centric movies?

Barbara: Explain.

Tim: Oh! I get it is like Riddler is evil because a riddle killed his mom!

Barbara: But wouldn't that make so he hated riddles?

Tim: Maybe he hated his mom? You don't know!

Duke: Or maybe he hates riddles and uses them to stop himself and protect the world for the evil he truly represents... Nah, that's stupid.

Barbara: No, no go on.

Steph: It was funny as hell.

Duke: The Riddler hating riddles was not the stupid conspiracy theory I thought I would make for Tim today.

Barbara: How many conspiracy theories did you even made for Tim?

Tim: Does the ones he made for Bernard count?

Duke: A magician never revels their secrets.

Barbara: You're not a magician.

Steph: He could be. Anyway before this ends up with someone giving Duke a box of magic tricks for begginers made for seven year olds *looks pointedly at Babs, she shrugs* my idea was that the number two died trying to save Two-Face's grandma from the other numbers.

Barbara: Okay, this one makes more sense. What about Scarecrow lost his puppie because of a horror movie?

Tim: You judge me but that means Crane would hate fear. So check mate.

Barbara: No, no, hear me out, he lost the puppie because the dog was too brave and stayed during the whole movie. If if had runned afraid it would have been fine.

Duke: My turn! I present all the books they had falled into Mad Hatter's dad killing him except somehow the Alice in Woonderland book that stayed in the shelve so he sweared to never read another book ever again?

Steph: Love it.

Cass: *was always there but hidden in the corner* Great. May I?

Duke, Tim and Steph:*surprised jump scare noises*

Babs: Please. Be our guest.

Cass: Killer Moth was raised by moths. Bruce accidentaly killed his third aunt as a child because he tried to pick it and show Alfred but was too strong.

Duke: You are a genius.

Steph: It's better than whatever official backstory he has.

Dick: *just came back from a mission* What are you guys doing?

Tim: Creating stupid rogues origin stories.

Dick: It seems fun. Let me try... huh... Oswald became Penguin because a Penguin flew through his window the moment he was considering becaming a criminal .

Damian: *was in the mission with Dick* May I try? Joker is a villain because his mother had depression and his jokes never made her happy.

Dick: Holy shit! Too heavy, lil D.

Duke: Sadge.

Tim: It looks like a soap opera plot.

Damian: I DO NOT watch soap operas with umi. SHUT UP!

Tim: Whoa there is a lot to unpack here.

Damian: Say one more word and I'll kill you Drake.

Duke: My bet is on Dami.

Cass: Bet Tim survives but barely.

Dick: Let's all calm down a bit. Maybe Joker became a villain because a mean kid said he wasn't funny.

Jason: *coming out of nowhere* What about Joker became a villain because he sucks?

Steph: That's just real life, Jay. We are trying to have fun here.

Jason: *rolls his eyes* Fine. Let me try again. All of B villains had their family killed by a bat. All of them. The same day, the same bat. Better?

Steph: Amazing!

Tim: Wait a second.

Damian: What now, Drake?

Tim: Bane has a Cruella type backstory!

Babs: *eyes getting huge* Holy shit he kindda has.

Cass: Explain.

Tim: When in the pit because a lot of irrelevant trauma things Bane had nightmares with a half bat half man creature attacking him so his solution was to crack B's spine in half.

Dick: Okay we need to make a Cruella Bane song.

Babs: Is not that close of a backstory.

Dick: So you don't want a Cruella Bane song?

Babs: Good point. I stand corrected.

#batfam #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #tim drake #duke thomas #cassandra cain #dick grayson #damian wayne #jason todd #batkids

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everlastingdreams · 3 months

Text

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 38

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Dum Spiro Spero

Notes: /

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. !!!Spicy and smut parts!!!. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +220K

Chapter: 38/41

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You had heard the commotion coming from the dining hall whilst walking past it with Mirena. She bursted into the room, knowing that that tone of Helio would lead to trouble. Helio took a step back upon seeing the look his wife had given him. Your heart dropped at the sight of Lancelot with a sword to his throat and a crack in his bloodied lip.

Something just snapped inside, you had drawn your sword and charged at the knights without warning. Some of them stepped back at the incoming storm, few others barely managed to draw their sword to defend themselves. The knights were forced back by your rage.

You raised your sword at them after managing to fight them away from Lancelot. “STAY BACK!”

Lancelot rose from the ground, not even he believed he could calm you now. Ser Florent discreetly signaled for them to listen to the warning.

Helio was appalled by it. “You let him into your bed!”

Mirena was stunned by the information, which told she had not known of it beforehand. “Helio-”

You weren’t happy at all that this had to be said in front of a bunch of knights, and both your parents on top of that. “That is none of your concern! How can you say this in front of everyone?!”

Helio pointed at you in accusation, “How could you?!” Then at Lancelot, “With him?!”

“How could I?!” You scoffed and let it all out, “He was there for me when no one else was! When I was convinced that my own father had turned his back on me! He was there for me when I was rotting away in a dungeon not once, but twice! He was there when paladins tried to defile me!”

The silence that fell was heavy like stone.

“Where were you?” It was your disappointment breaking through.

Helio could not meet your eyes, he could not even meet your mother’s.

“Father… I…” Your throat hurt from how tight it felt. “I am not asking for your blessing, only that you understand. I love him.”

“This… infatuation will pass.” His voice had gone cold. He gave the order to the knights, “Take him to the dungeons, he knew the consequences.”

The knights looked reluctant, pitying you, you hated to see it.

“Don’t touch him!” You snarled at Ser. Baron as he got closer.

The older knight gave Ser Florent a look, it warned you of what was to come.

Lancelot never drew his sword or resisted his sentencing, he surrendered to the mercy of Helio.

Ser. Baron grabbed your arm as you swung at him with your sword, the boar of a man tossed you forward towards Ser Florent and away from Lancelot. You knew they were trying to get you away from the Ash Man, and when Ser Florent did not listen to your warning, you lunged at his arm.

Ser Florent was skilled enough to block your attack as he tried to grab you. You must have nicked some part of him because there was blood on your sword. Seconds later you were on the ground and he was kneeling behind you, arms locked firm around your chest to keep you under control and on the ground as the other knights grabbed Lancelot and led him out of the dining hall.

“Let me go!” You snarled at the knight, who was quietly apologizing to you, and you saw that his hand was bleeding.

“Let them take him. At least he is alive.” Ser Florent tried to reason.

You jerked your head back and it hit him in the face, stubbornly he tried to hold on until you bend his index finger back and his hold faltered.

It was Mirena who stepped into your path, and grabbed you by the shoulders. “Enough!”

She was the only one in that moment who could have tamed some of the fury you felt. Ser Florent slowly reached for your arm and your glare made him reconsider.

You pleaded with her. “You cannot let father imprison him! Please!”

Mirena turned to Ser Florent. “Take my daughter to the courtyard to calm down. Let me speak to my husband alone.”

“There is nothing to discuss.” Helio sternly said.

Mirena gave him a certain look that told him he was in trouble for daring to say it. Ser Florent took you by the arm to lead you outside, but you ripped your arm free and walked to the courtyard yourself.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

After waiting in the courtyard for a while, and hearing Helio’s thundering voice from afar, the decision was made. It was Matthew, of all people, who was send to share the news with Ser Florent, who then told you. Lancelot was send to the dungeons and was to remain there indefinitely.

After cooling your fury on one of the straw men meant for practice, you wished to head inside to speak to your parents again. Ser Florent remained at your side, wary of the sword that hadn’t left your hands. Mirena came to meet you, aware that the news must have reached you by now. She send the knight away to talk to you alone.

You tried to speak, “Mother-”

“Why did you not tell me?” She sounded quite disappointed.

“I’m sorry. But you see how father is reacting now that he knows.” You stammered less confident.

Mirena felt like she had failed. “I am not your father. To know that my daughter is not telling me something such as this, is gravely upsetting to me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Neither of you want me to be happy with Lancelot. Because you don’t know him the way I do. He’s not the Weeping Monk anymore, mother, that part of him died the night he saved Squirrel and I.”

Mirena was watching you, seeing how you tried to explain how this had all come to be.

“He’s kind, and annoying. Loyal and stubborn. I feel heard by him.” You sighed. “I know he’d never betray me, nor our people, I wish you and father could see that.”

“I do believe you. For this to have grown from your bond does not surprise me.” She admitted in a sigh. “But your father is as stubborn as they come. And for him to have learned that the Ash Man and you…”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

You didn’t expect her to react this way, “Are you saying you have no objection to what is between Lancelot and I?”

“As a mother, I only wish for my child to be happy and safe. I know the Ash Man can provide both happiness and safety for you. But his past will always be in his shadow, Little Moon. And after Soran, your father is more than wary when it comes to those who have served the Church.”

It was a relief that she had grown to see past Lancelot’s past as the Weeping Monk. You shook your head a little. “He is nothing like Soran. Father has to see that some day.”

Mirena hoped for your patience. “Let him calm down today, y/n. He is in shock over this.”

You gave a bitter smile. “In the meantime, Lancelot is in the cold dungeons.”

She gave some valuable advice, “He is alive. And Helio has forgotten to order the knights that the Ash Man may not receive visitors.”

So you could visit him… perhaps even help.

“Go after sunset.” She said upon seeing the hope emerge in your eyes.

You gave a nod. “Mother, if Lancelot is condemned to spend his life in a dungeon I will not stand for it. If he is to be treated like this for the rest of his days here, I will leave the fort with him and find us a place where we can be together without others trying to keep us apart.”

She was greatly saddened, “You would live somewhere else?”

It hurt to tell the truth, but it was necessary. “I see my future with him. In all truth, I don’t see how to live without him anymore. I would choose to live in a cave over living here and us being shunned.”

Mirena wanted that idea out of your head. “I will not force my daughter to live in a cave. I shall speak to your father come morrow. Promise me you will give me the time to try and change his mind? Do not flee in the night again.”

A pang of guilt settled in you, you hadn’t forgotten how hurt she had been when you’d left. “I will not leave without telling you ‘goodbye’ again.”

She came closer and cupped that stubborn head on your shoulders, she pressed a kiss to your forehead before giving a stern look. “Never again.”

You meekly nodded and watched her walk away.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The day went by dreadfully slow. Of course the one having to explain why Lancelot was in the dungeons again, to Squirrel and Ciro, was you. You left out the details, and told them it was because the two of you had fallen in love and it was prohibited by Helio. The three of you were lying on the floor of their room, feet pointing at the walls, heads to each other.

“That’s stupid!” Squirrel angrily exclaimed.

You could only agree. “It is.”

“That she loves him?” Ciro asked Squirrel confused.

Squirrel almost rolled his eyes. “It’s stupid that Helio tossed Lancelot in the dungeon, just because they like each other.”

“Did you kiss him?” Ciro nosily asked you.

“Yuck.” Squirrel scrunched his nose.

Great. Your cousin would try to pry a ton of answers out.

“Sometimes.” You kept it vague.

Squirrel sounded skeptical and maybe even a little disgusted, “With Lancelot?”

You turned your head, and squinted your eyes at the bold child. “Yes.”

Squirrel looked at the ceiling again, “Ugh. Didn’t you used to hate him?”

It made you wince, your past self would slap you for even insinuating what would eventually happen. “We weren’t friendly…”

The cheeky boy arched a brow at you, you kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling

“Will he be free again?” Squirrel asked.

“He will. Even if I have to get him out of there myself.” You swore it.

“Did Uncle really shoot at him with the crossbow?” Ciro sounded a bit too enthusiastic.

You had to hear from Ser Florent afterwards how quick it had all escalated. “He did. And he missed. So, the lesson to be learned from that is to not act out of anger.”

“Or aim better.” Squirrel chimed in and grinned.

This child…

You got up on your feet and brushed some dust off the back of your trousers, “Speaking of lessons, how is your reading faring?”

“Good.” Ciro said, having read his fifth book in less than a month.

Squirrel shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, “Fine…”

You knelt down next to Squirrel. “Don’t be worried if you’re learning slow. I am proud of you already for wanting to learn. Reading or not, you’re a clever boy, Squirrel.”

A little pair of blue skies looked up at you, the smile that formed matched them like the sun.

“I can always read the books for you.” Ciro offered, hoping for someone to share his favorite books with.

Squirrel did like that idea.

You looked out the window and saw the sky begin to darken. “I believe you two will be expected for dinner soon. Come on, up you go.”

You helped them both stand up from the ground and beckoned for them to walk with you. Whilst walking them to the dinning hall, where Mirena would be waiting, you brushed the dust away from their vests.

She was already awaiting them and ushered them inside before whispering to you, “Go now. Helio is eating and only Ser Florent is down by the dungeon now.”

You thanked her, grateful for her understanding. She didn’t need to tell you twice, you headed to the dungeons now that the fall’s early evening had arrived to offer the discretion that was needed.

Ser Florent was sitting on the floor next to the door that led down into the dungeons. He saw you coming and didn’t look surprised at all.

You stopped at his feet. “I’m here to see him.”

He looked up at you, “Does your father know you are here?”

“No.” You coolly said. “I’m sorry about your hand.”

He looked at it again, having covered it with a rag. “At least you did not take it off.”

You looked at the door again and saw that it was locked.

The knight searched his pocket, then held up the key to the door. “Leave it on the door when you go in.”

You took the key from his fingers and opened the door, stopping to ask, “Who told my father?”

Ser Florent gave you the truth. “Just a woman who was concerned for your safety when she saw the former Weeping Monk leave your room at the crack of dawn.”

It was a plausible explanation, anyone would be a bit worried if they saw someone acting suspicious in a fort still cloaked by the passing night.

“Do you have the key of his cell?” You tried.

“I do not.” He gave you a warning look.

You proceeded to the dungeons before he’d change his mind on letting you see Lancelot.

It was colder than you remembered down in the dungeons, it must be terrible in the winter to reside. He was in the very last cell, sitting against the wall near the bars.

You dropped to your knees, taking hold of the cold iron bars that seperated you from him. “Lancelot.”

The scent had warned him of your presence beforehand. The little light of a torch on the wall nearby offered him some sight of your facial features.

He changed to a kneeling position and put his hand over one you had on a bar, even such a small action caused your heart to swell. The blood on his lip had dried and sealed the wound shut. Your eyes glowed green as you let your magic heal him. He was too late to draw back his hand, his lip had already healed, and when you reached out and cupped his cheek he stilled instantly.

“I am so sorry.” You felt your throat tighten. “This isn’t right. I will find a way to get you out of this cell.”

He pulled back and reached for the sheath of his sword, he picked something off of it and it glistened in the dim light as he held it up for you to see.

The hairpin he had kept on himself ever since escaping the Brotherhood…

He had not even tried to free himself?

“No more running.” He was looking at the thin metal. “I have accepted this place and it’s people as my home. I will not escape and flee when my heart is at rest.”

It sounded like he was accepting this situation. “Fight for us.” You begged him, “I swear I will never stop fighting for you.”

