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#freshly baked bread can change the world
azullynxx · 1 month
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𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓
𝖠𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗅! 𝖫𝗎𝖼𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗑 𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝗡𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗚𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 | 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 2 | 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 3
𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 1
"Will my daughter ever recover, doctor?" the mother's voice trembled with worry, echoing the tender anticipation of the season's renewal outside.
With the door left slightly open, she absorbed the muffled conversation between her mother and the physician, their voices merging into a distant melody that intertwined with her restless thoughts. As she yearned for the world lying just beyond her grasp, their words served as a bittersweet reminder of the life she longed to embrace.
As she listened intently, every uttered word seemed to deepen the weight of despair already burdening her spirit. It was as though illness had been her unwelcome companion from the moment she drew her first breath, entwining her fate with the confines of their opulent yet stifling mansion. Despite the towering walls and sprawling grounds, despite the ornate beauty adorning every corner, she felt suffocated, ensnared—a captive within the confines of her fragile body.
Born into opulence as the cherished daughter of a family steeped in wealth, she lacked for nothing in material comforts. Her affluent upbringing provided ample distractions to momentarily alleviate the ache of yearning for experiences beyond her grasp. Yet, no measure of riches could buy her a body unencumbered by illness or bestow upon her the liberty to wander and immerse herself in the splendor of the world outside her gilded confines.
As her mother's conversation with the doctor permeated through the walls, the echoes of their words seemed to resonate, each syllable a poignant reminder of her seclusion, a multiple relentless stab through her chest that causes her to bleed. With a melancholic neutrality veiling her outward beauty, she sat beside her bed in silence, her gaze longing as it remained fixed upon the window. Through the transparent barrier, she observed the unfolding spectacle of spring—a kaleidoscope of blossoms swaying in the gentle breeze, their whispers of promise tantalizingly out of reach. With a heavy heart, she acknowledged that these sensory delights were ones she might never experience firsthand. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread, the gentle caress of a summer breeze, the warmth of a tender embrace—all seemed distant and unattainable, locked away behind the impenetrable barrier of her condition.
As she sat there, surrounded by the musty scent of old books and the light filtering through the windows, she realized that the words in the books she devoured were the closest she would ever come to indulging in the forbidden beauty of dreaming. In those pages lay worlds waiting to be explored, adventures waiting to be embarked upon, and emotions waiting to be felt—all within the safety of her imagination.
In the tranquil sanctuary of her room, she yearned for the touch of spring air upon her skin, envisioning the sun's warmth without the barrier of glass. Each leaf danced in harmony with the wind, a silent testament to the changing season and the freedom it embodied. Despite her confinement, she longed to make friends, to spend time outside, to share laughter, and to discover more of the world. Nevertheless, the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the room offered a gentle embrace, a beacon of comfort amidst her solitude.
"She will be, Madame. With proper rest and constant monitoring of her health, we can confidently state the possibilities that she will be," reassured the doctor, his tone laced with a soothing veneer of optimism.
She had heard those words countless times, each syllable etching deeper into the fragile chambers of her beating heart. Each repetition felt like a futile attempt to mend the wounds of reality. They knew it, and she knew it too well—that those words were mere whispers of comfort, veiling the harsh truth they struggled to acknowledge. It was a truth they tried to conceal beneath a facade of hope, a facade she saw through with painful clarity. Pity reflected in her parents' eyes as they gazed upon her, the same look physicians wore when examining her. Endless medications clouded her senses, dulling her existence, suffocating her in the most agonizing manner possible.
She couldn't bear it, yet it was the burden she was left to carry—the cruelty of her existence weighing heavily upon her fragile shoulders.
As the conversation outside dwindled into silence, she released a sigh that seemed to emanate from the depths of her throat. Her gaze fell upon the maid beside her bed, diligently preparing her midday medication.
The rhythmic tapping of her mother's heels echoed through the quiet expanse of the mansion, drawing her attention to the graceful figure as she settled beside her, the warmth of her presence a comforting embrace. With a soft sigh, her mother's hand gently covered hers, resting on her lap, while she clutched a book tightly in her grasp, seeking solace within its pages.
Gazing into her mother's eyes, she couldn't help but discern the familiar expression etched upon her features—the sorrowful gaze tinged with pity, the melancholic smile playing upon her lips, and the tightening grip of her hand, a silent reassurance they offered, one she couldn't bring herself to accept. Despite her mother's attempts to convey comfort and understanding, a sense of isolation lingered within her.
"You will be okay," her mother asserted, her tone firm yet gentle, offering a shallow comfort in the face of uncertainty. Leaning in to press a tender kiss upon her forehead, she averted her gaze, unable to meet her mother's eyes. Though meant to soothe, the gesture only served to prick her wounds further, the bitter reality of her plight lingering like a shadow over the moment.
Y/N managed a forced smile, the corners of her lips trembling with the effort to appear cheerful. She could feel the strain in her cheeks as she tried to mimic a genuine expression of gratitude for her mother's attempted comfort. Yet, behind her facade, a storm of emotions raged within her, threatening to burst forth at any moment.
Her mother, ever perceptive, returned the smile with a hint of sadness in her eyes. With a graceful yet heavyhearted stride, she walked to the door, her heels clicking softly against the polished floorboards. Before exiting, she cast one final glance back at Y/N, a silent acknowledgment of their shared pain and longing for solace.
The room seemed to exhale as the door closed gently behind her mother, the sound echoing faintly in the stifling air. Left in the wake of her departure, Y/N found herself engulfed once more in the oppressive silence, each heartbeat a reminder of her fragile existence.
The maid, a silent sentinel in the room, moved with quiet efficiency, her eyes betraying a mix of concern and compassion as they lingered on Y/N's form. With each step she took, the soft rustle of her clothing filled the void left by conversation, a gentle reminder of the world outside their secluded sanctuary. In the stillness, the weight of Y/N's burden seemed to grow heavier, pressing down upon her with a suffocating intensity, as if the very walls themselves held her captive in their grasp.
“Do you need me to assist you with something, miss?” the maid asked softly.
Silence.
Gazing downward at the book resting on her lap, Y/N smiled softly. “No, I’ll be fine here. I can manage on my own. Thank you,” Y/N spoke gently, her voice carrying a hint of gratitude.
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Walking through the expansive hallway of the mansion, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath her feet, she moved with deliberate steps, her gaze drifting towards the windows that lined the walls. The high mirrors framed by luxurious curtains offered glimpses of the sprawling garden outside, a vibrant tapestry of color and life.
As she continued her leisurely stroll, she couldn't help but pause at each window to admire the beauty of the blooming flowers below. The garden was a kaleidoscope of hues, with petals unfurling in a riot of colors under the gentle caress of the sun. She found herself captivated by the intricate patterns of nature, each flower a testament to the beauty that flourished even in the midst of darkness.