You were trying to control your breathing, pressing your eyes shut to calm down. He reached through the bars and took your hand, turning it palm up, it was the tingling sensation that made your eyes open again. Small, green sparks of fire were dancing on your palm. His own hand was glowing again, the leaf pattern came to life. If it was his intention to distract you, it sure had worked.

“It doesn’t hurt me…”

“Of course not.”

These flames were born from him, from who he was, they obeyed to his will. And they stopped at his command again. His hand curled around yours, letting the sparks disappear. “We are together, you and the boy are safe. Helio will not keep me here forever, I do not believe the man to be so cruel as he wishes to seem.”

Your anger towards your father broke through. “He has no right to try and control who I want to be with.”

“He wants to keep you safe.” Lancelot reasoned.

The tears broke through, your voice broke, “By trying to kill the man I love? By forcing you into the same darkness I escaped from? He’s not keeping me safe, he’s hurting me.”

Lancelot hushed you when you began to cry. “Go back to the warmth of the castle.”

And leave him there alone? Not a chance.

“I won’t leave you in this darkness alone.” The light from the torches was too far away to even reach his cell.

His tone got firmer. “Y/n.”

Yours matched it. “No.”

You turned and sat with your back against the bars. “I’m staying. They’ll have to drag me out if they want me to leave.”

There was a moment of silence, then you felt his hand caress the side of your neck. He felt so close and yet so far.

He sounded sorrowful, “I do not want harm to come to you.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw him sit down against the bars with his side, trying to get an arm around you. You adjusted, sitting side by side with him, the bars forming a frustrating barrier.

Your head leanest against the iron, your fingers curled into his sleeve. “I’m the one who’ll harm them if they try.”

He settled on stroking along your arm, it was more comfortable.

“I wish my father could see into my heart and understand why I fell for you. He just never listens to me, I-” Your voice broke again, “I was kept imprisoned for so long, and now my father will not let me free either.”

Lancelot withdrew his hand and moved a little. “Y/n-”

You were too upset to listen. “I know what you’re going to say. He wants to ‘protect’ me, to keep me ‘safe’. But he never cares about how it makes me feel when he tries to control me. I am so, so, tired of being controlled by others. I thought that was over when we escaped the Brotherhood and the paladins. And now I’m sitting in a dungeon again, after being forced to live in one in darkness for months, all because my father does not care that it is haunting my dreams.”

Lancelot moved away from you and got up from the ground. “He heard you.”

You frowned and looked up at him.

“Y/n.” Helio’s voice came from behind you.

You were on your feet within the second. “Father-”

Helio was looking at you, at the tears that stained your cheeks and the look of a deer facing a hunter. Lancelot held his breath, not ready to see you be dragged out of that place.

And when the Dawn Man looked at him, he did not see the same rage he had seen that morning.

“I had two sisters.” Helio began as he stepped closer. “One who fell for one of our own, and one who fell for a man who I learned was of the Brotherhood. Naia was used for her healing by him, by the Brotherhood, until she succumbed to the weakness it caused.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor, finally understanding why he had reacted the way he did.

Helio spoke to Lancelot. “He told her he loved her, and she believed him. Then he got her imprisoned until her death. I was locked away in the same place as her after I had tried to save her, I met Mirena in that time. He was the first of the Brotherhood to fall at my blade.”

“You never told me…” You said, you knew there had been two aunts, but never that one had been tricked like this.

Helio put a hand on your shoulder. “I failed to save her, failed to protect her against him. She gave him her heart and he led her to her death. I cannot stand the thought that history might repeat itself.”

You sensed the pain it had brought him to lose a sister in such a cruel way. With slow steps you closed the distance and embraced him, the anger inside turned into understanding.

“But you are not Naia.” Helio returned the embrace, sighing. “You are my clever daughter. I need to trust that you would know what to do if you would ever be betrayed. After all, I thought you how to fight.” He let go off you and walked past you to Lancelot. “You are by far the worst monk I have encountered in my life. Fled the clergy, fell for those they consider sinners and broke the vow.”

The Ash Man didn’t know what to say, it’s not like Helio was wrong about it all.

“Father-” You sighed.

He continued, ignoring your protest, “A terrible monk, but perhaps a good man.”

Your expression changed instantly, as did Lancelot’s, both struck by disbelief.

Of course Helio was not that quick to forget the audacity the Ash Man had shown. “Good man or not, if you harm my daughter I shall make you experience the same suffering the Brother felt upon dying.”

Lancelot took the warning to heart. “If I ever am foolish enough to harm her, I will hand you my own sword to use.”

Helio would remember that vow, from the pocket of his vest he pulled the metal ring with keys to the cells on it. You couldn’t believe your eyes when your father proceeded to unlock the cell and let Lancelot out.

Helio explained to him, “I care about my child’s heart enough to give you a chance to protect it. Do not make me regret it.”

Lancelot stepped out of the cell, feeling much smaller then he was in front of the man, “Could I have my swords returned to me?”

You actually winced at the ill-timed question.

Helio’s eyes became like steel. “Be glad I am letting you keep your head. I will think about the swords.”

He looked Lancelot up and down with a slight hint of irritation. “Go to your quarters. Consider the lack of a meal part of your punishment, you have clenched your other appetite instead.”

Your arms crossed over your chest, knowing what he was referring to and feeling quite embarrassed, “Are you going to deny me my meal too?”

Helio turned at the slight arrogant tone. “I would, but your mother would gift me a headache. Go eat.”

You didn’t move, sensing he was sending you away to speak to Lancelot alone. One look from the Ash Man convinced you to go up to the dining hall.

“Please, don’t hurt him.” You said to Helio.

He gave a nod and waved his hand, ushering you to go. With reluctance you left the dungeons, and highly curious to learn what was going to be said down there.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Breakfast in the dining hall felt quite uncomfortable the next morning. Neither you nor Lancelot had visited each other last night, perhaps a wise decision. The knights who had been present at Helio’s outburst were trying not to stare in your, or Lancelot’s, direction too often, it was still plenty enough to notice them doing so.

The Ash Man sat almost at the end of a table at the other side of the room from where you were, quietly drinking some soup whilst stealing glances with you every time that bowl lifted to his mouth. What had been said between Helio and him last night? Threats and warnings? Or had it been a genuine conversation? No injuries were visible on him, that was a relief, and he had gotten his swords back as well.

You felt another pair of eyes on you and looked around to see your mother watching you watching him. She shook her head a little, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth. She would have scolded you for staring at him so much. You fixed your attention on the soup in front of you, before Squirrel who sat beside you would think you were done with it and try to slide it over to himself to eat. In the meantime, Helio never lifted his eyes up from his meal, as if he had stopped caring who was looking at who.

“Ash Man.” He suddenly called out and almost everyone in the room fell silent, “You are traveling with the knights to the chapel today.”

Lancelot appeared a little taken aback, “I am?”

Helio finally looked up from his soup and at him. “You came up with the plan. See to it that it goes as envisioned.”

Ser Florent gave a discreet nod in the Ash Man’s direction.

Lancelot cleared his throat. “Of course.”

If not for last night’s conversation, he would have believed it to be a trap. To be send along with the knights after all that had happened yesterday…

After breakfast, when they headed to the stables, you hurried after the knights.

“Ser Florent?” You called out for him, he turned to look at you. “I am coming along as well.”

Matthew saw it happen, “Can’t you go without the Ash Man for one moment?”

It was a snide comment, your mood turned to ice. The other knights heard his blatant attempt to embarrass you in front of them, even Lancelot had heard it be said. Had he gotten so bitter? Was he always like this with others?

Ser Florent granted him not a single look. “Be quiet, Matthew.”

You followed his example and ignored Matthew.

“It’s alright by me if you want to come along. Will you do me the honor of riding beside me?” Ser Florent asked.

“I’d love to.” You knew he was asking it so he could keep Matthew and you apart.

But by the looks of it, Lancelot might have suspected something else. You walked away from the staring knights and proceeded to the stables ahead of them. Some of them gawked at you for so long that you wondered why they didn’t just make a sketch of you if they wanted to stare. Even if it was not being said aloud, you could still sense the silent gossip that must be happening between them and in the fort. It bothered you that your relationship with Lancelot was undoubtedly the subject.

You readied Aella‘s saddle and were halfway done when they entered the stables as well.

Ser Florent came over, pretending to inspect the stirrup whilst whispering to you, “It will get better.”

You hoped so, because this wasn’t fun at all. “I hate to be looked at like I committed a crime.”

The knight consoled you. “You did nothing wrong. I think they are just enjoying the spectacle that comes with the connection between you and the Ash Man.”

It sounded plausible. “Ugh.”

He smiled. “It will pass, something else will come along and pull their attention.”

You gave a grateful smile back at him, and he went to fetch his horse. Just when you wanted to lift yourself into the saddle, you felt a little tug at your jacket.

Lancelot was at your side, looking somewhat concerned, “You are riding beside him?”

You sighed a little. “Only so I don’t have to hear another snide remark from Matthew.”

He could feel the stares of the others in his direction, it felt almost suffocating.

He was visibly bothered that it would cause you to keep a distance from him over it, “Since when do you listen to childish comments?”

It was not meant to be confronting, he was only concerned.

You lowered your voice so others wouldn’t hear. “I still hear them, Lancelot. And sometimes they do hurt, even if I don’t show it.”

You put your hand on the horn of the saddle to pull yourself up.

He placed a hand over the one you had there, fully aware that the knights were seeing it happen. “I am sorry.”

You nodded. “It’s fine. It’s just been a lot to live through lately.”

Ser Florent was leading his horse through the stables. “It is time to go.”

Lancelot did not move his eyes from your face, it should have warned you for what was to happen. By the time you had read his eyes, he had already leaned in to kiss your temple. It was a quick peck, but all who were present in the stables had seen it and shared looks amongst one another. That sneaky twit walked over to Goliath, ignoring the stares aimed at him. You took a second to compose yourself, then hoisted yourself into the saddle.

As agreed, you rode beside Ser Florent. At some point, on your way down the hill, you had asked him what his lady-friend was like. And gods, he described her in such great detail that it lasted until you reached the village. Red hair, the smile of a goddess, and the heart of a lover. The knight had not a bad word to say about her, the lovestruck look in his eyes as he spoke of her was evident. None of the other knights said a word against his infatuated rambling, they knew better than to try and tell him to stop. It was actually making your day better to hear him speak so full of love and joy, minutes had passed before you realized you had been smiling the whole time. He was so unashamedly proud to love her. As it should be. You looked back at Lancelot, who rode not far behind the two of you and who was watching the enamored knight speak so enthusiastically. In time, it would be as it should be, for you and for him.

“I would love to meet her.” You interrupted the rambling knight.

He was enthusiastic immediately, “You would?”

After all the praise he’d given, it should have been obvious. “Of course!”

It was like you were one of the only people who had listened to him speaking about her. “I’ll bring her to the fort.”

You would not dampen that excitement. “Excellent.”

You reached over and touched the hand he hand on the reins of his horse.

Ser Florent was confused at first, until he no longer felt the wound on his hand, “Did you heal me?”

You gave a nod. “I don’t want your lady to think I’m some kind of madwoman.”

He let out a chuckle and removed the stained rag from his hand. “I do not consider you a madwoman, you have that same sweetness in you that Mirena has.”

You jested about it. “Perhaps it’s under a few more layers with me.”

“Nonsense.” He tsked. “Look what you just did, that was sweet. You did not have to do it, but you did anyway.”

That kind flattery was surely a part of how he had managed to earn this woman’s heart.

You saw the chapel come into sight. “Well, we need the knights of the Fey. I should make sure that you can use your hand in battle when needed.”

“I still have my other.” He shrugged it off.

Lancelot had overheard it and gave a scoffing chuckle at the knight’s optimism.

“What?” Ser Florent looked back at him, “Good swordsmen can fight with just one hand. Can’t you?”

“I can.” He said.

“I’ve seen him wield two swords at once.” You bragged a little for him.

Ser Florent was slightly impressed, he looked at him again. “Next time we spar, you are showing that to me again, Ash Man.”

Lancelot feigned a sigh, like he didn’t love to show off his skill in front of others. “Very well.”

Ser Florent whispered in your direction, “Tad arrogant that one, isn’t he?”

“Just a bit.” You grinned.

“Just enough for you, eh?” The knight chuckled.

True. There was a certain alluring aspect that came with it.

Some knights had parted ways with the group, to complete the tasks they had been given to start the plans for the chapel. Some were seeking for healers, another went to arrange matters with the lumberman.

And you? You were appointed the task of removing relics of the Church inside the chapel and stuffing them into a satchel. All what was made of iron would be used to forge weapons, wood could be repurposed for repairs. It still felt strange to break the iron crosses from the pews with your sword, but the sick and wounded Feys would not feel very comfortable surrounded by the symbols of those who sought their extinction. If even you felt a bit strange doing this, you worried how Lancelot must be feeling. This was his past, his upbringing…

You kept an eye on him as he and the knights worked together to move the pews to a more useful position.

“We will need to collect pillows and bed linen.” He told them whilst pointing at the pews. “Those curtains by the entrance will be useful for it.”

The knights looked a bit stunned by the Ash Man’s little care for what happened to what had once been a place of worship. Ser Florent waved them away, signaling for them to take down the curtains as Lancelot had suggested.

He then helped Lancelot move another pew to the side of the building. “I’m glad you are hear with me to help.”

“And I am glad I can help.” Lancelot told him.

It was nice to see them get along so well, Ser Florent treated him like any other, something Lancelot wanted. Someone who would not look at him and see a former monk, but just a man who was trying to do his best. You broke the last cross of off a pew, and they picked it up to move it right after.

“Great work.” Ser Florent praised you.

Lancelot parroted it to you cheekily. “Great work.”

You rolled your eyes at the growing urge for mischief in him. Some of the knights returned with the curtains and began to drape them over the pews, changing the hard surface into a softer one.

“Care to inspect it?” Ser Florent shot you a grin while patting one of the pews with his hand.

“Alright.” You went over to indulge the request.

You laid down on the covered pew. Lancelot shook his head at the sight, amused by it.

“Any opinions?” The knight asked.

“I don’t feel my holiness increasing. So I guess that means it’s fine.” You jested.

This time it was Lancelot who rolled his eyes, and he offered you a hand to get up again.

You let him help you to your feet, chest almost bumping into his which he clearly didn’t mind, “Is it going as you thought it would?”

“Better.” The Ash Man admitted.

The door of the chapel opened and in walked the lumberman with some volunteers and the requested wood. In his profession it was easy to find those handy with a hammer and a saw, they were his most common patrons. Most of the volunteers worked together to fix up the roof, others went into the former sleeping quarters to fix the walls. In mere hours the chapel changed before your very eyes, everywhere you looked someone was working on building this infirmary. Two elder healers had already come to bring their supplies to the new infirmary and with the help of Matthew they arranged for the sleeping quarters to be used as the room for storing medicine. The kitchen transformed into a place suitable for medicine preparation. The village came together to achieve this, everyone was helping everyone. At some point Lancelot even helped Matthew.

You worked in the chapel for hours, building the future of the village with your own hands felt good. By nightfall, the people and most of the knights had already returned home. You were still down in the kitchen, cleaning it up as best as you could so dust would not find it’s way into the medicine that would be prepared there.

Lancelot came to collect you. “The sun has set, we should return to the fort. Ser Florent is waiting for us.”

You put down the wet rag you had been using. “I want you to know that I am thankful for how open you were to do this. This place, a chapel…”

He beckoned for you and watched as you got closer. “Your faith in me, is the only faith I need.”

You reached for his jerkin and used it to pull him in. He understood the unspoken request, his gaze fell down to your lips whilst tilting his head to reach them.

Someone cleared their throat nearby.

Ser Florent still stood with one foot on the steps of the stairs, “Can that wait until we are back at the fort?”

“Where my father is?” You deadpanned.

The knight would hear no excuses, “Since when does that stop you?”

Your mouth fell open, stunned by the wit. Not even Lancelot looked like he had expected to hear it.

Ser Florent bit back a smile. “Come on, we are leaving.”

Like two scolded children, you followed him up the stairs. The chapel no longer looked like a chapel. The pews had been transformed into beds. The alter was now used to hold the bowls with clean water for wound care. It was such a change.

“We did well.” Ser Florent said.

“Indeed.” You and Lancelot echoed.

The remainder of the knights were still carrying in some items as you walked past them to the horses, it was a task to not trip over the materials in the dark left behind for the night.

“Watch your step here.” Ser Florent said, seconds before he tripped over an abandoned hammer himself.

You were the first to reach and help him, Lancelot hooked an arm under his and pulled him up.

“I’m fine. Healing me will not be necessary.” The knight chuckled a bit embarrassed.

Lancelot jested to him, “If it were so, you would be the first to seek healing in our new infirmary.”

Ser Florent send him a look at that witty comment. The knight brushed the dirt from his trousers and proceeded towards his horse. You smacked Lancelot’s arm lightly, giving him a scolding look which he simply looked away from. Lancelot did his best not to laugh when he saw the knight pluck some grass out of his mouth that had gotten in there with the fall. It wasn’t until you went to hoist yourself into the saddle that you felt how tired you had become.

“Ugh.” You uttered your dismay at it.

Lancelot did not even have to ask, “Tired?”

You groaned. “It’s been a while since I’ve been tired from working instead of healing.”

“It builds muscle.” Lancelot said.

“How would you know?” You teased.

That sure earned you half a glare from him, but he knew you were doing it to get on his nerves.

Ser Florent laughed a little, enjoying the dynamic between you and the Ash Man. “Women, they know just what to say.”

Lancelot shared a look with him.

“Oi!” You warned them both if they were to pair up against you. You steered your horse away when they began to chuckle, grumbling, “I’m going home.”

The men followed right behind you for a while as you rode through the village. Villagers were returning to their homes, children hurried to get home before their parents would begin to worry. For a moment it felt like there was no war going on, this place had been spared from the cleansings only because the Church held no power over King Cenred’s lands. But how long before Uther and Cenred would be at war? The Church would surely plead loyal to Uther if it meant they could continue their cleansings in Cenred’s kingdom. The only way forward for the Fey was to rebuild and unite for when the time would come to fight.

Back at the fort, the horses were taken back to the stables. Ser Florent left right after bringing his horse in the stable to rest. As did Lancelot once Goliath was back with your mare for the night, the men had been conversing and probably wanted to continue. You brushed Aella’s coat with some straw, then did the same for Goliath. The sound of someone else leading their horse inside made you look. You stopped brushing Goliath’s coat when you saw Matthew walk in.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” He said upon seeing you in a little rush to leave the stables. He left his horse with Ser Florent’s, and came over to you.

You scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

Matthew gave a poor excuse for his behavior, “I mean it. It’s just not easy for me to accept that you’re with the ‘Weeping Monk’. Out of all people…”

Really?

Your tone was cold. “It wasn’t easy for me to see you with others after you rejected me either! I never embarrassed or insulted you for it!”

He was looking at you with remorse, but you did not know if it was genuine or not anymore, your trust in him was almost completely gone.

“And stop calling him that!” You nearly snapped it at him, and walked past him to exit the stables. The hope that he would leave you alone vanished when he rushed after you. When you kept walking, he caught you by the wrist.

“What?!” You ripped your wrist free.

Matthew kept a distance, “Are we really going to act like this to each other? After all these years.”

You tried to calm down a little. “You said it yourself. It’s better if we go our own way.”

He shifted his weight to his other leg. “And I stand by it. But we can still be civil to each other.”

It nearly got you speechless, you were more stunned than angry. “You’re the one who is making this hard. And I’m starting to feel like you keep shifting the blame to everyone but yourself.”

Matthew’s expression changed, like he had finally listened for the first time.

“Have a good evening, Matthew.” You concluded the conversation that had dragged on for too long already in your opinion. Ending the conversation came not a moment too soon, you had just spotted Lancelot waiting at the gate for you.

“You too.” Matthew could be heard calling after you.

Once you had reached the gate, Lancelot asked about it.

“Trouble?” His eyes were like steel as they kept Matthew in their sight.

You took him by the elbow. “No.”

To you, this was nothing more than a confirmation that Matthew was quite selfish. Lancelot walked with you where you passed a chatting couple. Whilst you greeted them politely, the man of the pair was far from it.

~“Whore.”~

The woman he was with was looking at you both in disgust. Lancelot’s whole demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. You stepped in front of him, back facing him while you faced the rude couple.

The anger from earlier had your wit sharp as a blade. “I wasn’t given any payment. He had me without charge.”

It was said with such arrogance and smugness that the Ash Man couldn’t seem to believe that you had said it out loud. The man who had insulted you ran red in the face as the couple hurried away.

Once they were out of hearing range, you cussed him out too. “What a rotten knave.”

It took you another second to notice Lancelot’s flushed face.

“What?” You said.

With a smirk and raised brow, he asked, “Without charge?”

You smiled awkwardly. “Shut it.”

He scratched at his chin, then reached for your hand until he suddenly halted. You turned to see what had gotten his attention.

Squirrel was looking at the both of you a little confused, “What does ‘whore’ mean?”

Lancelot shared a panicking look with you. To hear the word come out of the boy’s mouth gave him quite the fright.

Squirrel got a bit impatient, “I’ve heard it before, I know it’s a cuss. But what does it mean?”

Your mind had gone blank. Was he not too young to learn the meaning of the word?

With a deep breath, Lancelot went over to the boy and beckoned for him to follow. There was a chance that the boy would get quite an awkward answer out of the Ash Man, but you were glad that he took the initiative to be the person the boy could seek guidance from. You watched him walk beside Squirrel slowly, he spoke to him in a low voice so others would not overhear.

“What?!” Squirrel loudly exclaimed all of a sudden.

The poor Ash Man looked like he was completely out of his element.

“But y/n doesn’t kiss a lot of people!” Squirrel was appalled and maybe even disgusted.

You turned and headed in the other direction before Lancelot would call out for your help in this. He would be fine…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

An hour must have past.

Considering Squirrel was still awake, you went to see if Ciro was in his room. Upon creaking the door open, you found Ciro peacefully asleep. It was getting late and Lancelot had still not brought the boy to the room to sleep. Either the boy was distracting him, or the Ash Man had simply not paid attention to how dark the sky outside had gotten. Your search for them began, on your way to the courtyard you noticed the light coming from under the door to the library. And indeed you found them inside, talking to each other quietly on the floor.

They stopped once they noticed your presence. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s alright.” Lancelot said.

You used the tone Mirena had often used on you when you were small. “Time for bed, young Squirrel.”

Lancelot turned his head to look at the window, he truly must not have noticed the time until then. The boy used Lancelot’s shoulder as support whilst getting up from the ground. It was small things such as this that showed how comfortable they had grown with each other.

“Goodnight.” The boy said to him first, then to you.

“I’ll see you in the morning’s light.” You rhymed.

His eyes flicked to the ceiling for a blink at the silliness. The boy walked out the door.

“Your room is in the other direction.” You called out after him.

Squirrel mumbled something to himself and headed in the other direction. You were trying not to giggle at the child’s attempt to delay his night’s rest further. Lancelot rose from the ground, picking up the book he must have been reading with Squirrel.

You were quite curious as to what they had been talking about, “What were you two chatting about so late?”

There was a solemn look in his eyes. “We spoke about the Fey camp he came from.”

The one he had led the paladins to…

He had apologized. For everything. For every mistake he had made that had hurt the boy directly and indirectly.

“He forgives me. For all of it.” He still couldn’t believe it.

Your heart swelled. “Because he has grown to love you, even if he might not say it out loud to you.”

To him it seemed so unbelievable. “I consider it a miracle that he did not use the knife, that you have given him, on me.”

“You’re the one who sharpened it for him.” You quipped.

He came to stand at your side whilst placing the book back on the shelf. “He is clever. He will grow into a good man.”

You gave a smile. “He has a good example to guide him.”

He appreciated the compliment greatly. “Do not underestimate your own influence on him, he seeks your guidance as much as he seeks mine.”

You stilled when he brushed his hand over the back of your head, it was such a small gesture but it made you feel so loved. His thumb touched your cheek, and then he pulled his hand back.

You bumped into his arm playfully, “What did you tell Squirrel about that insult?”

The look on his face was comical, it must not have been easy to speak to the boy of this. “I told him it was an insult, and why some thought it proper to use it.”

“And?” You pried.

“He knows now that such a thing should never be said. Even if a woman kisses many.” He said and swallowed thickly.

You squinted your eyes at him, “You do know that the insult refers to doing more than just a kiss?”

He gave a look. “I know. But the boy is too young for now. And I had to prevent him from going to throw a rotten egg at the couple.”

Wait… “Where would he get a rotten egg?”

He blinked twice, “He hoards them under his bed. You do not know of it?”

Your mouth fell agape. “Wha-… of course I don’t! Did you tell him to throw them away?”

“Should I?” He actually put genuine thought into it.

“Lancelot.” You scolded.

He surrendered under that scolding look. “I will tell him tomorrow.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Tomorrow? Let me guess, after he threw that egg?”

His eyes gave it away. “Perhaps.”

A sigh passed your lips. “Whilst we are speaking of angry knights holding a grudge, what exactly did my father speak to you about last night?”

The Ash Man folded his hands together behind his back. “We spoke for quite some time.”

It was obvious that that conversation had been quite nerve-wracking for him. Of course that only fueled your curiosity. “I’ve never known my father to be capable of having a long conversation…”

He began naming a few things that stood out from that conversation. “He told me he would have murdered me, if our night together had been one with a full moon.”

“Gods…” It was enough to feel embarrassed, you hid your face in your hand, “What else did he say?”

He was a tad amused by the response. “Helio wanted to know everything about my upbringing.”

Oh no… that must have been painful. “Gods, I’m so sorry-”

Lancelot watched you bring your hand around his arm to draw him closer. “Do not worry. I told him what he wanted to know. He wanted to hear how I became who I am now, to understand.”

At least now Helio seemed interested in learning who he was.

“He stopped asking once I began speaking of Goliath.” He said.

You snorted a laugh at that, “What did you tell him about dear Goliath?”

The spark in his eyes when you showed interest on the topic was lovely. “That I found Goliath in the forest as a wild steed. I saw him a couple of times before, but he ran off every time I came close to him.”

By leaning your head against his shoulder, you showed that you were listening.

He quietly continued. “I was only a year or two younger than Percival I believe, when I was near the monastery after one midday, Goliath emerged from the trees and walked over to me with caution. As I sat on the grass, this graceful creature joined my side.”

Maybe the loyal animal had once believed his marks to be tears, maybe Goliath wished to comfort a weeping child. He had bonded with him instantly. There was only Goliath and Father, and often when Father was disappointed, there was only Goliath.

He put a hand over the one you had on his arm. “When I met you, it felt similar to the day I met Goliath. There was something different…”

“A call of destiny?” You asked, not offended that he compared the two meetings.

“I believe it was.” He admitted a long kept secret. “Even now, I can still feel it. Your eyes that glow green, I dreamed of them many a night since we met.”

It was not uncommon for others to never forget the sight of magic. “Probably because I was healing you when you saw it first.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “I know now that destiny has brought us together. I wonder what, or who, else it will bring to us.”

“It brought us Squirrel.” You said.

He hummed in agreement. “The boy bound us together.”

You thought back to when you had almost made the biggest mistake. “I was going to leave you after we fled the paladin camp, but Squirrel refused to come without you.”

Lancelot recalled the moment as well. “Everything could have been different if he was not there. I would not be here. You would have still hated me.”

Many things would have went a different route. “I’d probably be killed by Soran, or eaten by wolves.”

He turned until he was facing you. “We would not be, as we are now.”

It was actually frightening to think of it. All of it happened because Squirrel had convinced you to not leave the Ash Man behind despite your hate for him. If you had been more stubborn…

A lump formed in your throat at the thought, your voice broke. “I can’t envision a life without you…”

He was filled with regret upon seeing you become upset at the mere thought that he would not be with you.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to put on a brave face and felt silly for how it had made you feel.

His arms still came around to encapsulated your form, he wasn’t going anywhere without you. As if it was a certain skill that he did not know he possessed his fingers massaged the back of your scalp soothingly. Always when in his arms, there was the wish to be as close to him as possible. Your hands tangled in his jerkin, your face rested against his chest, anything to be close.

“I will always be with you, by heart and soul.” He gently hushed.

“Always?” You asked.

“Always.” He vowed.

You leaned back a little, looked into his eyes, “Does that mean I won’t be alone in my room tonight?”

His thoughts were racing, you must have noticed how surprised he was to hear the inquiry.

The corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. “I had to evade two arrows for spending a night with you.”

You grinned back at him, teasing, “Surely a man like yourself is not scared away so easily? We don’t have to do anything other than sleep.”

His voice went down into a husk. “You see, that might be a problem…”

“Why?” You asked.

His hand came up and his fingers held your chin. “Because I want you.”

That confession, mixed with the genuine intense interest in his gaze, made you fall silent. He felt your bottom lip with his thumb. When your eyes locked on his lips, you fell at their mercy as they crashed unto yours.

The fear of being hunted down by a crossbow did not stop him from indulging your request to not be alone in the night.

It was as if your lips had not parted, not even as your back hit the mattress of his bed mere moments later and the gasp was let out into his mouth. His hand wandered over you, drowning your body with attention. The hunger in him as he kissed from your shoulder to your neck was setting you aflame. There was more confidence in him, he worked on undoing the bodice, you were as impatient as he was and began to help. He uttered something against your neck. You hummed, not having heard what was said.

“I love you.” He breathed under your ear, repeating it out of fear that you hadn’t heard him well, “I love you very much.”

You curled your fingers in his hair, pressed a kiss to his head. “And I love you. Always and forever.” It was an oath you made.