Lost in the mesmerizing sight, she lingered for a moment longer before tearing her gaze away, reluctantly continuing her journey down the hallway. Yet, the memory of the garden's splendor lingered in her mind, a fleeting moment of respite amidst the turmoil of her thoughts.
As she approached the towering library door, her attention was suddenly diverted by something else—a previously unnoticed staircase. It seemed to emerge from the shadows, its presence hidden from her until this moment. Walking toward it, the dim illumination cast by the faint lights along the walls lent an eerie ambiance to the cement staircase, as if it led to a forgotten realm within the mansion.
Intrigued by this unexpected discovery, she felt a wave of curiosity wash over her. With a tentative step forward, she found herself drawn towards the mysterious stairway, its silent invitation beckoning her to explore the secrets it held within.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign of life or activity, but the corridor remained deserted, shrouded in silence. With the absence of any discernible presence, an inexplicable urge stirred within her, compelling her to ascend the staircase and uncover its secrets.
With each step upward, the sound of her sandals resonated softly against the cool cement, punctuating the silence of the mansion with a rhythmic cadence. The air seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, as if laden with the weight of untold stories and forgotten memories.
Thud.
As she ascended further, the staircase seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness above, disappearing into the highest reaches of the mansion. Yet, despite the foreboding atmosphere, she pressed on, driven by an insatiable curiosity and a desire to unravel the mysteries that lay ahead.
The stairs exuded an aura of neglect and disuse, as if they had remained untouched for years, unmarred by the passage of time. Each step forward felt like a tentative dance with destiny, as she ventured deeper into the heart of the mansion, drawn by the allure of the unknown.
And then, at the top of the staircase, a door appeared, its wooden frame adorned with hints of dust and delicate strands of web clinging to its corners. Despite her trepidation, curiosity propelled her forward, her hand reaching out to grasp the dust-laden doorknob while the other clutched the book tightly in anticipation. The coldness of the metal seeped through her pores, sending shivers down her spine.
With a hesitant push, the door yielded, emitting a faint creak as it swung open. Dust immediately assailed her senses, swirling around her as she beheld the room beyond. It wasn't oppressively small nor overwhelmingly spacious; rather, it seemed perfectly proportioned. Sunlight filtered through a solitary circular window high on the wall, casting a gentle glow over the space.
Within the confines of the abandoned space, time appeared to have stood still, leaving behind a haunting tableau of forgotten treasures and faded memories. Books and scrolls lay scattered about, cocooned in webs and layers of dust. Dust motes danced in the feeble rays of light, casting elongated shadows upon the worn floorboards. The air hung heavy with the scent of decay, mingling with the musty fragrance of aged paper and moth-eaten fabric.
Cobwebs clung like delicate lace to forgotten trinkets and neglected corners, weaving intricate patterns that draped over abandoned furniture and faded memories. Boxes, left to languish in the shadows, were scattered haphazardly across the room, their contents obscured beneath layers of neglect. Cracked mirrors reflected fractured glimpses of a time long past, their surfaces dulled by years of disuse. Various paintings leaned against the walls, their colors faded and losing their vibrancy with time.
Lost in admiration of one particularly captivating painting, she found herself entranced by the intricate details that adorned the canvas. Brushstrokes danced across the surface, bringing to life a scene of ethereal beauty despite the faded colors. As she traced the delicate lines and hues with her gaze, each stroke of the artist's brush brought her a sense of serenity.
But her reverie was abruptly shattered as a rat darted between her feet, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of the room and eliciting a startled scream that tore through the silence like a thunderclap. With wide eyes filled with alarm, she stumbled backward, her heart pounding in her chest as she sought to distance herself from the unexpected intruder.
In her panic, she involuntarily hurled the book she held, inadvertently striking the towering rectangular ornament that stood prominently in the center of the room. As she grasped at the fabric covering the ornament, it fell away to reveal an expansive mirror that seemed to engulf the entire space, reflecting back the room in all its forgotten grandeur.
Pressing her back against the mirror, she struggled to catch her breath, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and awe.
Then, a man's voice suddenly rang out from behind her.
"Are you okay?".
Silence.
Frozen in place, a sudden realization washed over her like a chilling wave. With hesitant steps, she turned, her movements deliberate as her gaze drifted towards the mirror. There, amidst the dusty reflection, stood a man who seemed to embody the ethereal grace of an angel. His complexion was porcelain, accentuated by the faintest hint of a rosy flush gracing his cheeks. Cascading locks of blonde hair, streaked with delicate threads of light coral, framed his face in a halo of otherworldly beauty.
Surprised by the unexpected apparition, she recoiled in shock, her heart pounding against her chest like a wild drumbeat. A startled cry escaped her lips as she lost her balance, the world spinning as she tumbled backward, landing with an abrupt thud on the unforgiving floorboards.
Gasping for breath, she lay there in stunned silence, her wide eyes fixed on the mirror before her. With trembling hands, she reached back, fingers grazing the rough surface of the floor as she sought to steady herself, the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon her with each faltering breath.
The man gazed at her with a puzzled expression, the soft light reflecting off his features giving him an air of innocence and purity. His eyes held a hint of concern as he observed her, as if trying to decipher the turmoil within her.
"W-what are you?" she demanded firmly, her voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Her gaze remained fixed on the mirror, where instead of her own reflection, she saw the enigmatic figure standing before her.
Flustered by her sudden reaction to his appearance in the mirror, the man seemed to grow nervous, his movements becoming hesitant as he navigated within the confines of the mirrored world. With a furrowed brow, he searched for a way to ease her confusion.
Then, as if struck by inspiration, an idea sparked in his mind. With a tentative smile, he gestured towards something beyond her field of vision, his eyes alight with anticipation.
As he extended his hand, a radiant golden light blossomed forth, bathing the surroundings in a celestial glow. With graceful fluidity, the light coalesced into the form of a majestic golden duck, its shimmering wings unfurling as it burst forth from the confines of the mirror. Gleefully, it soared through the room, trailing a mesmerizing dance of golden light and swirling dust in its wake, casting enchanting shadows that danced along the walls and illuminated forgotten corners with its celestial radiance.
Mesmerized, her eyes followed the ethereal creature's flight, her heart swelling with wonder and awe at the breathtaking display unfolding before her. It was a sight beyond her wildest dreams, a moment of pure magic and beauty that etched itself into the very fabric of her being.
With a contented smile gracing his lips, the man observed her delight with quiet satisfaction, the sparkle of magic reflected in her eyes mirroring the enchantment that enveloped them both. And in that fleeting moment of shared wonder, the boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred.
He answered.
"A magician."
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I think I overdid with the details again
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mommieswithmuscles · 2 months
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EllAbs x Baker!Reader
Free Palestine, don't support Neil
No Minors and No men
CW: Joel lives, Abby leaves the WLF and winds up in Jackson, slow burn, eventual smut, world and relationship building for the first few chapters, read the poll prompt tagged here for context
Title: Sugar Free (1)
You watch Ellie and Dina rush down the street with a few other scouts. You were on your way to the cafeteria to drop off the lunch bread before starting the dinner load when they tore off. "What's going on?" You park the lined wheel barrel with Maria and the kitchen cooks.
"Joel and Tommy went missing." Maria braces herself on the counter. You pass her a special bag from your pack. She takes the bagels graciously.
"I hope they come home safe." You help the kitchen staff unload the still warm loaves and bagels. You then run back and grabbing the birthday fruit pies you made for a few of the kids' birthdays that landed on this day. You wanted to be sure their families had a good time with them.
-
You always keep a pot of hot chocolate ready for the local kids running around and playing in the snow. A few run in and laugh, calling out to ask if you're in. You bring out the coco and fresh soft pretzel snacks you try to keep on hand. They thank you politely before taking seats Ellie helped you restore at the newly stabilized tables.
"Are you staying warm?" You bring in little cups of freshly done cheese dip. A recipe one of the mother figures from your old settlement taught you.
"We try, then Ellie and Dina rough us up," one of the boys pouts. You brush the snow off his cap.
-
You clean up after the kids, starting your last batch for the day. Ellie special requested bagels. You take the small hike back to your house down the street from the bakery. You clean with soap and warm water, running your cleaned glass shard over the fuzz starting to come back over your mound. One last wash and rinse before jogging back to the bakery in a clean change of clothes.
You start the dough, thinking of Ellie's boobs as you knead it. Yes, you were jealous of the kiss she shared with Dina, but you knew she would always come back. She was as addicted to you as you were of her. She wouldn't ever admit it, but the way she lets you pin her against the wall in your bedroom says more than enough.
You shape the dough into rings, yank your pants down, spread your juice on the dough, then drop them on the baking shovel before putting it back in the stone oven.
-
It's dark when they get back. You shut down the shop and left the bagels on your counter for Ellie to collect. You were waiting in the seating area when she rode up, Shimmer waiting patiently as she retrieved her goods. "We have a new girl. WLF escapee."
"That sounds interesting. Where did you find her?"
"Joel and Tommy picked her up from a hoard. We helped clean up." Ellie smirks, shrugs like it was nothing. "It was awesome."
"I bet you were awesome," her cheeks flush and you fix her ruffled collar. "So, you and Dina?" Her head tilts, the smug look gone.
"So uh, you saw that, huh?" Her feet shuffle.
"I did. Was it a one off, or are you taken now?" You cup Ellie's cheek so she keeps her eyes on you.
"It was a one off. I um, I liked it, but her and Jesse are probably getting back together. So um, yeah." Ellie scratches her jaw. You watch her long fingers pick at the skin.
"I'll make you breakfast. Early shift?"
"Sounds- Yeah, sounds great!" Her lips tug upward, but you can tell she's forcing the smile. You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks are red again.
"See you then cutie," you wink, drop your hand so it slides down her shoulder and bicep, and let her leave flushed.
-
Ellie comes in as you're working on the breakfast bread. You made her a special loaf to munch on for the road. Behind her is who you assume is the newbie. "Goodmorning ladies," you greet politely. Ellie takes her bread with a wave, running to her horse and Joel.
"Morning," the tall blonde greets. "I'm Abby." You offer your hand, she shakes it firmly.
"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," you smile. She's taken a back, scoffs.
"Shut up," she turns, but you catch the blush on her cheeks.
"Make me," you challenge. She glares, but says nothing. "Come sit, have something to eat. You must be starving, you got here long after the kitchen closed." You bring her a fresh loaf from the heated stone.
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saradika · 7 months
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— BLEED FOR ME | epilogue
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[masterlist]
mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader
rated e - 1.6k
haunted hoedown: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+2 secrets!)
tags: vampire!au, sexual innuendos/references and nude cuddling, sweet and sappy fluff
a/n: honestly I just wanted to write a sweet little ending for them - this epilogue is optional! 💕
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It's the last evening you'll wake like this.
There's a sort of melancholy with that knowledge. A thrill that comes soon after, as you already look to the future. All the changes that you will live to see, with Din at your side.
The adjustment will take some time getting used to, you're sure. But in ways, you're already living among them. The dusk is now your dawn, and there's solace found in a life spent walking under the stars. 
But the diet... well, that will be one of the largest changes. The delicate pastries, the jams and the freshly-baked bread from the downstairs kitchen will be certainly something you’ll miss. But with time, you’re sure you will manage.
As you stir in the large bed - the last dregs of light filter through cracks around the arched windows, slipping in at the edges.
Rich pinks and purples fading into grey as they are dragged across the stone floor of the massive room you now share with Din - disappearing with the sun.
The room of slate grey now woven with shades of indigo and violet and gold. The starry night sky brought with you, when your things mixed with his. Reminders from your beloved tower, woven into tapestries that hang on the walls.
The rack of clothes near the door is now filled to the brim with pieces you now wear proudly. The books you've collected now line his shelves, next to your ottoman.
Everything weaving together so neatly. 
Your lives have become entwined as well. There had been some adjusting, after he had returned to you. After that long morning spent, entwined in the sheets.
Time had been taken after, days and weeks spent with the intent of getting to know each other. Putting the knowledge of your bond aside - starting fresh, wiping the slate from before clean. 
And now... that feels like a lifetime ago. 
You cherish the few stolen minutes as your mate rests beside you - waiting for full darkness before he stirs. Your hand props up your chin as your eyes trace over his features, not wanting to wake him.  
Over the bare expanse of his chest, the curve of a shoulder. The slight, persisting furrow of his brow. Parted lips, the points of his teeth just barely visible.
Dreamless, in his dormancy. 
Among the list of changes, that is one thing that you do not think you will mind. Because with time, you have moved on from the before.
But it still comes back to visit you, in your dreams. Waking up in a sweat as the fire licks at you. The echo of the throbbing in your head, the ghosts of the faces that swim before you.
Compared to that - the soft silence is appealing. Perhaps preferable.
And soon he stirs, under your admiring gaze.
Under the fingertips that can't help but reach out and touch. Across the scars and marks you've come to know so well. Dark eyes fluttering open, the low groan as his muscles flex with his languid stretch - as he pulls you closer. 
"Today is the day." You tell him, and he smiles.