He got that leather open far quicker than you could have anticipated, his hand went under it immediately. You couldn’t help but be baffled and smile at the eagerness he displayed.

“Gods…” You chuckled a little when he palmed a breast shamelessly.

His mouth latched onto the skin under your ear, sucking it gently, teeth grazing over it.

If he could act this bold, so could you. Your hand teasingly traveled down his chest and to the cord of his trousers, loosening them just enough to slip past the waistband. He choked a breath when feeling your hand wrap around him, he stopped kissing you for a moment and rested his face in the crook of your neck. You brought your other hand back to his hair and softly massaged his scalp. He held the sheet in his balded fist, moaning deeply against your skin. Your knee came up to rest against his hip, his free hand flew to your thigh to hold it close. This was pleasant, to have such control and hear him utter your name in that low tone. You had no objections to him chasing his release like this, the night had only just begun. He was terribly sensitive now, like he had been hoping for this the whole day. He kneaded at the soft flesh of your thigh, nearly panting in your neck.

“Did you miss this?” You teased softly.

He could barely form the sentence. “I… missed… you.”

“You’re so sensitive tonight.” Your observation fell. “Will it not be better if I please you like this first? We can share another moment together once you’ve rested or when you’re up for it again.”

The last time, his body had been ready again quicker than he thought it could possibly be. He had fallen asleep, but woke again minutes later when your knee had grazed near his groin in your sleep, all of him had woken and kept him awake until the feeling had subsided again. If you had not send him out of the room that morning, he would have easily hardened again to offer you a repeat of the night before. And with all that had happened, this longing had increased strongly inside of him. Not long ago he had believed to be spending the rest of his life in a dungeon, unable to ever have a moment such as this with you again. Now that he was free, he would not let a moment like this go to waste. Getting rid of this dire need for release, would make him be able to enjoy you longer afterwards.

The answer came in the form of him putting his hand over the one you were using to stimulate him, he held it loosely as it continued to do so.

“I will reward your generosity.” His lips brushed over your jaw. “In any way you want me to.”

Soft giggles past your lips when his mouth touched a ticklish spot under your jaw. Often he moved into your hold on him, struggling to keep his vocal responses to a low volume.

His mouth stopped moving along your collarbone when the knock at his door sounded. Then a flood of knocks hammered on his door, and he sighed in frustration.

“Who-” You began.

“Ser Florent.” He knew it right away.

Your hold on him went away, and he climbed off of you.

It made you panic a little, “What do I do?”

“The same you made me do?” He grinned, and gestured to the spot behind his door. He got quite a look in return for that, but you did follow the advice

As you stood behind the door, you took the moment to close up your bodice again.

He put on his cloak to hide the state he was in, and only opened the door a little, “Yes?”

Ser Florent stood there, looking quite tired, “You are still awake? Thank the gods. May I ask for a moment of your time? I need some help with escorting a couple of people, who found the rest of the ale from the feast down by the kitchens, to their sleeping quarters.”

From behind the door you heard the Ash Man sigh.

“I will help.” Lancelot told him.

He followed Ser Florent, closing the door of his room behind him and leaving you inside alone. You picked your jacket up from the floor where it had been carelessly abandoned moments ago. It was a pity that the interruption had occurred, you thought it best to just head to your own room for the night.

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me-uglypretty · 1 year

Text

a tutor and a kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: A suspicious tutor for the Barton’s children results in Natasha taking caution steps, while trying to enjoy Christmas and discovering something better.

Warning: (18+) fluff, minor violence, use of dagger | 4k words

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The bonfire crackles, gleaming in tinge of amber, and gleamed wondrously on gleeful faces. Conversations buzzes around, whirring together with the cold wind, and sounds of tree brunches rustling in response.

“We’re putting up the tree tomorrow,” a voice exclaimed, buried by another trying to pass through in fumbles of heavy breaths. “And Miss Tu— to, toto, is helping!”

Natasha amusedly observed the children energetically exchanging their opinion on said wrong name and perceived her friend’s tried sigh. Clint waves his hand at her, a silent plead, please distract them, and she shrugs her shoulder.

“Kids, why don’t we hear some stories from your dad?” Natasha perched her elbows at the edge of her knees.

A glare settled on Clint’s face till his children’s attention was drawn to him. Cooper was profusely wishing to hear more about his father’s action filled stories. Nathaniel squealed excitedly, not entirely understanding, but simply sharing his excitement.

While Clint struggled to prepare a story that wasn’t gory from his past, Natasha tentatively surveys their surroundings. A habit picked up, and never forgotten in the name of ensuring those around her were safe. Although, they were very safe in Clint’s farmhouse.

Sound of footsteps peaks her attention as she stared ahead. Familiar reflective shade of pink and the distinct voices draws a smile on her face. Lila waves animatedly at her, and she pats the space beside her as the young girl takes the seat there.

“Dad, you forgot the marshmallow.”

The enthusiastic children, frowns gloomily, and the youngest was at the edge of crying. Natasha shakes her head, noting down her friend’s offended look, then the flash of reminder and he’s meeting her eyes, another pleading look.

He had inadequately forgotten his children’s request of marshmallow for their family’s weekly bonfire. Thus, his escape was in the name of his friends’ distraction because his children adored their Auntie Nat.

Laura, his lovely wife, shares a knowing look with Natasha, then diverted her attention to her guilty husband. “I’m sure, daddy would happily get some tomorrow. Now, who wants hot chocolate?”

Thrill cheers erupt, and Natasha giddily admires the sight. The absent innocence of her childhood wounds her heart, but she devotes her heart into these special moments together. The innocence smiles and kindness, it gradually heals her inner child.

“Is Auntie Yelena coming tomorrow? I want to show her my new ninja move,” Nathaniel tugged the ridges of Natasha’s sleeve.

A smile appears on her face, spreading wide to the glint in her eyes. “Yes, she’s bringing Kate along too.”

The conversation continues energetically. Natasha reminisces the minimal period when she was allowed to pretend that life was that—purely living as any other kid around her, freely cycling around her neighbourhood as she pleased, free to lay on the grass and play at the playground with her young sister, and so naïve of what was actually real, but still, she immersed herself happily in those precious years.

Reuniting with Yelena after all those years, missed adolescence years, the conversation between sisters—which does happen now, just not entirely icky as Yelena would whine about, and more them, two former assassins and their stolen childhood—and experiencing life that wasn’t crafted for them.

It wasn’t easy, but that bond shared from years ago, still flutters at every soft smile and the seconds before danger collides upon them.

They were still kids, simply older and bearing years of trauma.

“Miss Tutor promised to teach us how to make snow globes! I hope she does that cool magic trick…”

Natasha’s furrowed her eyebrows, entertained by the recurrent mention of someone unknown and curious at the sheer eagerness on the children faces, even the oldest ones were excited.

Laura noticed her expression, and reached her hand forward, tapping Natasha’s thigh. “Clint hired a tutor for them. She’s great, but I think they might love her, a little too much,” she explained, “Don’t worry. She’s clean.”

Clean, and yet, curiosity surges in her chest. She wouldn’t find said person utterly clean or safe, till herself had interrogate the person thoroughly.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” Natasha nodded her head, gaze falling on the flickering fire and particles of ash drifting in the air.

Clint grunted after his youngest son playfully punches him in attempt of showcasing his ninja move. “She’s a good one, Nat.”

Natasha doesn’t question them, but hears the conversation hovering over the same person, and remained as that, someone who’s good and loved by the children.

They giddily huddled around the bonfire, drinking hot chocolate and munching on cookies. Natasha’s hand always being held by her own cup of hot chocolate and the other by one of Barton’s children, all appearing as her favourite, even little Nathaniel who was meant to be little Natasha.

The evening gave them relief, especially Natasha. A beautiful family tradition, sounds emitting of joy and gleaming eyes. Just lovely for hearts pulsing during a festive month.

Natasha couldn’t find herself among stranger without questioning their sinister creature. In the company of those known widely by their broad smile and wealth or those simply offering drink to her with their failed flirtatious tricks, her mind doesn’t permit rest till she was aware that danger wasn’t lingering around.

Thus, she was agitated by the lateness of her God children’s tutor.

“Oh god, Natasha, please relax, okay? Chill,” said her sister, briskly downing her cup of hot chocolate then eyeing Natasha’s untouched cup. “You don’t want?” Yelena gestured to the cup, hands already clasping the handle.

Natasha shakes her head. A small smile curves on her lips as she gentle push the cup towards Yelena. “You’re going to get a stomach ache.”

Yelena waves her hand, disregarding her sister’s advice as she hungrily bites another cookie and dunking the half-eaten cooking into the cup. “It’s very good. You should learn, sestra. We can finally have good home cook meal.”

Take-out has been their surviving nutrition since the sisters’ rented out an apartment together. Natasha has always been excellent at her presented task, but cooking wasn’t the one.

Take down an entire operation? Give her a week or less, and she’d have their entire history data too. Battle aliens without any sort of extra energy? Watch her jump on an alien vehicle without a worry. But ask her to cook a decent meal that wasn’t boxed and instant? Expect something burnt, spoilt or tasteless, or extremely bitter for some bizarre reason.

However, Yelena pride herself on preparing the best macaroni and cheese. At some point, both sisters became progressively tired of the same food which lead them to ordering take-outs. Every single day.

“You can’t survive on sugar, Yelena,” Laura’s voice quipped. “But I can teach you how to bake cookies and cook, you know, so you don’t expect your sister to do everything.”

The offended gasp from the youngest of them, received hefty laughter in return.

“Natasha don’t think you got out of this. You need to learn too,” Laura added, which made the latter glare at her, because it was enough for her younger sister to laugh and point accusingly at her sister.

“Hah! I’m telling Kate Bishop.”

They watch amusedly as golden head of hair bops excitedly, hands waving in the air, mouth wide and happy. The opposite, taller with messy brunette hair, Kate, mirrors her excitement.

“It’s so nice to see her like this,” Natasha muttered, and exchanging an understanding smile with Laura. “And for your information, I’m not a bad cook. I’m simply not good at it.”

Laura laughs as her hand rest firmly on Natasha’s shoulder. “Sure, if it makes you happy. But I’m still ready to teach you how to cook.”

“Who’s learning to cook? Can I join? I’m good with heat!” a loud voice rings, inciting optimism greetings from the Barton children.

“Miss Tutor!” Nathaniel exclaimed, pushing pass his siblings. “Did you learn a new trick yet?”

From the kitchen, Natasha witness the scene unfold. Heavy coat hanging on sturdy arm, along with several Christmas themed paper bags. You weren’t aware of her wary eyes on you, but simply allowing the young boy to drag you away.

“That’s Miss Y/n, she’s the new tutor,” Laura explained. “Don’t scare her off,” she pointed, eyebrows raised and waiting for a tolerable answer.

Natasha shrugs her shoulder indifferently. “We’ll see.”

An elbow on the table, her cheek comfortably resting on the palm of her hand, she observes you from afar. The warm air of the Barton’s house calmed her scorching curiosity and aid her into watching than instantly falling into her customary interrogation routine.

You were a young woman, painfully donned in simple attire, flashing a bright smile that triggered waves of grins in return, and a noticeable flair in your movement. Seemingly accustomed to your environment, hand extending precisely when one of the snow globes rolls off the table, then another guiding young Nathaniel’s paint brush.

“Go join them.”

Natasha doesn’t meet her friend’s gaze. “Where did you find Miss Tutor?”

Clint huffed. “You do know that I don’t allow just anyone here, right?

There’s a hint of offence and tease in his tone. Natasha spiritedly slaps his arm, “I know, old man. There’s just something about her.”

“She seems to really know herself around here, uh? And she’s pretty too…” he added the last part hastily, and smile victoriously as his friend nods, gaze captivated on you.

Natasha became lost in contemplation of your modest state. Perhaps, a part of her mind could agree, you were indeed pretty, and whereas the other, solicits to obtain your motive. Someone that kind, attractive, good with children, eyes glimmering beneath fairy lights so enchantingly—

I don’t trust her, said in disdain groan, and more when she’s dragged into the hall room, compelled into joining their yearly tradition of decorating the Christmas tree.

“Natasha, meet Miss Y/n,” Clint introduced, persuasively nudging his friend’s shoulder towards your direction.

A friendly smile curves on your lips. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” the greeting fell gentlely from your mouth. The brush left deserted on the table as your hand extend to shake hers.

Natasha gawked at your hand. Red paint was smeared on your hand, the tips of your fingers shimmered with silver glitters, and the sight mirrors those of the children around. Her stern gaze must had caught your attention when you bashfully recoiled.

“Sorry, I get carried away sometimes,” you excused, trying to remove the stained colours on the an equally stained rag. “Okay. This isn’t working out. Yelena, please take over?” you presumedly stood, “Do not go overboard.”

Yelena scoffed. “I will never. Tell that to Kate Bishop.”

The exchange appeared habitual which vexes her. Why were you familiar with her younger sister? How dare you straightforwardly have things in order? Who allowed you to signal her into following you? And why was she soundlessly trailing behind you towards the kitchen?

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier,” you glanced at her, a nervous smile on your face before diverting your attention to the sink. “Hmm, the water’s pretty cold.”

She attentively watches the movement of your hands beneath the tap, scrubbing as though you were removing something far worse than paint, then turning the tap off and lathering your hands with soap. The fragrance of lavender reaches her nostril. You carefully clean the crook and corners of your hands, even beneath your nails.

Most don’t do that—it must mean something awful.

“Who are you?”

The question halted your movement. “Didn’t think you’d start so soon.”

Natasha frowned. “Excuse me—”

“Let’s go for a walk and you can ask me everything,” you continued washing your hands. “Clint warned me so, I’m prepared,” and you turned around, crossing your arms as you lean back on the counter.

She doesn’t like it. The utmost confidence in your stance. A delight glint in your round eyes. Where the faux white light in the kitchen, cast a mysterious glow upon your head.

“Should we go?” you thumb pointed towards the door, and she nodded her head.

Natasha was astonished to find your good-mannered act of pushing the door open, and gesturing for her to walk forward first, then closing the door behind. The cold wind dispirits herself from what’s bound to ensue after questioning you, because she rather engulf herself in a warm blanket and watch her sister’s tantrum with children much younger than her.

But she demands to know your intentions.

As the distance expands, the Christmas melody and murmurs of conversation fades. Natasha contemplate each step you took beside her. The twitch of your fingers, as if you were reaching for something, then the subtle glance towards her, like you needed to know if she was still there.

“In there,” Natasha pointed towards the barn and you undoubtedly obeyed.

The barn tracks an earthy scent. Inside, it’s almost dark, if not for the moon’s soft obscured glow through the windows. An eerie silent emits from lack of voices and more so, the buzzes of insects. Several pieces of Christmas ornaments were chaotically thrown around. Tinsels hanging awkwardly from the window to the length of an extensive timber. Miniature reindeers hanging from fish strings that gives off an illusion of flying reindeers. It was absolutely the work of her God children.

Natasha stealthily admired the decoration and doesn’t utter a word. She looked at the dirty ground, walked around the barn, frowned at the disheartened look on your face as you shivered.