He smiles more often, now. For you, behind closed doors and in stolen moments. A rich, ringing laugh that makes you feel accomplished when you can pull it from him.
Still so much the reserved man that you had met so long ago, but you know his humor now. The dry quips and the sighs, and each time you hear them - you think you fall just a little harder. 
"It is," He agrees, his knuckles brushing your cheek.
There's a glittering look in his eye - before his hand is grabbing your calf, thrown across his waist. Pulling you to him, on top of him. Straddling his waist - your thighs squeezing his hips, as your hands flatten against his chest.
A little squeak as you find your balance, with a shift of your hips. The air cold above the nest of blankets, chilled by the thick walls of stone and the frost that's begun to nip at the grass outside. 
Your skin pebbling, as his hands smooths over your thighs - trying to warm you. His sleepy gaze dragging over skin that's just as bare as his.
Lingering on the remnants from the morning before. The pretty marks against your skin, the twin sets of bruises lingering on the soft swells of your breasts.
Some, you still heal. 
But there's others - ones tucked beneath layers of silver and crimson silk - that you leave.  A secret something for him to rediscover later, when he strips the clothes from you.
"Are you nervous?" He asks, as his thumb sweeps across your skin. 
After a moment of thought your nose scrunches, as you shake your head, "You said it wouldn't hurt."
"Wouldn't hurt too badly." He clarifies, carefully, "You'll be... uncomfortable. From what I remember. But I'll be with you."
You supposed it would be uncomfortable. To have your blood all but drained, leaving you open for it to be replaced.
But you can't help but think that there was a sick sort of romanticism in the ritual. At the thought of his essence being the first you will feed on - the final step of your transformation.  
"If you're with me, then I can do anything." You smile.
Fingers bite into your skin, as his hips rock upward at your words. His cock twitching where it’s trapped snugly between your thighs, pressing against the soft curve of your ass.
His words come out distracted, "Maybe when this is over, you can convince Fennec. Show her that it isn't so bad. She's never seen the ritual done, before."
"I'm surprised she hasn’t changed yet." You can't help but move with him - a subtle rock of your hips that has an eyebrow raising, "She pretends not to be interested, but I saw her listening when I was talking about tonight with Boba."
Boba - who had chosen this path of life for himself, like you had. Following in his father's footsteps. A friendship had formed, and you know that he was someone who you could talk to without bias - who would give you each and every detail with an open clarity.
The messiness of your first hunt. The sharp bite of silver, the sear of the midday sun. The hunger.
Because, you knew that deep down - Din secretly held onto the wish to have with him. Just as you did.
"Perhaps she’s nervous. She’s had a close enough brush with death already.”
"I doubt that," Din’s guess makes your smile, as you counter, "Fennec isn't afraid of anything. I'm much more scared, and I'm still-"
His expression changes then, eyebrows pinching in concern. Hands bracing on your hips to pin you down, halting your teasing as he pushes himself up on an elbow. 
"If you've changed your mind cyare, we can wait." Din tells you - solemnly and with no judgement, "As long as you need."
His words, his concern, warms you.
But you don't want to wait any longer. The thought had already first come to you, soon after your first evenings together. Only for that wish to intensify in those weeks and months that followed.
Sometimes it felt like it had taken so long to find Din. Even longer for him - neither one of you thinking or even suspecting that your mate might be out there. Waiting. Destined for them.
The idea that you wouldn't want to - that you could live with the idea of him existing in a world where you weren't right there, by his side was...
Impossible. Unthinkable.
"That's not what I meant." You frown, your head shaking, "We've talked about it."
His look softens, "I know we have. I just mean that either way, it's your choice."
“I’ve thought plenty about it,” You gently assure him, “I want this.”
You know that the choice has always been yours. And maybe that's one of the reasons you want it so badly. The very human urge to reach out and sink your teeth into the ripe fruit of immortality.
A smile, then - as your mind wanders. Wanting to turn him away from his concern - to bring that smile back.
"Besides, don't you think it will be nice, once you don't have to hold back?" You coo, distracting him again - taking advantage of this way his hands had loosed, with another pointed wiggle of your hips, "If I'm going to be your riduur, then I should-"
He interrupts you, with a voice that is rough and firm - the voice of a Mand'alor.
"You will be my riduur, vampire or not."
It makes your heart race, a fluttering of your pulse. Just how much he loves, how he always has. The true nature of those names he’s called you from the beginning carefully confessed, repeated reverently in your ear.
Groaned against your skin with the pump of his hips, the familiar swirl of his fingers. Mixing in with praise, choked out and ragged as he buries himself in you.
Whispered softy in the early morning after, as you both drift off together.
And now quickly you’ve caught up - falling head-over-heels as well. With his kindness and his ferocity and his loyalty, all so carefully woven into everything he did.
You think you would have fallen, even if he wasn’t your soulmate.
The upcoming ceremony is for tradition - something that you both want. But it’s not needed to prove your devotion - not with the way you both know deep down that the bond of your mark and your entwined souls more than joins you.
That it already tethers you together - throughout space and time.
"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum." You murmur - the words finally sounding smooth, with the hours of practice, "That's what I want. Forever."
You can feel his smile, as he pushes up to kiss you. Slowly moving down to your throat, the thrill of his open-mouth kiss heightened with the sharp scrape of teeth - a mimicry of later.
His voice is soft and smooth as he repeats the words. So full of love that it makes you ache, as his lips press against your skin. As he swears one more vow.
"Then forever is what I will give you.”
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cyare - beloved | riduur - spouse
ni kar'tayli gar darasuum - "I love you." / I will know you forever”
— THE END!
(one of my fave parts of vampire/human romances is the ‘so do they turn too?’ and since they are soulmates I thought that would be fun to explore as a sweet little ending for this series. Thank you all so much again for reading! 💖)
(Tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella, @spaceydragons, @-ohsolovely-, @survivingandenduring, @queenquazar, @alitaar, @dindjarinsslut, @creatureoftheunderworldd, @margowritesthings, @your-slutty-gf, @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl, @lovers-liability, @swissy23)
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mxlfoydraco · 11 months
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I swear I liked a drarry reclist from you for this, but now I can't find it :x do you have any recs for drarry fics where Draco has muggle friends or embraces a more muggle lifestyle? Bonus points if Draco is gay in them because it pulls me out of the story if he has a single straight man thought....(I mean really....the audacity)
First of all, same. Second, I have a list, Draco in the Muggle World, I'm adding on:
Draco in the Muggle World Pt.2
The Liars Department by DorthyAnn (103k)
This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.
Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (61k)
Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what’s he doing right, that Harry isn’t? Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years. And that’s what starts it all.
Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (83k)
This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy’s lean arms.
The Man Who Lived by @e-sebastian (253k)
Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee.
Set in New York twelve years after the war.
find a new place to be from by @oflights (47k)
Something is wrong with Malfoy Manor, and it’s driven Draco into the Muggle world. Thankfully, Harry is now on the case. A story about houses that haunt you and homes built for two.
you bring me home by @softlystarstruck (35k)
Harry is happy. He has his cat cafe and his hobbies. He has his friends, and Dolly Parton, and a shirt with a cowboy frog on it. It’s all a man needs, really. He doesn’t need to obsess over a magic-less, anxious Draco Malfoy coming into his cafe after disappearing from the wizarding world years ago. He doesn’t. Not even if the cats like Malfoy. Not even if Malfoy is soft, and funny, and a little bit neurotic. No matter how much he wants to obsess.
Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (17k)
Draco writes romance novels and doesn’t leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.
Make Yourself by @anyaelizabethfic (103k)
Harry just wants to be safe within the freshly painted walls of Grimmauld Place, with his friends around him. But when he hears Draco Malfoy has been spotted at the local soup kitchen, he can’t help but encourage a different type of stray to come under his roof.
Star Quality by who_la_hoop (118k)
Two years after the war, and Harry’s content with his life. OK, so it’s a little annoying that he keeps winning Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor award, and he’s really not looking forward to the unveiling of an enormous gold statue of himself, but he loves his friends, and he loves being an Auror. And if he yearns for something more, something he can barely bring himself to think about, well, he’ll probably get over it. No one’s happy all the time, are they? But then everything changes, and Harry’s thrown into a new and dazzling world he’s not sure he can actually escape from. And as time goes on, he starts to wonder: does he actually want to?
Rebel, Rebel by @makeitp1nk (28k)
Thirty-six year old Harry Potter is the coolest bloke in muggle Camden Town. That’s right — he’s left the wizarding world behind and has been living his best life ever since. But will one chance encounter with a certain blond from his past change everything? Yeah, probably.
(Un)wanted by @aibidil (36k)
Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.
The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy by @magpiefngrl (37k)
Zacharias Smith writes a tell-all about the D.A. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are not happy about it.
Had To Be You by @lettersbyelise (59k)
Draco Malfoy is possibly the last person Harry expects to find at the wheel of a Muggle car, on a beautiful summer day on the road to London. This is the story of how Harry runs into Draco once, twice, three times, and how he doesn’t leave their next meeting to chance. A fic inspired by When Harry Met Sally
Chasing Shadows by @manixzen (93k)
The murder of Lucius Malfoy seems impossible—no cause of death, no traces of spell-work, no potions in his system. The only leads Harry and his partner have are the trail of missing wizards the deeper they go. That and the help of the victim’s estranged son who now spends his time bartending at a queer-friendly Muggle pub. A case fic featuring a closeted Harry Potter, an out-and-proud, tattooed Draco Malfoy, and a murder mystery that seems to lead to more questions than answers.
coffee & communication: a (slow) romance by @softlystarstruck (10k)
Nearly a decade after the war, Draco has made a life for himself in Muggle London, writing romance novels and hanging out with his cat. But when he spills iced coffee all over a gorgeous man who turns out to be Harry Potter, has he tumbled into the start of his own romance without realizing it? And how difficult can it be to talk about desire, anyways? He writes smut for a living. Surely it can't be that difficult.
Meddling, Menswear, and Magic by @writcraft (18k)
Draco Malfoy is working in a job he hates and avoiding the magical world entirely, but he really is fine. When a bequest from Severus Snape brings Draco back to a much-changed magical world, he must find his place within it and navigate his growing attraction to Harry Potter in the process.
Way Down We Go by @xiaq (109k)
The war was over. Or at least that’s what the papers said. They’d been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding. Maybe they did.
In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town. It’s super.
100 Beats per Minute by @oknowkiss (13k)
When Draco left the Magical World behind at nineteen, he didn't expect the cusp of thirty would find him comfortable and secure, with a stable life and a successful career as a sex columnist. Stable, that is, until he meets the subject of his newest column -- a stranger calling himself James, who has dragged them both to Ibiza on a sex quest of epic proportions -- and everything Draco ever knew turns upside down all over again.
Prats, Parcels, and Parseltongue by @ronbinary (10k)
Harry is the Muggle world's first snake-only veterinarian. Life is good, and calm, for once. Until Draco Malfoy shows up with a snake. And then another. And then he won't stop coming in.
Full by @orange-peony (16k)
The door opens and the bell goes ding. Draco’s eyes immediately fly to the entrance of his bookshop, his heart beating madly in the hope that it’s him.
The Year of Non-Magical Thinking by @whiskyandwildflowers (13k)
"I don't know what I'm going to do, Potter. I'll think of something. So will you. But this is my journey to self-actualization," Draco managed to smirk. "You can fuck off and get your own."
In the Shape of Things to Come by @academicdisasterfic (15k)
Existential angst and chronic boredom are plaguing Harry Potter in his cushy post-war life. However, a chance encounter with a tattooed, pierced, disgruntled Draco Malfoy in the middle of Muggle Camden seems to spark something in Harry again—and he never could stay away from Malfoy. Ft. assorted methods of body modification, eclectic but loving friends, a wide variety of grunge music, long tube rides, and a whole lot of trans love.
When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by @femmequixotic (22k)
A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.
Enjoy the Silence by @shealwaysreads (3k)
Draco stops speaking, gets some tattoos, and discovers that Harry’s happy to be quiet with him.
There's No Espresso in Azkaban by @sassy-cissa (7k)
When Harry finds Draco working in a Starbucks, he finds coffee has suddenly become more interesting.
Let Rainwater Wash Away by @carpemermaidtales (6k)
Harry really needed to learn the importance of carrying an umbrella. Or, maybe he didn’t, since not carrying one led him to stumble upon Draco Malfoy’s antique shop while seeking shelter from a thunderstorm.
Google drive link for all Gallaplacidia fics by @geesenoises
Exposure by GallaPlacidia (26k)
When Seamus uncovers Draco Malfoy’s camboy profile, he, Harry and Ron decide to anonymously book a private show so as to humiliate him later. Fascinated by Draco’s confidence, Harry keeps booking private shows under the disguise…
Can I Tell You Something by GallaPlacidia (33k)
It's not a party unless Draco Malfoy is there. He's so fun! So wild! So crazy! So many drugs! So many drugs. Too many drugs? Harry's starting to think it's probably a lot too many drugs. This is not a drug addiction recovery fic, although there is a drug addiction recovery. Feat. character development through wide-eyed MDMA trips and Draco Malfoy finding peace as a burlesque dancer.