“Okay, I’m ready, hit me,” you professed, taking a seat on the nicely kept hay. “Not literally though. This is my favourite top.”

She casted a vague wandering look upon your supposed favourite top which was, expectedly, smeared with paint. Then, a playful smile widespread on your face, because you were joking, and she didn’t catch on.

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No?”

Natasha crossed her arms, standing straight and robust, with a strict complexion and an unspoken warning that blaze dangerously in her eyes. One wrong move and there would be consequences.

“Clint never had help around here. So, suddenly, you’re here? Come on, cut the shit. Who are you working for?” Natasha voiced sternly, and takes a taunting step forward, while you gulped, appearing afraid.

“Clint did not— sorry— whoa, you’re really into this and—” a shaky voice resonates in your throat, and it’s different than your lively voice she had heard before.

You averted your gaze from Natasha, and it troubled her, who, nevertheless, still viewed your characteristic as suspicious. When you ceased speaking and meeting her gaze with those eyes gleaming in excitement, she warily takes a step forward, at arm length from you.

A deep intake of breath, then it’s soft, but it’s clear, the chuckles that came from you.

“That’s what you expected me to say? Wallow in fear before the great Black Widow?”

Natasha doesn’t bother to hear more as she acted on reflex. The swift grasps of a dagger hidden in her black boots, and she lurched forward, her arm pushes your down from between your neck and chest. More pressure and your breathing circulation would had be disturbed, or a heavy ache would tremble in your chest. While her right hand readily held the danger close to your cheek, despite its petite size, the glint of sharpness makes you shudder.

“Okay! I give in! Clint bet me that I wouldn’t dare— why does this knife look so cute and dangerous— he said I wouldn’t dare challenge you!”

She paused, challenging eyes scrutinise every single reaction on your face to where your eyes flickers to her then the dagger and how your body struggled pathetically beneath her hold.

In the distance, she perfectly distinguishes the song of Silent Night plucking at her brain. It’s Christmas and I’m doing this, where’s the fucking break?

“Who sent you? What’s your name?”

You coughed, trying to ease the pressure brought upon your throat at her assault. But she was relentless and entirely too strong.

“What does Tutor stand for Miss Tutor? I would not hesitate to end you. Answers me!”

What she had expected—wasn’t the flutter of laughter or her heart’s sudden interest to hear more of that unique sound, and the way your smile seems ample to submerge her mind into that sound. It’s unconventional. Natasha expected to prod into your mind, gather needed information, and detent your further danger on the Barton family.

But you were bursting in surprises when you swiftly pushed her backwards, then tackled her on the hay that was once uncomfortably scratching your clothed back. The dagger fell from her hand at the sudden attack. Russian curses spew from her mouth while your eyes widened curiously, then a gentle smile curves on your lips.

“You don’t speak Russian much,” you noted with interested. “Angry or whatever, really, it’s nice to hear you speaking your mother tongue.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed. “You speak Russian?”

“Among other languages. I am a tutor as in Miss Tutor. Tutoring…someone who tutors people.”

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Natasha doesn’t like that—the indifferent in your voice, like she wasn’t holding you down before and expecting answers than be held down in return and carelessly at that, because she could easily switch her position.

But she wanted to know.

“Clint did really bet me though. I’m sorry for not being more exciting and cooler, but just really reckless,” you humoured, “But I’m kind of liking this position. It feels like I’m all powerful. Yelena’s not wrong about the whole superhero thing.”

Natasha lifted her head, “Yelena? How do you know her?” she pushes you off her, “Why do you know my sister?”

You raised your hands as she takes threatening steps towards you. “We met when she came over with Kate and I was tutoring the kids.”

“Who are you?”

The question spat angrily from her mouth, and yours wide, unable to utter an answer back that would avoid any sort of violence. Natasha arched her eyebrow, still giving you a final chance. One second passed then two, three, and the fourth befell upon you with her harsh shove and your back pressed on brittle wood.

However, you refused submitting to her brutality. The abrupt shove of your hands emits a warmth, a scarlet tint canvassing your skin and cheeks, vast different from the tone of your skin. It leaves her shocked, gasping as her hands smoothens over her clothed collarbone.

“What the hell,” she glared, while you snickered.

“Oh come, it’s Christmas! Let’s toast some marshmallow and not ourselves,” you jested, “Burned human flesh…isn’t really appealing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched. Anger flairs dangerously in her eyes, heart blazing with passion to eliminate a supposed threat, and she rose, readily staggering towards you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop! That’s enough! Cool down kid!”

Amber flame flickers through the width of your hands, reflecting hauntingly in your eyes, and your rigid stance. But a coy smile was smeared teasingly over your lips, and she’s angrily glaring at you.

“Ha! You owe me Kate Bishop.”

Natasha glance to where several bodies were huddled together by the barn’s door. Yelena was contentedly taking cash from Kate, while Clint shakes his head and pushed them aside as he stepped entirely into the barn.

“Natasha, Miss Tutor is not lying. She’s a good kid. We put her up to it. Please, stop, everyone,” the latter part pointed accusingly at the two friends arguing in the back. “Y/n isn’t bad news. Just trying to have a second chance in life, like you, like Yelena, and she’s not bad,” he breathed out.

“What?” Natasha was baffled. “You pranked me. You fucking pranked me? Thing one and thing two was in it too?”

Bunch of heys resonates in response, and Clint nods his head.

Natasha takes a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Then, she meets your gaze. “You’re cool?”

The flames in your hands extinguishes swiftly and you waved them with a jovial smile. “Very cool.”

“Ugh, their dropping puns now. Let’s go,” Yelena assured her friend, and gave a pointed look at Clint. “Old man, your children are waiting for you.”

Clint huffed. “Don’t burn anything down.”

As the group walked away, Natasha relaxed the tense in her muscles and you watched her with that aggravating glint in your eyes.

“If it makes you feel better, Kate was sure that you would had attacked me the second I walked in,” you pursed your lips, the next words seeming complicated for you to utter. “But I’m fifty dollar richer cause I said you wouldn’t, and we’ll do this in private, which Clint disagree— they just assume you’d find target and hit.”

Natasha restrained the smile on her face as she watches your commitment on proving them wrong. The motion of your hands, eyes widening when your speech stretches to different part, and maybe, for a fleeting second, she was admiring the spark within you which seems to spread warmth.

Not just the abrupt flairs of fire, but the person that you were—not exactly bad, just someone she doesn’t know.

At that moment, she overhears the melodious voices of her family and the tunes of Christmas dispersed delight in her chest. And you, seemingly standing there, staring at her, waiting for something else to be said or happen.

“It’s cold,” you murmured.

Natasha smiles—her famous lopsided smile blooming gleefully on her face, and you were shocked, then you’re smiling just as wide. She remained there, few minutes of facing each other, and without a word, she takes steps towards the exit.

“Hey, you dropped this,” you hastily reached her side. The dagger held softly in your hand and she takes it, the feeble graze of skins made you shiver, and she hasn’t stop smiling.

You were warm, and she was cold, and it felt as though, this puzzle was meant to unite like this.

“Oh look,” you lifted your gaze upwards, a shy smile adorning on your lips as she follows your gaze.

A mistletoe dangles above heads, brilliant green and red, so lively and teasing those who falls beneath.

Natasha couldn’t ignored it, the thumping in her chest, your warmth body close to hers, the anger that was reduce to something—it’s different, and she wouldn’t dare admit, but she likes the feeling spreading through her chest and where her fingers twitches.

And you appeared the same, bashful smile, the secretive look in your eyes that she understood. Why does she understand you?

It takes her one deep breath, your curious look, the dagger thoughtlessly kept in her pocket, and her hands grasps your face. She contemplated the idea of a silly tradition, then, in one sudden move, she pressed her body into yours and crushes her lips over yours.

You made a noise, giving into her touch. Words weren’t exchanged, just the knowing touch and a needed silence. Your hands rest firmly on her waist, gripping her clothed flesh as you allow your body to slack into hers, and she’s holding you close.

Natasha leans away first, while you hazily chased after her—wanting to feel her more, a hunger that erupts in your chest for her, and she finds it funny that you were readily giving into her.

“You are really warm,” she whispered, her thumb pressed at the edge of your lip, and trails her thumb to where your chin ends. “You got my attention,” she pats your chest softly, then removes herself entirely.

“What?”

The ardent glow of night casted an attractive gleam over your face, and hers, each other admiring the sight adoringly. Natasha doesn’t wish to risk ruining a truly, joyful moment, so she extended her hand for you take and hummed when you easily accepted.

Beside her, you were giddily smiling, fingers firmly enclosing around hers. “I love Christmas.”

The cold evening propels chills on skin, while smiles spread and hearts pulses happily. Natasha glances at you, once, twice, and each time overcomes her with a certain joy, perhaps, this was the so-called Christmas magic that flutters in her chest.

The smiles on those she loves, her sister already waiting by the door with a cheeky expression, the children that she swore to love and protect, and you—a stranger she finds herself completely drawn to.

And when the next year arrives in its merry cheers, Natasha gleefully introduced you as her wife, and kissed you as though, life was bursting colourfully at every second her lips met yours.

And that—a mistletoe that was securely kept in her pocket for the years after.

#winter things #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine

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in-my-feels-probably · 1 year

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Hi! Can i ask a request for Aemond, where him and reader have a little daughter and after Lucerys death Daemon sends cheese and blood to kill the baby but in the end they fail, pure comfort/protective Aemond in the end with him being relieved but scared and not wanting to keep his eye off of his daughter

Lucky, Indeed

Request: Hi! Can i ask a request for Aemond, where him and reader have a little daughter and after Lucerys death Daemon sends cheese and blood to kill the baby but in the end they fail, pure comfort/protective Aemond in the end with him being relieved but scared and not wanting to keep his eye off of his daughter

Hi! Sorry it took me a bit to get to this request, thank you for sending it in. I love this idea. I’m team Black, but I love a good angst story, and I love Aemond, so it works out. Honestly, it’s hard to even pick a side, when something as terrible as Blood and Cheese happened. Anyway, that’s beside the point. This is my first Aemond request in a while, so hopefully it isn’t too rusty. I hope you like it, enjoy!

Also, for anyone who wants a full length Aemond fic, I have an Aemond x OC (Aelora Velaryon) that is currently a prologue and six chapters long, about 23K words currently. It’s loosely based off of my fic I wrote for Aemond called Doomsday, which you can find on my masterlist. You also can find the fic that’s in progress there, it’s called We’re Burned For Better. It’s on here, wattpad, and ao3, for anyone who wants to read it on their preferred platform. There’s more info about it on my masterlist if you’re interested!

(Warnings: swearing, blood and cheese, mentions of gore, blood, vague mentions of assault, violence, death, grief, trauma, let me know if i missed anything)

—

After Aegon had been crowned King, Aemond was instructed to give word to the key Lords of the realm, asking that they bend the knee in return for the right price being paid for their fealty. You, being married to Aemond, had to stand by his side as his wife. You couldn’t object, or voice your opinions.

You had to hold your tongue, while the realm waited to see what the fate of House Targaryen would be.

That is not to say you entirely approved of the actions the Green’s committed after the death of King Viserys. But it was not your House to meddle in, nor your right to do so. You instead had to wait for your husband’s return, praying that he’d come back with good news.

When Aemond left on Vhagar to treat with Lord Borros Baratheon, your daughter had just turned two. You were left behind with her, little Saera, who had been named after her predecessor.

It is said that the former’s first word was “no,” which amused Aemond to no end. She was said to be clever, spirited, and fierce, yet neglected by her parents. The Maester’s recorded that because she was the ninth born child, her siblings came at a higher priority to the King and Queen.

A feeling Aemond was not unaccustomed to, he himself having been born the second son to King Viserys, who had hoped and prayed for his first boy. By the time Aemond came, the excitement and magic of finally having a son had worn off.

Knowing all too well what it was like to feel unwanted by your parents, Aemond decreed the day Saera was born that she would never know the feeling. She’d only know love and attentiveness, things you and Aemond were happy enough to give her. Aemond had been worried about becoming a father, that was clear enough to you during your pregnancy. But his worries faded away when he caught his first glimpse of her, his heart swelling at the sight.

The two had become inseparable since then.

You often had to come fetch her out of her father’s lap during meetings, scolding him when you’d find the pair of them mucking about in the courtyard, Saera resting atop his shoulders. Where he went, she followed. It was quite a sight to see. The mighty Aemond Targaryen…stone faced and stoic…with a little girl barely out of cloth diapers, teetering behind him as she giggled, following along.

Aemond had never spent more than a few days away from Saera, nor you, since the time you delivered her. Now, he had been charged with a task by his King and the Hand, one of which he had to obey and follow.

It has been days since he bid you both goodbye, and you anxiously awaited his return.

Knowing Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, they would never forfeit the crown. Not after the events that led to Aegon being crowned in the first place. They would never bend the knee, especially to a believed to be usurper.

While Daemon may be quick to anger, however, you knew that Rhaenyra was not. She would act in the interest of the realm, not on her own ambition. It was a shame she had the throne stolen out from under her.

She’d make for a good Queen.

For now, you had to wait, and hope, and pray that the rift between the family was somehow mendable. That the war would somehow be over before it started, and no lives would be lost. It was foolish hopes, you knew.

You understood just how naive you’d been, the day Aemond returned from Storm’s End.

Vhagar had been spotted in the skies, and Ser Criston had sent word to you, giving you little time to prepare. A handmaiden had just come to take Saera for her bath, leaving you alone to pace back and forth in your chambers. Before long, the door was flung open, and your husband burst in.

Aemond looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and was certainly as pale as one.

He reached for you with shaky hands, wide eyed, and you quickly moved to his side. You gripped his hands in yours, making him look you in the eye.

“What is it? What has happened?”

Aemond looked like he was going to be sick, and he fell to his knees. You looked down at him in shock, quickly dropping to your knees, scrambling to keep him steady. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaning. You hurriedly batted his hands away from his eyes, cradling his face in your palms.

“Aemond? What has happened, you must tell me.”

He looked at you in despair, shaking his head.

“Lucerys is dead.”

You gasped, pulling your hands away from his face to steady yourself, lowering yourself all the way to the floor.

“What?”

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead,” he confirmed, putting a permanent pit in your stomach. “Vhagar killed him.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “That can’t be. Aemond, tell me that this is nothing but a cruel joke.”

“It isn’t, Y/N. I couldn’t stop her. Vhagar went after Arrax, she wouldn’t listen to me. Lucerys is gone.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, willing yourself not to be sick. You shakily stood, clutching your hands to your stomach. “Aemond, I can’t…”

Oh Gods, you thought. Rhaenyra. She was probably mad with grief, the poor girl.

He stood up and held onto your forearms, keeping you still. “It will be alright.”

“It won't!” You countered, fighting the tears welling in your eyes. “Luke is a child. Rhaenyra’s child. Her baby boy is dead, she’ll have our heads for this!”