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The Economic Difference Between The Miner and Mine Owner's Daughter
Chapter Two
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Based on this ask
Rated Explicit | Warning: period typical sexism
Ao3
Taglist: @anastasiablossomlove @tfamidoingwithmylife
Chapter One | Chapter Three
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This goes on for quite some time. There are nights you go hungry for him, a fair price to pay as your father does not pay these people enough nor give them the proper food needed to truly fill them. No, he uses the ‘company store’ to keep them in debt with him and thus the company. Norton’s father just like all the others, and Norton forced to pay off a debt not of his making.
Norton with each ‘offering’ seems tolerant of you, well as tolerant as any miner worker could be given who you are. Yes, there are some who like you, you grew up around them, and they have seen you scold your father when was not treating them right. You were able to give them days off on holidays! At the cost of your allowance but again, a price you are willing to pay.
You have your mother’s heart, father told you, a heart he fears the world will eat up.
Tonight in the mines, Norton seemed to have been waiting for you as he stared at the rusted watch he keeps at hand. No one has stolen it because it has no value.
Currently sitting with him in this small space with only the walls of dirt and rock as the witnesses to this exchange.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“Because I want to help. Even in a small way.”
He rolls his eyes, “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Chewing on freshly baked pumpkin bread. “You should be listening to your father. This isn't a place for a woman.” Snarky. “Might dirty your pretty dress.”
“I am more effective here.” You pour him a cup of tea and then offer it to him. “Earl gray.”
“What do you want out of this?” He does not take the cup immediately, “You want a pet? Something to play around with until daddy finds you a real man?” What he is implying is not unheard of yet is unseemly to you.
Those of lower status can gain money by being the lover of someone of higher status. They are paid to give an escape.
… A handsome man like Norton Campbell would be ideal, the scar adds to his ruggedness .
You roll your eyes, “Is it so hard to believe some people just want to help?”
“People like you, yes. Nothing in this world is free. Especially when the rich are involved.”
There is a pause as he takes the cup from your hand, his eyes hard and cold. Norton only eats the food you leave him because honestly, he needs it. The usual food given either gets stolen from him or barely enough to give him energy.
You have given him quality and quantity food, he has been filling out better and his energy has been up. Even now in the late hours, he eats some treats you baked and gifting him this Christmas day. Your father is currently overseas and most of the miners are home for a holiday.
Here you are alone with some poor man on Christmas, the scandal!
“... Change can only happen if it starts from the top.” Mumbling the words.
The silence of the mine, rocks shifting, flickering lights. Norton moves closer to you, sitting in front of you, “Heh, anyone can claim to know how to change anything when they are sitting comfortably.” You look at the ground as he goes on, giving you wake up to reality.
“Want to change something? Give every man here a piece of the pie.” Chung down the lukewarm tea, “Then see what they will do with it,” He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, “Half of them will drink it away. The other half gambling it.” Disgusted.
Norton sounds like your father. Maybe it is true or maybe not, you like to believe every worker would pay off their debt and then run away to live a better life.
“You… What about you?”
He goes quiet then snickers, “Buy out your father's stocks,” You look surprised to hear that, “Rip this hellhole right from under him. Take every last piece of gold from him until he is begging me for a job.” Then, he leans forward, eyeing you, “Maybe if he gives me his daughter, I might be willing to send him to a nice nursing home.”
His world resembles the abyss of the mines. No way out. Always digging deeper. Norton makes sure to look at you objectively, to make you feel like he is both undressing and fucking you.
“I doubt that.” You frown, “No, you would try to improve things.”
He laughs at you, “Seriously? Why? Because I worked these mines since I could wrap my hands around a pickaxe!? Pft, it is every man for himself in this place. Learn that now.” 
Survival of the fittest, the theory of evolution. You have read up on the subject before. How only the strong and adaptable will survive. The strong who dictate the fate of the weak.
And in this world, money makes you powerful.
Could change only happen from the top? Does the change happen when those below become the ones in power? Or does the cycle of oppression continue? 
“Go home.” Standing up and going back to work.
“Mr. Campbell,” You speak while gathering the plate and cup you brought, “Thank you.”
When you left, he stopped working to savor the taste of pumpkin bread in his mouth.
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Humans are selfish creatures.
When Norton’s map was taken from him and brought to the foreman, then to your father, they took the credit. Norton will get none of the credit and whatever gold they find, he will never see it. This is a promise your father made to him, you could only stand in shock.
Golden Cave. All roads lead here. All roads and lives.
Maybe it was karma that caused all this to happen. 
You did not visit the worksite immediately like usual, your father had you sent away to Europe for a time with your grandparents on vacation. When you returned, you saw only the near end of the madness of this place.
The whispers, the accidents, some of the workers disappearing. The reports are insane! Not to mention the loss of money going into this! It was like they were digging for Fool's Gold!
When you saw your father, he looked like a shadow of his former self. A hollowed old man.
When you tried to take him home, he refused by yelling and throwing things in his office around. He never acted like this before!
Something is very, very wrong with this place.
Your father says they have to find the gold Norton Campbell's claims should be here.
Gold, gold, gold; he mined for coal! There is nothing here and you fear that more money funded into this project will put your family business in serious debt.
Worse, put your father in a mental ward with his erratic behavior.
You did not like this, you told him this is wrong, everything here is wrong! But all he did was shut you out.
The place is empty, all the workers, including your father, are in the mines. In the infirmary, the doctor was knocked unconscious when you found him.
After waking him up, a disturbing discovery was revealed to you.
The doctor explained the escalating situation to you. He speculated something in the cave, possibly gaseous, is causing the miners and your father to lose their senses. It was hard to believe but he then pointed out how sensible both you and him are being.
“Your father went into the mines with the others,” The doctor gives you a notice sent to all the miners.
Our time has come. Enter the mines. The detonation will reveal the truth.
Whatever is going on down there it sounds like nothing good is about to come out of it! You fear your father will be lost forever to you if you do not stop them from digging further into the mines of Golden Cave.
You quickly run inside the dreadful cave praying it is not too late, a mining lamp your only source of light.
As you travel deeper you hear voices, whispers that warn you to run away growing louder and louder as you follow the path of wire connected to charges within the cave.
“Norton!?” He is sitting on the ground talking to himself, “Norton, stop!” Seeing him trying to light the fuse.
It was then the voices went silent. The world goes still.
Everything feels slowed down as you knock the lighter from his hand. Your lamp going out leaving you both in ill lighting.
Then, now, you lay on the uneven ground with dirty glove-covered hands wrapped around your throat.
“N-Norton…?”
He squeezes yet it loosens only to tighten again.
You can see conflict all over his face, he is mumbling as if talking to someone.
Someone who is not you.
The gas… It must be… Effecting him.
“Norton,” Your hand reached out to him. “You h-have to s-snap out o-of it.” There is a panicked look on his face when your soft hand touches the scarred portion of his face. Those eyes that often glared at you gaze upon you in fear.
Fear.
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tootoomanycats · 5 months
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Fic idea that has been brain rot for the last few days.
I want to write/read a fic of post rumbling Levi.
I want it to be a slow burn, filled with moments of PTSD Levi coping with the adjustment to such a peaceful way of living now. Moments of catching glimpses of past comrades in strangers faces. Moments of him wanting to be happy, where he wants to laugh for the first time in years-but it’s hard to find it still.
I want Levi to have a tea shop.
I want him to have a daily routine; wake up, open shop, serve tea, sweep at night and close up shop.
Rinse, Lather, Repeat.
I want a new shop to open up across the street one day. A bakery. It had been sometime since the small town locals had tasted fresh baked treats. It takes time to rebuild civilization ya know?
At first the windows are covered while decorating occurs. And as much as he doesn’t want to care, it’s hard not to become curious from the local chatter and rumors he hears from the locals.
“We’ll I heard it’s an elderly man, that he’s one of those….island folk”
“That’s not true at all, it’s a teenager wanting to make their way in the world”
“What are you talking about, it’s an married couple that survived the giants. Their from a small foreign country”
Levi becomes irritated. His once quite and peaceful tea house now the local gathering spot for the town to gossip and cluck, all because of that stupid bakery.
One night when the shop closes much later than it should have, (thanks to the straggler gossips) he decides to cross the street and see if he can sneak a peek of the object of so much commotion.
He peeks through a small tear in the paper covered windows.
“Tch, place is a mess”
And in his defense, he was not wrong. The disorganization and clutter filled shop was a mess. Someone was clearly more of a…chaotic organizer. Stepping away from the window his ear twitched at the sound of laughter, and a smell filled his nose.
It was only a moment but he found himself even moving his head slightly, trying to catch the warm comforting scent again. Stepping to the left and facing the small ally way to the back of the shop, he found it again. Melted butter, chocolate and cinnamon followed by the unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread.
The laughter echoed louder from his new location. When was the last time he laughed like that? Dark brows furrow at the flashing memory of a woman’s head, caved in by a titans heel. A quick breath and shake of his head and Levi found he was already walking back to his apartment, above the tea house.
He could already feel that sleep would not be so easy to come by tonight. Changing clothes and grabbing the small basket next to the back door, he walked down from the second story to the small garden hidden away. Gathering more fresh herbs for tomorrows tea, touching earth, anything to ground his thoughts that seemed to be picking up pace.
Sniff sniff
There it was again, that chest warming smell of hot bread and sweetened aromas. As he stood and wiped the sweat from his brow, he realized the whole street was filled with the smell now. And the faint sounds of laughter echoed even into his small garden.
His jaw clenched and fingers gripped the pruning sheers in his hand. He knew the quite sleepiness of the town would be shook off at one point, maybe it was foolish to hope it would come slowly. Easy to adjust too. That his routine would continue with its quite, simple predictability.
Sleep did not come easy that night, not that it had any other before it. This morning the mirror’s reflection showed how rough the night had really been. Darker circles than normal hung below grey eyes, jaw muscles puffy from grinding back molars all night. Waking earlier than normal, Levi decided he would get to the shop well before hours to organize inventory.
As the keys jingled in the top lock, His head snap to look behind him. The sound of heels clicking against the cobblestone echoed through the quite fog of the early morning. Squinting he still struggled to make out the figure through the density of the low hanging clouds. He could make out their height, even in heels they were tall when next to the bakery’s door frame for reference. Their hands were full and in the end fumbled the keys to the ground.
A feminine huff of agitation could be heard before they shuffled rather comically in their attempt to pick up the keys.
If asked Levi wouldn’t be able to tell what drove him to walk over and pick them up, to hand them back to their owners hand. He had to look up at the person…at you. It was rare even now for the retired captain to become frozen.
In that moment he knew that even if he listened to every drop of gossip and rumor in town, he wouldn’t have believed who the new shop owner across the way was.
“Oh thank you so much, I swear I’d lose my own head if it wasn’t attached.”
You laugh softly, trying to still be conscious of the early morning hours. The fog was still thick and it was hard to make out the more visual details of your galant helper. But from the height you make a mistake…it was an honest mistake. Really, but not one that was going to be easy to recover from.
“What are you doing up so early little one? Do your parents know your out right now?”
“What did you just say?”
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toreii · 1 year
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Glorious Masquerade spoilers #7
Notes: Welcome to Part 2 of the event! This part is divided between the three field groups starting with Azul’s team. I will be covering the first chapter of each group in this summary. There is a mission requirement of 20 lessons for each group before advancing to the next part. Each group has a total of 50 lessons to complete to finish Part 2. This will take time to get through, so I plan to do this in parts. Let’s get started!
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Azul’s Group - Group A
We begin at NBC, where Azul reconfirms Deuce and Epel being on his team. He asks them what they’d like to do. Deuce and Epel have no idea as they’ve never traveled before in their life. Epel, however, would like to see something unique to the City of Flowers.
Azul expected as much from their lackluster responses. Nevertheless, he tells the two that he did some research beforehand. One thing that can help them understand the culture of the City of Flowers is food.
Epel and Deuce agree (especially since Deuce is feeling hungry). Azul suggests they hit up the most popular place to eat in town to begin their field work.
Upon arriving in town, Deuce and Epel are taken aback by all the people. Epel comments that the town is big. Despite the City of Flowers and Harveston being in the Shaftlands, the cityscape is very different to his hometown.
Azul comments that the huge crowd must be due to the festival. However, Rollo suddenly appears before them. He corrects Azul saying that the city has always been vibrant, and not because of the festival.
Azul mentions the plan to eat the local specialties. Rollo replies that they should try one particular food. But, Azul interrupts him, saying that he studied in advance already. The City of Flower’s specialty is their bread. Rollo is impressed with Azul. Azul asks him to take them to a shop recommended by him.
Deuce and Epel don’t get what’s so great about bread since it’s nothing special. But, the wafting of freshly baked bread has them changing their tune. Azul can smell the scent of butter and toasted bread. The thought of it makes Deuce’s and Epel’s stomachs growl with hunger. Rollo mentions that there is a long established bakery nearby that he frequents, and it seems that they just finished baking. He tells the trio to follow him.