“She won’t–”

“You can’t promise that! Do you truly think there will be no consequences for the death of one of her children? If it were the other way around, if they were the cause of Saera’s death, or one of Helaena’s children…would we not retaliate? Daemon is by her side, Aemond. He won’t let this go, that I can promise you.”

Aemond brought you into his arms, cradling your head into his chest. “I’ll keep you and Saera safe. That, I can promise you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We have to tell your mother and Aegon,” you said softly, muffled into his shoulder.

You wrapped your arms tight around his waist, clinging to your husband. Maybe, you thought, if you shielded your eyes in his chest, he’d be able to shield you from whatever may come that would harm you.

You felt him nod.

“We will.”

—

In the days that followed, you walked on eggshells around the Keep. You worried for you and your family, as well as Helaena and her children. You worried for the people of King’s Landing, who were not equipped for a siege. The city was on high alert, preparing for the imminent war.

You half expected Rhaenyra to come on dragonback herself, burning the city down in a fiery rage that would consume you all.

But she didn’t.

You spent days on edge, waiting for her first attack. The ships that docked were showing up with less and less imports, which meant she was planning to cut off some of your supplies. But that was the only retaliation she sent your way. No consequences for the death of her son were met by her justice. You waited anxiously for the day Rhaenyra would return to collect her debt of the life you now owed her.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. There was no sign of the Black’s or their army, except for one letter Aegon received from Dragonstone a month after the death of Lucerys. It read,

“Lucerys Velaryon will be avenged. You owe My Queen a debt. I will see to it that it is paid in full. Count your days, and live them well…the next may be your last.” – Daemon Targaryen

When Aegon called you, his family, and the war council to the Throne Room to read it aloud, you had to excuse yourself. You hurried out of the room, barely making it into a side corridor before retching onto the floor. A handmaiden had followed you out, leaving your side before returning momentarily with Aemond hot on her heels.

“Come, my love,” he said, securing his arm around your waist. “Let’s get you to our chambers, hmm?”

That night, you didn’t let Aemond or Saera out of your sight. The rest of the family did the same, keeping themselves heavily guarded and close together.

But within the month, nothing had changed. No one had come. More ships arrived in volume to the harbor in the same month, and it seemed as if Rhaenyra had pulled back her fleet from stopping the supply chain. Another month passed, and nothing happened. The city slowly went back to normal, the ports as well.

You weren’t sure how, but you and the family slowly forgot about the events of the previous months. It was always looming in the back of your minds, that was true enough. But it was no longer your main concern, as you all had begun busying yourselves with other tasks.

It was almost pleasant, spending so much time with Aemond and your daughter every day. The city was still warm, it had yet to succumb to the cold of winter. If you tried hard enough, you could keep yourself from thinking of the real reason why you had been given this time with your family.

But sure enough, your luck ended.

At the time, you didn’t know who the assassins were. You had come to know in the days that followed. Their aliases were all that was known about the two men, except for their occupations.

Blood was a butcher. He was once a member of the City Watch, but he lost his gold cloak for beating a woman employed by a pleasure house to death while drunk and rageful. Cheese was a ratcatcher, extremely knowledgeable of the hidden tunnels of the Red Keep. They were employed by Mysaria, the White Worm, who was employed by Daemon.

A promise was a promise, and the Black’s had promised you a death. In the last quarter of the fourth month after Lucerys’s death, Blood and Cheese had come to collect.

It was near dusk, and Aemond was still in a meeting. He had been given more duties upon Aegon’s coronation, and he tended to get caught running late into the evenings with the council.

It was of no consequence to you. He had spent all day with you and Saera, like he did most days. A few days here and there that he was a little late returning to your chambers in the evening, it was the price you were willing to pay to get him all to yourselves during the day.

You were well occupied as well, bouncing Saera on your hip while walking around your room, trying to tire her out so that she’d sleep through the night.

When she finally calmed, you placed her down in her cradle. She immediately curled up under her covers, making you smile. You walked around the room, closing all the shutters and blowing out all of the candles, before heading to the connecting room to change into your evening clothes.

You undressed and redressed quickly, feeling quite tired yourself.

When you stepped back into the room, the shutter that you had just closed was open. Confused, you walked over to peer out the window, before reshuttering it again. You figured the wind had blown it open. It was nearing winter, after all.

Still, it chilled the room.

You decided to inform the guard posted outside your door, who would pass on the information in the morning to someone who could come and fix it. You sighed, walking over to your chamber door and quietly opening it.

“Ser, if you could–”

The words died on your tongue as you looked down in horror to see your guard crumpled on the floor, his neck snapped.

You opened your mouth to scream, but it was quickly covered by a large hand, one that hastily pulled you back into your room.

“Make a sound and I slit your throat. Don’t test me,” you heard in your ear, making you shakily nod.

You heard the door latch behind you, and felt a blade placed at the base of your throat. A man, seemingly much smaller than the one holding you captive, rushed over to Saera’s cradle, picking her up.

“No, please–”

“Shut your mouth. Another word before we speak and you’ll face a fate much worse than death. Scream for help, and I promise that your daughter will be dead before anyone can even reach the door.”

Tears sprung in your eyes as you watched the man cradle your daughter, who had yet to wake up. You kept your voices low.

“I’m Blood,” the man said into your ear, letting you go but keeping the knife pointed at you as he blocked the door. “That’s Cheese.”

“Why are you here?”

Blood smiled, his grin making your stomach turn. “We’re debt collectors. An eye for an eye, a son for a son…or a daughter, in your case. It’s a shame, I can tell she’d turn out to be quite the beauty.”

Cheese nodded, placing Saera back down in her crib.

“We only want the one, to square things. Unfortunately for you, your husband has been quite naughty. Queen Helaena wasn’t in her chambers with her wee ones…but you were. There’s a price to be paid, and you’ll have to be the one to pay it. We won't hurt you, Milady, not one little hair on your head. Just as long as you cooperate.”

You let out a sob, pleading with them. “Please, just take me! Take me, kill me, do whatever you want, I don’t care. Just let my daughter go.”

“As tempting as that is,” Cheese said, looking you up and down. “We can’t.”

“We have a job to do, Princess. You owe a life,” Blood continued.

You shook your head, crumbling to your knees. “No, please, take me–”

“No can do–”

“Please!” You screamed, sobbing on the floor.

Blood rushed over to you, pulling you up by your hair. He brought his hand up, backhanding you across the face. You could feel your lip split as his knuckles struck. He placed the blade back on your throat and held you tight to him.

“Another little outburst like that, and I’ll let Cheese here do whatever he wants with you, and then make you kill the girl yourself.”

You closed your eyes tight, bringing your hand to your mouth to stifle another sob. Your heart was aching, and a pit the size of a boulder had settled in your stomach. What would Aemond think? Returning to his chambers only to find his wife in hysterics, and his baby girl, slain in her crib.

“I’ll make it quick, darling, just for you. I’ll even do it in her crib, so she doesn’t have to wake up and see a stranger. She won’t feel a thing,” Cheese said, feigning sympathy.

Suddenly, you remembered.

“Can I go and say goodbye to her?” You asked, pleading with them to allow you to. “She’s my only child. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least ask.”

Please say yes, you thought. Please say yes.

In all your worrying over the past few months, and Aemond’s continued absence in the evenings, you had come up with your own ways to make yourself feel safe. This included training with Aemond during the day in hand to hand combat, just in case you ever had to defend yourself. It included putting Saera to bed yourself every night, shuttering all the windows, and checking on the guard posted at your door nightly.

It also included strapping a knife in its sheath to the underside of Saera’s crib, out of her reach but easily within your own, if you could get close enough.

The two men pondered the request for a moment, before finally nodding.

You felt relief pouring through you, and could have collapsed with elation if it weren’t for the task at hand. You rushed over to her crib, kneeling down over it. She was awake now, peering up at you with big violet eyes.

You blinked the tears away, softly caressing her cheek. “Go to sleep, my sweet girl. I love you.”

You covered her with her blankets, kneeling further to tuck the sheets in. Blood and Cheese watched as you said your goodbyes, grinning at each other.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Cheese said, moving to come get you.

It was a split second reaction. Within another step from Cheese, you had unsheathed the knife, gripping it by the hilt. With all your might, you aimed it at Blood, flicked your wrist, and released it from your hand.

The blade soared across the room, burying itself in Blood’s chest.

He looked down in shock, slowly pulling the blade from his chest, dropping it. It clanged on the floor as it fell, and Blood crumpled to the floor soon after, landing in a pool of his own blood. You stared in shock, but quickly recovered and stood to your feet, blocking the crib from Cheese’s path.

Your daughter would live.

If someone else was going to die tonight, it wouldn't be her. If it was Cheese, that was all the better. But if you went down, you were taking him with you. He would not leave this room alive. You’d fight tooth and nail to the end, doing everything you could to protect your daughter.

Cheese finally collected himself, turning to you. “You bitch!”

You nearly grinned, wiping the blood that had seeped out from your lip, stepping into a defensive stance. “In the flesh…come and get me.”

Just as Cheese took another step toward you, the door to your chambers swung open, revealing a disheveled and concerned Aemond. It took him a second to realize what was happening.

When he finally did, the look on his face was murderous.

“Ser Criston went to get the Kingsguard. If you think they’ll get here in time to save you from your fate, you are sorely mistaken.”

Cheese froze in fear, shakily reaching for his sword. Aemond snarled, unsheathing his daggers, closing the chamber door behind him.

“I hope it was worth dying for. It looks like my wife gave your friend a quick end. You won’t be so lucky.”

Cheese moved to back up, but you had already snuck to reach the blade that Blood had dropped. You scrambled over on your knees, stabbing it into the back of Cheese’s thigh. He howled in pain, dropping to his knees.

“Please, My Prince–”

His words were cut off by a gurgling sound bubbling in his throat as Aemond lodged one of his daggers into Cheese’s chest. He used his foot to kick Cheese to the ground, reaching down to push the blade deeper. Cheese writhed in pain, raising his hands in surrender.

“Please! You don’t have to do this.”

“Neither did you,” you said, scurrying to stand behind Aemond. “But you did it anyway.”

“It seems as if you didn’t do my wife the courtesy of giving her a choice. Or maybe you did. What was it, hmm? Sacrifice my child or die? Seeing as that isn’t much of a choice, I will extend to you the same courtesy. So, which will it be? Bleed out on the floor while I watch you choke on your last breath, or have me put an end to your suffering by slitting your throat? The choice is yours.”

Cheese cried out in anguish, trying to pull himself away. Aemond seethed, using his other dagger to stab through Cheese’s throat, twisting the blade as it went in. You watched as he choked on his own blood, gasping for breath.

“I choose suffering,” Aemond said, pulling both blades free from Cheese’s body. “A gift to my wife.”

Blood spurted out from both wounds, and Cheese writhed and groaned on the floor in pain until he finally stilled, going limp. His eyes were still open when he died. Sometimes, you forgot just how cruel your husband could be, at least to everyone but you and Saera. Fiercely protective, though, a quality which you were grateful for.

When it was all over, Aemond dropped his daggers, quickly turning around to face you.

You threw your arms around his neck, and he pulled your shaking form into his. You gripped him tight, and he gripped you tighter, if that was even possible. He cradled your head to his chest, gently rocking you back and forth. You took deep breaths, fighting to fill your lungs and keep yourself from hyperventilating. A wave of emotion came over you, and you couldn’t help but to burst into tears, tucking your face into Aemond’s neck.

“Ñuha nēdenka riña,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

My brave girl.

He gently pulled you from his frame, gripping your chin and turning your face from side to side. He grimaced at your split lip and the shape of a hand imprinted on your reddened cheek.

“Does it hurt?” Aemond asked, face cold and hard.

You ever so slightly shook your head, causing his frown to deepen.

“You’re lying.”

You sighed, pulling your chin from his grip, looking him in the eye. “Would you rather me tell you the truth? Fill you with guilt? It is not your fault, Aemond.”

“Of course it’s my fault! I wasn’t here.” He breathed deeply, taking a moment. “What happened? Do not lie to me, I’ll know if you do.”

Your shoulders slumped and your heart ached as Aemond looked at you, racked with guilt and anger. You walked over and gently lifted Saera out of her crib, handing her to Aemond. He immediately clutched her tightly to him, cradling her on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, keeping her close as he listened.

“I had just put Saera to bed. I went to change, and when I came back, the shutters were open again. I figured they were broken and the wind had blown them open, so I went to tell the guard so that he could relay the information to someone who could fix it in the morning. When I opened the door, he was dead on the floor. Before I could move, they covered my mouth and pulled me into the room. Held us at knifepoint, so I wouldn’t make any noise.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he listened, a fury pooling in his chest. Should have killed him slower, he thought.

You continued. “They said their names were Blood and Cheese, and that they’re debt collectors. They said I owed a life, because of what you did…and if I didn’t give up Saera, they’d kill me, or worse.”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you spoke, your voice thick with emotion. Aemond tried not to falter at the sight. He couldn’t help it. Your tears struck him like an arrow through the heart.

“They promised they wouldn’t hurt me if I cooperated, but I angered them. Blood struck me, and made me choose. I remembered I had strapped the knife to Saera’s cradle, so I asked if I could say goodbye to her. They agreed, and I got to the blade. I killed Blood with it, just like you taught me. You came in right after.”

Aemond closed the gap between you, bringing you to his chest. He held you and Saera to him just as Ser Criston returned with a slew of guards.

“Are you alright, My Lady?”

You could only nod, finding shelter in Aemond’s arms. You could faintly hear him explain to Ser Criston what happened, but you weren’t listening. You could only focus on slowing the beat of your heart, and making sure your daughter was alright. Aemond kept you tightly clutched to him, not letting you out of his sight.

—

In the days that followed, you could hardly leave a room without Aemond being hot on your trail. He had practically become your shadow.

Aegon and your family had been quickly informed of what occurred in your chambers, leaving the council to decide amongst themselves what the next course of action should be. You told them to leave you out of it until they came to a decision.

You tried your hardest to understand the reasoning behind it. It no doubt had been an act Daemon thought of himself. You couldn’t bring yourself to blame Rhaenyra. She had to have been mad with grief, not truly paying attention to the justice her husband decided was fair.

The attack wasn’t even meant to harm you. Evidently enough, the Black’s blamed Aegon for Lucerys’s death. They wanted to hurt him, not you. It was Blood and Cheese who decided amongst themselves that you and Saera were compensation enough for Luke’s death.

Either way, it showed you and Aemond just how ugly this war could get.

Saera was with you at all times, Aemond not far behind. He kept his duties limited, never leaving you without him or guards for long. You were grateful for it, at first. You feared being alone, paranoid that someone was lurking in the shadows. But your fears eased over time.

Aemond’s didn’t.

He wouldn’t speak of that night, not after you told him all you could remember. Maybe he thought he was protecting you. Doing you a kindness, not wanting to bring up painful memories. But it did you both no good.

You could tell it was eating away at him. He was just too stubborn to do anything about it.

He would never tell you, but he was so anxious ever since that night that he nearly made himself ill every day. He awoke every morning feeling like he would be sick if he didn’t keep you and Saera close. There was a permanent pit in his stomach, one he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. And there was a rage brewing inside, so strong that it scared even him.

It took him a month to finally ease up, and give you a little space.

He made sure you and Saera were always protected, but he gave you your freedom to have some time to yourself. If you thought Aemond spent too much time with your daughter before, you couldn’t have been more wrong. He spent practically every waking minute with her, determined to be the one to keep her safe.

Saera loved it, of course. She was her father’s daughter. She loved you, too, but there was no denying she favored Aemond. She adored him more than anyone else in the whole world. He loved her just as much, and even more so.

You didn’t mind. You had enough love for the both of them.

After a month and a half, you decided enough was enough. You would not be ruled by fear, and you most certainly would not let it control your family.

One evening, you asked your handmaiden if she would take Saera for her bath. Under guard, of course. You were willing to let her out of your sight, but never willing to leave her vulnerable. That was something you thought Aemond would agree on.

Soon after she left, Aemond entered your chambers, immediately scanning the room. “Where’s Saera?”

“She went for her bath. I sent her with Jeyne. Ser Arryk is on guard with them.”

Aemond looked uneasy, but nodded, setting his things down. You gave him a sad smile, opening your arms.

“Come sit with me, please.”

He looked close to refusing, but finally relented. He sat at the foot of your bed, removing his boots and belt. You crawled to sit behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head in the middle of his back. He stiffened, and then sighed, easing under your touch.

“I want you to talk to me,” you muttered into his shoulder.

Aemond hummed. “About what?”

You pressed yourself closer to him, circling your thumb on his waist.

“You know what.”

He nodded, keeping his gaze pointed towards his lap. “Alright, then. I’m listening.”

“I know you still feel guilt,” you started, keeping your tone soft. “And you harbor rage, and resentment…I wish you wouldn’t.”

He scoffed, chuckling. “How could I not?”

“Because it’s not your fault.”

Your words were sincere, but he wouldn’t accept them. He couldn’t bring himself to believe you.

“My wife had to defend herself and my child against two assassins who tried to make her pay for a crime she did not commit, so pray tell, how is it that I am not the one to blame?”

You shook your head, twisting to sit next to him. “Look at me.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes, and you grabbed his hands in yours, pressing a kiss to his palm. “Ñuha jorrāelagon, jurnegon rȳ nyke. Kostilus, Aemond. Jaelan naejot ūndegon ao.”

My love, look at me. Please, Aemond. I want to see you.

His voice was soft, and when he finally looked up, you could see tears brimming in his eyes. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao naejot ūndegon nyke, ñuha jorrāelagon. Daor hae iksan.”

I don’t want you to see me, my dear. Not as I am.

You cupped his face in your palms, your words firm. “I want to see you as you are, no matter how that is. You won’t talk to me, Aemond. It’s been so long. I miss your voice, I miss your laughter. Don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s on your mind, I don’t care if it’s callous.”

He brought his hand up to cover yours, leaning his cheek into your palm. He was quiet a moment before he found the words.

“I thought I lost you. I thought I lost the both of you.”

You sighed, running your thumb across his cheekbone. “Darling…”

“When I returned to our chambers and found the guard murdered, I thought I would open the door and see you slain, as well. You, and Saera. Having paid the price for something that I did.”

“But you didn’t,” you said, quickly shaking your head. “You saved us. When you opened the door…I’ve never felt anything like it. Relief doesn’t even begin to explain it. I knew I was safe, I knew Saera and I would be alright.”

“You’d have been alright and never in danger in the first place if it had not been for my actions.”

“You couldn’t have known, Aemond. It was an accident.”

“Accident or not,” he said, voice cracking. “It almost cost me my girls. If you were hurt, it would have been blood on my hands. It is blood on my hands.”

There was a knock at the door, and your handmaiden entered your chambers, holding Saera. You stood, making your way over to them.

“Here you go, Princess,” she cooed, placing Saera in your arms. She nodded to you, excusing herself before she left. “Ser Arryk is just outside, My Lady. My Prince.”

You thanked her, waiting till the door was shut before you turned back around. Aemond looked ashamed, reluctant to meet your gaze. Saera stirred in your arms, incoherently babbling.

“Kepa,” she suddenly said, pointing.

Father.

You smiled, bouncing her on your hip. “That’s right, darling. Kepa. Do you want to tell your Father goodnight?”

She eagerly nodded, reaching for Aemond. You chuckled, walking her over to Aemond, placing her in his lap. Saera babbled, clutching his shirt in her little fists. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she leaned forward to rest against his chest.

“Clearly, someone’s missed you,” you mused. “She isn’t the only one.”

Aemond looked up at you, his face softening. You took his free hand in yours, interlacing your fingers.

“She doesn’t fear you, Aemond. She doesn’t fear anything. Not when she has you to protect her, and she knows you will…I know you will. I don’t worry for my or her wellbeing, not when I’m with you. But I do worry for your wellbeing, because you won’t talk to me. I know your feelings plague you. You’re free to share them with me, whenever you like. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter. I’m your wife, and I’m here to listen.”

Aemond couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How can she not blame me, he thought. How did I get so lucky? You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, laying your head against it. He rested his head on top of yours, sighing in relief.

“You’re perfect, aren’t you?” He asked, his voice laced with humor. “The Gods must have made a mistake, gifting you to me. How unfortunate for them.”

“How unfortunate, indeed,” you agreed, settling into his side. “They seem to have misplaced you. Quite lucky, for me. I didn’t even have to earn you.”

“You’ve earned far more than me, darling. Far more. Quite lucky for me, I’d say.”

You hummed, not being able to stop yourself from smiling. From the sound of his voice, Aemond was smiling as well.

“I’d consider us both lucky, then,” you decided, you and Saera melting into Aemond’s arms. He only hummed.

“Indeed.”

—

A/N - Hi! Sorry this took so long to get out. I went a little overboard, but I just loved this request. I hope you liked it, let me know what you think!

#hotd #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #blood and cheese #saera targaryen

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b4rbi3l4nd · 1 year

Text

SOS — bad as i wanna be yours

I THINK Y'ALL MIGHT LIKE WHAT GOES DOWN IN THIS CHAPTER IF YOU'RE SO DAMN UPSET ABT THE BABY LMFAO. Also I plan on continuing this series based off some of my fav songs on the albums so don't worry, it may seem like it's over but it is NOT, also a lot of y'all kept ASKING how Malia got pregnant, WELLL, first of all it's Wakanda, they probably got some vibranium super sperm or something and NEXT JUST IGNORE THAT AND SAY FANFICTION MAGIC Y'ALL. Also the only marvel movies/series I can watch without skipping through like dialogue or dozing off is the Black Panther movies and WandaVision so if these personalities do not match the MCU characters then MY BAD, ALSO LIKE THINKING OF HAVING A Y/N x PETER SERIES COMING IN SOON BC I ALREADY HAVE THE IDEA. IF THIS ALSO DOES NOT MATCH THE CORRECT MCU TIMELINE THEN MY BAD AGAIN, NOT A MARVEL FANATIC FR, I JUST CARE ABT BLACK PANTHER AND WANDA💀😦OR MAYBE A MODERN AVATAR SERIES? HM? OR NOT LMAO

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋

GIF by mandalor-din

series summary: you broke up with shuri a few years ago and left wakanda for good until namor. now that he's killed the queen and multiple wakandan civilians, he's seen as a great threat and as former second in command at shuri's lab and wakanda's loyal warrior it is your duty to return and fight for your country. but a certain somebody makes the mission way too hard to deal with.

episode summary: after the night with shuri, you're feeling way too uncomfortable around her, especially since you kept getting flashbacks the whole day, you thought she'd felt the same way but no, absolutely opposite. paired up with that, a surprise at the palace causes the final war to break out...or is it?

genre: ANGST, slow, slow, slow burn, fluff

pairing: shuri x black fem reader

episode warnings: mature dialogue, suggestive dialogue, suggestive scenes, cursing, trauma, shouting, mentions of death, suicide, missing people etc. this is a series. you are currently looking at the fourth chapter of the series, please go to my profile to read the previous chapters before continuing (if you haven't read the other chapters yet, if so, please continue)

taglist: @yvxmpire, @sweetalittleselfish-honey, @xxmilli, @queenofsimpsblog, @ziayamikaelson, @shuriislut, @atssukoo, @widowmakker, @cuddl3s4shur1, @n7cje, @ts1mp0ne, @locoforshuri

proofread?: no but if there are errors then it's grammarly's fault.

word count: girl idfk

inspirations: 'SOS' — SZA

song: 'Love Language' — SZA

send your thoughts and requests

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You rub your eyes before blinking repeatedly and looking around. The first thing you feel as your senses come to is the arms of someone around you.

Memories immediately come flooding to your mind as your mouth dropped to the floor wide open.

"Tonight, baby i want you."

"I love when you wear that sthandwa"

"Fuck, I love when you get vocal entle.

"Hm...? It's just one finger baby, you can take more than that right?"

You stopped your mind from spitting out more dirty words that Shuri said to you last night. You took deep breaths before looking over at your phone on the nightstand.

10:30 AM.

You put your hands on hers, slowly removing them from your body. As you tried to free from her grip, she just tightened them and pulled you even closer. You could feel her breath on your neck.

Fuck was she awake?

You slowly turned around in the bed till you were face to face with her. She was so beautiful in her sleep, her curls just perfectly falling in place in her face.

You shook your head.

Stay focused Y/N.

You tried again, this time, grabbing a pillow and putting it in your place before rolling out of bed.

Once you got out, you sighed and then looked at yourself in the mirror. Her t-shirt was bunched up on your hips, completely exposing the lower half of your body. You looked around for your lingerie, slipping the lower half on. The panties with the stockings and ribbons at the knee.

You looked around, grabbing all your clothes, your phone and your stuff and piling it in your hands before slowly exiting the apartment.

You sighed, closing the door carefully as you leaned against the wall.

Bast..what was I thinking..

Your mind wandered back to last night, just thinking about the pleasure made your knees buckle.

"OH SHURI, SHURI, YES, YES, YES!" You moaned out in pleasure as your vision turned white.

"That's it baby...keep going." Shuri groaned in your ear as she quickened her pace, you held onto her arm, feeling her restraint.

You bit your lip, bringing yourself back to reality as you slinked back along the walls. You had to get to your room without getting noticed.

It took a while, especially with a bunch of Dora Milaje warriors and guards roaming around the castle. You finally got out your key and placed it against the door, opening the door to your room.

You sighed, closing your door quietly as you placed your head against it.

"Where were you last night?"

Shit.

You turned around to be met with Riri. Her hands were on her hips as she looked at you up and down, raising an eyebrow at your attire.

"Riri...I fucked up."

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"YOU HAD SEX WITH THE QUEEN?!"

"SHHHH! SOMEONE MIGHT HEAR YOU!" You shushed Riri loudly as she slapped her hands over her mouth.

"Y/N, do you know how BAD that is. Um, not only is she the QUEEN OF WAKANDA AND YOUR BOSS but she's also your ex?! What were you thinking?! When I said we wanted them panties dropping, I didn't mean by HER!"

"I know, I know, it's just...I was just not thinking straight, at all."

Riri sighed deeply, sitting down on your bed before patting a spot next to you.

"Well, it already happened, just tell me you guys used protection?"

You blinked a couple times before looking off to the side, your mouth folding inwards.

"Omg, you didn't use protection?! Okay, at least tell me that she pulled out or something!"

You look down, distinctively remembering her pushing up against you, the feeling of just her filling you up.

"Okay, has this turned to mission: get a baby or what?! First it's Malia, now it's you!"

"It's fine! Okay, I'll just...get on the pill!" You throw yourself back on your bed, putting a hand on your stomach.

"You weren't on the pill before?"

"Why would I be? I haven't had sex in 4 years."

"Wow that's sad...God, that's sad."

"I'm a grown woman, okay. I don't need to have sex to properly function." You turned around in your spot as Riri thought for a moment.

"Well, how was it?"

"Really good....really...really..good."

"O-kay then...what did she say? Was her words slurring? Because if so then she was drunk and she might wake up not remembering anything so you might be in the clear."

"No...no, she was very much sober, especially after the bath.."

"Y'ALL SHOWERED TOGETHER?! Y/N!" Riri stood up, shocked and you soon followed after, standing with her.

"I know! I know okay but she just always did aftercare..she even used the little panther bath bombs I always loved..but.." You trailed off, looking to the side, worry spread across your face.

"What? But what?" Riri asked, looking at you with concern.

"She kept calling me nicknames and pet names like...baby and my love and beautiful and she referred to her bed as our bed AND...she said she loved me...on multiple occasions, even when she rocked me to sleep, she kept whispering sweet nothings...Riri, I'm folding." You fold your arms together to keep your knees from buckling. Her voice just did stuff to you.

"No, no, no, no, no, no. Y/N, get a grip of yourself, you're a grown-ass woman. Okay? Look, this is only gonna open up a world of problems, I mean if she was sober, telling you that she loves you?! God..." She looked at you as you bit your lip.

"I got it!" You raised your hands up with a nervous smile. "I'll just ignore her, she probably feels regret like I do so, we just won't speak for a long time till we have to."

And that's exactly what you did for the rest of the day, you ignored her. You went to the lab extra late that day so you blended in with the extra people, making it harder for her to see you. You strictly stayed downstairs even though some of the stuff you needed was on the second floor but you knew she'd be there so you made custom parts. Whenever she came into view, you'd immediately turn around and hide behind something or someone. She even called out your name a few times but you just kept quiet, you really didn't want that awkward after-sex conversation.

And everything was pretty going great with your plan, except for the random flashbacks during the day. It was now lunch time and you were heading over to the cafe where you normally met up with Riri. As you entered the huge place, you scanned the room, immediately noticing Shuri sitting at a table with M'Baku, Nakia and Okoye. Riri was sitting on the other side of the room, headphones in and eating her food.

You sighed. As you looked back at Shuri, you noticed she was already looking at you and you quickly diverted eye contact. Out of your peripheral vision, you noticed her walking towards you and you quickly made your way over to the counter, ordering your food.

You tapped your foot impatiently, waiting for your food, knowing she was getting closer. You looked with a side eye, noticing she had stopped and was distracted by someone. Once your food finally came, you took it and practically sprinted over to Riri, sitting at the table, sighing.

"Oh my God, she was walking over to me.." You start rambling, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down.

"Just take your time Y/N." Riri said, taking off her headphones. "You think she forgot already?"

"Hopefully."

You settle, looking down at your food as you pick up a fork but you freeze when you feel someone's hands on your shoulders.

"Hey," Shuri said, moving her hands over to your waist.

"Heyyyy..." you mutter out as she moved her lips over to your neck. You looked over at Riri who had a shocked face and was motioning with her eyes over to the door.

"Um...actually..." You stopped her before she could start kissing your neck, standing up as she stood up straight, looking at you confused.

"I need to go take care of...stuff." You smile weakly at her and exit the cafe.

"I'll go...check on her with the...stuff." Riri stands up, rushing after you, leaving Shuri lost.

You sigh as you push open the doors to the throne room, sitting down on a chair. You smoothen out your dress, running your hands on your thighs before looking out the large windows to calm yourself down.

"What was that out there?!" Riri says, walking in behind you.

You turn over to Riri, shrugging. "I don't know, she just came up to me and started kissing my neck, I don't know if she thinks we're dating now..."

"I mean you 2 fucked...and she said she loved you, that's like a dating thing right?" Riri asked, sitting in front of you.

"I'm not sure.."

"But do you love her?"

"I do. Of course, I do...surprisingly never stopped."

"Well, then you wanna date her right?"

You paused at this. Did you wanna date her?

"Of...course..." You trailed off, looking to the side, sounding unsure.

"Y/N..?" Shuri asked, opening the doors to the throne room.

"I'll...leave you 2 be." Riri stood up, walking out the room as Shuri walked in, sitting across from you.

It was an awkward silence for a bit before Shuri spoke up. "I'm sorry if what I did in the cafe made you uncomfortable I just thought...-"

"No, no it's fine." You stopped her, giving her a smile.

"Um, about last night." She started, looking at you.

"Oh God.." you muttered under your breath, feeling a wave of embarrassment.

"I want you to know that I wasn't drunk or under the influence when I said all that stuff..I really mean it, I do love you and I know I said that I wasn't gonna ask you to be my girlfriend or anything I just...I really missed you Y/N." She took your hands in hers as she stared you deep in the eye. "I want to explore us again...I want to be your girlfriend Y/N."

Your breath hitched at her declaration of love. You slightly frowned. "And it's not that I don't want that it's just...there are things about me that you don't know."

"So tell me, tell me everything Y/N." Shuri leaned in closer as you bit your lower lip.

"It's not that simple.." You released your hands from her grip, looking down, tears watering in your eyes. Whenever you thought about it, those memories flooded your mind, horribly.

Shuri didn't say anything and looked at you before sighing and standing up. "It's fine, just forget about last night." She turned around, taking a deep breath as she started her way to the door.

"I can't just forget about last night Shuri.." You choke out, looking up and to the side as she shook her head, not even turning her head to you.

"Just keep things professional..okay?" She opened the door to the throne room as you looked down.

You really didn't want to fuck everything up again but you just didn't like talking about it, talking about her. You choked on your words, blinking back your tears as you fiddled with your fingers.

"It was when I left Wakanda." You made out as you heard the throne room door close.

"You don't have to share if you don't want to..." Shuri turned back around, walking over to you and sitting down.

"No, no, listen..." You look up, wiping away tears, taking a shaky breath in and out. "I was...working with the avengers...recruited by Stark."

Your mind flashed back to 4 years ago when Tony Stark recruited you. You shook hands with him, smiling as he smiled back.

"Gotta make room for new growing minds right?" Tony said.

"Yes sir." You nervously said, pushing up your glasses.

It was the first time you've seen Tony smile when he wasn't with his wife and you really didn't want to get him riled up.

You had your hair in an afro and you were wearing a dark blue suit jacket with a matching skirt, white pumps and white pearls.

As you exited the office in Stark Industries, you bumped into a tall white woman with ginger hair in a black suit.

"Hey, you must be the new recruit, right? I'm Natasha Romanoff" She held out her hand for a handshake and you shook it.

"Y/N Amadi." You say, your Wakandan accent seemingly very strong because she noticed right away.

"Wakandan?" She raised an eyebrow as you nodded your head. "So you're like the smart one, like Shuri right?"

At the mention of her name, you looked down slightly and then nodded again, the sight of her crying and begging you not to go on the floor still fresh in your mind.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah just had a lot on my mind, what were you saying?" You look back up at the woman as she looked to the side and then back at you.

"Come meet my team, you're going to be working with us for some time anyway." She took your hand, leading you over to a different room.

"Everything was fine for a while until I met her."

You noticed another younger woman, she was ginger as well and you approached her.

"Hi, I'm...Y/N, you?"

She turned around to face you, almost seeming shy before she smiled at you with her green eyes.

"I'm Wanda."

"Wanda was my first friend, she showed me around a lot, we worked together but she could get very emotional and sometimes she scared me when talking about her lover? Vision..a robot. She would have me work on him, even when Tony told us he was off limits."

"Are you sure we're supposed to be here?" Your voice was timid as you jumped the fence with Wanda and she rolled her eyes slightly.

"Yes, come on, Vision is in this building." She led you over to the huge building, government territory.

You scanned a fake card that wanda had you make as you guys entered the territory. She led you through the building and down into some sort of lab where a huge blanket sheet was on a table.

She flipped on the lights and then carefully walked over to the table, taking off the sheet revealing the most beautiful and well crafted robot you've ever seen.

"Oh my Bast...and you say he's like a human?" You walk along the sides of the table as Wanda admired him.

"Yes, Vision can talk, walk, act like one..." She sighed at him before looking up at you. "But the government has kept him here out of unfairness."

"Are you positive, they kept him here because they are unfair?" You raised an eyebrow at Wanda. "Maybe they kept him here for other reasons..-"

"No. I know the government, they want to take my vision from me, which is why you must help me. Please Y/N, I'm your best friend, remember?" She took your hands in hers and you turned to the side, looking away slightly before nodding.

"Alright but I don't want Tony to know, or else I'll lose my job and if the government finds out, I'll be put in a federal prison or executed."

"They won't. We'll start off small, you'll help restore Vision and then when he's good to go, I'll take him away. It'll be safe, I promise."

"And so I agreed. We would go over to the lab, nightly. Every day and we wouldn't leave until the sun shone over. As time passed on though, there was this thing, gem...stone rather in Vision's head and with more work done to him, the more it glowed. I realized soon that it would be dangerous to continue working on him, especially since I didn't know the dangers of this gem."

"You'll be fine Y/N, it's just used to power Vision, continue quickly. They'll soon get here." Wanda rushed you but you shook your head.

"No, it's glowing unnaturally, I can't continue to work on it."

"Y/N, you're just being paranoid, come on. We have to go soon."

"No, Wanda...look." You reached over to touch the stone but that's when your pupils went white and the gemstone turned black.

"Y/N!" was all you heard before footsteps and then you blacked out.

"I woke up in prison. Federal prison. We got caught...well, I got caught. Wanda got away and I later found out that she made a town with Vision and...whatever, but still. I was right about that gemstone. You know those dark purple things you saw come out the other day..yeah, we're...getting there."

"Who...who are you..?!" You speak out, sitting on the floor, backing away as a shadowy figure was standing in the center of the room, staring back at you.

Your glasses were broken and you were in federal prison by now, changed into gray and white clothes.

"I am dar, your companion forever. You summoned me, remember?" The figure walked towards you before a disfigured smile formed on it's face and it stretched your mouth out, open wide and then entered inside you, feet first and then the body.

God, it was terrifying and the person watching the surveillance camera was later put in a ward.

"I later found out it was a she and she was tethered to me. She was a virus I apparently created. When I worked with Vision, I was supposed to take out the gem but we didn't and whenever errors were made, I thought I erased them but...it just went into the gem until it became uncontrollable. I basically cursed myself with some magical coding shit, I don't know. I gave myself powers in the WORST wat imaginable and she's really only released with pent-up rage or sadness..."

You looked up at Shuri who was just staring back at you with an unreadable expression. You buried your face in your head, sighing.

"I know..I know, I sound stupid, I know."

"No, no, you don't, it's just that that's a lot. I'm sorry..- thank you for telling me." She reached out to touch your hand and you let her.

"Well, I didn't want it to seem like I was rejecting you...because I'm not."

You two look at each other in comfortable silence as you share a weak smile. She looked like she was about to say something but that's when the doors to the throne room burst open and a dora milaje warrior rushed in.

"Malia...she's gone.!"

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You and Shuri rushed through the hallways with the warrior following you as you entered the infirmary, horrified with what you saw.

The doctor's stomach was gutted open and there was a tear in the vibranium wall, separating the cell from the rest of the palace.

You pressed your hand over your mouth as you looked down at the woman's lifeless body on the ground, her eyes wide open, seeing everything and nothing.

"What happened here?!" Shuri asked, looking over to the warrior.

"Nalaji...she was giving Malia her lunch but as she opened up the barrier to place the food in, Malia suddenly lashed out and attacked her. No weapons were found, none was there a trace of any vibranium used in the crime scene except for the wall."

You look into the cell and there was a plate of food scattered all across the floor.

"THE BORDERS!" Shuri rushed out to the infirmary as a loud alarm went off. It took you some time as you stumbled out of the room, following the sound of Shuri's voice, leading you over to the lab.

"My Queen...your girlfriend, Y/N has entered the lab."

"Thank you Griot." Shuri sounded annoyed as she waved through some work on the top floor, people scurrying around.

Despite all the chaos, it caused some butterflies in your chest that Shuri had programmed Griot to call you her girlfriend and ACTUALLY say your name...it was better than being called "unknown woman" every time you entered the lab.

You rushed over to your working space, and opening your laptop but you were deterred away from the computer as you heard screaming. You looked up at the windows to be met with the horrific sight of some warriors at the water borders completely dead and gutted, a rip made in the borders.

"SECURE ALL THE BORDERS!" Shuri ordered as warriors and people rushed out of the lab as directions were dished out to everyone.

"Are the ships ready for battle?" Shuri asked one of the people at the lab.

"Yes, my queen."

"Good. We're bringing the battle over to them. If they think they can just come and kill my people, they are horribly mistaken."

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"YIMBAMBE!" Shuri shouted out, raising her fist out into the air as the Wakandan warriors repeated.

"YIMBAMBE!" They repeated.

"YIMBAMBE!"

You looked out to the water as Namor and the Talokans emerged and jumped onto the ships, and immediately the fighting began.

"You blue people were better in Avatar..." You scoffed as you grabbed the daggers from your back pockets, ready to face them off.

As a warrior approached you, heading for a punched, you grabbed her fist and threw her down on the floor, slicing her throat open, then you turned around quickly, punching another one coming behind you, throwing them across the ship as the landed hard on the floors. You stepped back, looking at the scene. It had just started and bodies were already dropping.

You fought off more people before noticing Namor. You ran straight for him but he turned around just in time, grabbing your neck, lifting you up in the air.

You gasped for air as you looked down, moving one leg so far back and then kicked him with maximum power, right in the groin and then moving another leg to kick him in the neck.

His grip on you loosened as you fell to the floor, you grabbed a spear slicing at his thigh, causing him to fall over. Your eyes were like slits now as you were looking at him with pure hatred. You wanted to kill him, drive your hand right through his chest and bring out his heart.

"You took my dad from me." You spat at him, bringing your foot to his neck, pressing harder.

"DAD!" You heard a familiar voice shriek as you look up, brought face to face with Malia. She was in a warrior outfit and she looked at you with anger burning in her eyes.

You quickly looked down, grabbing Namor by the hair, pulling him up.

"Y/N...unhand my father now." Malia said, hissing at you as you scoffed.

"You can say that about your dad but guess what, can't say that about my dad now can I? Where was this attitude when your father over here drowned his grave..hm?" You looked over at Namor, stepping on one of his wings as you held a dagger up to his throat.

You looked straight at Malia, your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes in on her.

"A father...for a father. A life, for a life."

You sliced his neck open before throwing him across the ship. His body fell into a ship that flew up nearby. The dehydration tank.

As much as you wished you did slice his neck open...you didn't. You cut deep enough to bleed but shallow enough not to hit a nerve.

"NO!" Malia cried out as she watched it all unfold in front of her. She turned to you, her eyes burning with rage but yours was burning just the same, maybe even harder.

"AH!" She rushed towards you with a punch but you quickly dodged her, spears in hands as you made a fist.

"YOU WANNA DANCE BITCH?! COME ON!" You shouted at her as you stood your ground. She stood in her fighting stance, across from you.

You both circled each other until she finally rushed up to you with a kick but you caught it with your hands, turning around and swiftly kicking her square in the tummy, sending her flying across the ship.

You watch as she sharply hit the edge, banging her head and her back hardly.

You stood up straight and paid attention to her body movement. She stood up slowly, eyes wide as she looked down to her legs.

Confused, your eyes followed hers before your eyes widened. Blood slowly dripped down her legs as she muttered out..

"My baby.."

"Fuck."

Although you didn't like her, you know how it feels to have a miscarriage and you felt an extreme wave of guilt knowing you caused it too.

You rushed over to her side as she fell to her knees, clutching her tummy. Her head lowered as you got on your knees, next to her.

"Oh my...shit..are you okay?" You panic, looking at her.

"No...but I will be."

Was all you heard again before your mouth opened, wide, blood trickling out. You looked down to see she had plunged a spear straight through your stomach...your own spear.

"Fuck...you.." was all you could mutter out till you saw Shuri and Namor on a flying ship...and then you blacked out.

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You woke up about 2 weeks later in the lab. Your eyes darted open as you looked up at everything. Shuri was at your side, holding your hand and as you immediately woke up, she grabbed you, hugging you tightly.

"Don't ever scare me like that, ever again.." She said, choking on her words.

You hugged her back but immediately felt guilt. You pull back from Shuri and look at her. "Malia is no longer pregnant.." You bite your lip as she stays silent before nodding.

"She was on the battlefield when she lost the baby...the cause is unknown but it's..tragic."

You knew that Shuri wants kids..or well at least she used to when you guys were together. She would often talk about raising her own family but that was years ago. It would explain why she wanted Malia to keep the baby so bad.

"Do you...have a lead on who did it?" You ask, your voice raising as Shuri shook her head.

"No..but when we find out who did it, I'll kill them."

You gulp. Okay, then.

"Sorry, it's just..I saw this child as a way to get the family I always wanted back..yknow?"

"Yeah...I'm sorry for your loss.." You looked down as Shuri sighed.

"It's not your fault."

But it was..

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You paced around the room, biting your nail frantically and impatiently. You were currently trying to add up the dates because today, as well as yesterday and the days before, you've been waking up terribly sick.

You just thought it was a side effect from almost dying so many times, blacking out and all, and also a side effect from dar but that wasn't it. It didn't add up..at all. So..you decided to take a pregnancy test. But not just one, multiple.

3 American ones and 4 Wakandan ones, just to be sure. Beeping filled the bathroom as you turned off the timer, looking at the pregnancy tests, your eyes wide.

Positive...positive...positive....positive...positive...positive...positive.

"FUCK." You sit down on the closed-lid toilet burying your face in your hands. It's been around 3 weeks since you and Shuri were intimate and you hadn't even realized when you missed your period because of the drama going on at the palace.

"Y/N! You in here?" Shuri entered your apartment as she walked around then into the bathroom, looking down at you, raising an eyebrow. "You okay?"

You look up to her, worry in your face as take a deep sigh.

"I'm pregnant."

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