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Idia’s Group - Star☆Team
We begin at NBC with Idia complaining about doing field work during their free time. It’s hard for an introvert as himself. It has him feeling pretty reluctant. Anyways, Idia prepares to check on his group members when Rook excitedly interrupts him giving Idia quite the scare.😆
Rook confirms to our Roi de Chambre that it is him, Idia, Silver, and Ruggie on their team. Idia quietly comments on Rook’s dazzling smile which radiates a positive aura. Silver overhears Idia mention the word dazzling, and wonders if it’s because the brim of the hat isn’t low enough. Rook asks if he wishes to borrow his hat instead.😂
Ruggie comments that Rook is as carefree as Kalim. Idia approaches something along the lines of sensing the same gloominess within Ruggie like himself. But, he feels like the conversation isn’t going well, and wonders if it’s the beginning of a parallel world reincarnation. Ruggie says he has no idea what Idia is talking about, and feels like this group is going to be a lot of trouble. (I’m still having trouble with this part, so I’m not 100% sure. I will definitely have to check other translations to confirm. I’m like 50-50, and like Ruggie, I have no idea what Idia just said😆.)
Anyways, Rook asks the group what they’d like to see in town. Of course, Ruggie says he’s a crafts and local specialty guy. He mentions that one can get a free meal at night. Silver wants to buy a souvenir for Lilia. Rook agrees that they should get to know the local products of the town to get to know it better. Idia also approves as he wants to also buy a souvenir for Ortho while exploring the city.
Idia adds that he wants to finish the main quest quickly. If they do that, their purpose in coming to the City of Flowers is achieved. Ruggie remembers they have the exchange meeting, and Idia tragically says his exchange meeting has already begun. Arming himself with resolve, he orders the group to head out.
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Malleus’s Group - Team 1
Like the others, we start at NBC with Sebek shouting for the team to gather. Jamil tells him to shut up. There is no need to scream since they can hear him perfectly fine.😆 Sebek tells him and Riddle not to keep Malleus waiting.
Malleus is looking forward to working with them. Jamil comments that he wasn’t sure what to do when Sebek grumbled about not being on the same team with Malleus, but he feels relieved they have a guard onboard. (In other words, Jamil can relax without having to deal with Malleus’s safety.) Sebek swears to protect Malleus’s safety.
Anyways, Malleus says he’s interested in getting to know more about the town’s history. He researched in advance, but Malleus feels that there is a difference in reading a book, and actually experiencing it in real life. He asks the others what they wish to do.
Sebek happily agrees with his choice. Riddle thinks it’s a wonderful idea. Jamil also wants to learn about the history of the town as it would be a unique experience. Of course, Trein is happy they want to learn history. Grim cannot believe it. I had Yuu answer that they too want to learn, which warms Trein’s heart, as well.
Trein says that there is a place he recommends that he saw a long time ago, and left him impressed. It’s not a place for tourists, so it’s not on the map. Trein asks if the boys don’t mind him showing them around. Riddle is all for it. So, Malleus tells everyone they’re heading out.
To be continued…
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aikolina · 2 years
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Jealousy all over town pt.3
♡ 
♡ 
Diluc Ragnvindr x reader
AN: I'm trying to keep this fic with gn!reader but I'm not the best so I just say 'reader'. uhm yeah-
Warnings: kinda angst to fluff?, insecure, rumors ur mom
Wordcount: 437
!not proofread!
♡ 
♡ 
"D-diluc" Donna stuttered looking frightened. You looked up and then quickly behind you. You see Diluc's large figure behind you. He glared at Donna. Man looking scary rn and Donna, well she's gna shit her pants.
Diluc wrapped his arms around you before speaking- "don't you dare call my soon-to-be wife/husband like that you filthy rat. They're so much better than all of you, yeah all of you! I don't know your backstory but I can tell you that I was the one who fell first. I know they're neither a gold digger or a backstabber, they rarely use my money. They work hard to pay for themselves; Y/n is a wonderful person and they're everything I could ask for and I'm very grateful I can be with someone like them. So if you or any of the other one of you talk about them again; there will be consequences."
omg I didn't thimk that line would be so long, sry lmao
Donna and the others around stood there shocked and not evemn bothering to say anything back aftere getting yelled at.
"I-" you started, about to say something before Diluc cut you off.
"shh let's just get home for now," he whispered and picked you, bridal style.
You let a tear out and hugged Diluc's chest.
He carried you the whole way back to the winery and asked one of his maids to prepare something small to eat.
Now that you both were home, he tucked you in the couch with a blanket while the maid came with a cup of coffee and a slice of freshly baked bread.
"I'm so sorry, I didnt know. I shouldve been more cautious" Diluc said as he ckissed your forehead.
"It's okay and thank you- uh... um, and- did u really mean what you said back there? You know, about that wife/husband thing..." u asked hesitantly and snuggled him.
He put his hands on your cheeks and made you look at him.
"of course I love you more than anything in the god forsaken world"
he replied with a soft smile on his face. You hugged him even tighter and kissed him.
"If this ever happens again, I want you to tell me. I get really worried in these situations" Diluc said.
"yeah sorry, I just hope this doesn't happen again-"
You both went quiet and soon fell asleep. This night you could cry in his arms, and not all alone. He was always there for you. You just had to realize it, and now you finally did.
You didn't feel alone anymore, you had Diluc.
Pretty short ik, quite bad writing. (English is my 3rd language so sorry for bad grammar and spelling) THANK YOU for reading and supporting my blog<33
I think this is the end, um you can always try to change the ending in your head if you didn't like my ending like me, omg twinning.
Hope you have an amazing day/night^^
BYEE
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kumeko · 1 year
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A/N: For the Goddess Messenger Zine vol 4! Look at me writing a pure romantic drama, it’s been a while. Inpsiried by AlzzziMi/status/1310535382270791680/photo/1 on twitter, one day I want to write a fic for every one of their Claudeleth pieces.
It is early dawn when Byleth wakes. She has always woken up early, the habit drilled into her from her days as a mercenary. Her father would shake her shoulder, his hand gentle as he roused her from sleep. It’s time to go, he murmured as the sun peeked through the trees. There was a contradiction in Jeralt, in how his hands were gentle with her while unflinchingly cutting down his enemies. His lips tugged into a small smile as she quietly got to her feet.
Now, though, there is no father by her bed when she stirs. Instead of a blue sky, she’s greeted by a blue canopy. The sun sneaks in through stained windows, lighting up a mansion of a bedchamber filled with luxuries that are a far cry from her days in the woods.
The greatest treasure in the room, though, is the man sleeping next to her. Byleth shifts her body slowly, trying not to wake him as she turns to watch him. Claude has always slept cat-like, easy to wake, as though he is afraid someone will come for him in his sleep. When they first slept together, she was not surprised to find a dagger under his pillow. She is certain it is from his time in Almyra. She is equally certain he will dodge the question if she asks.
She did not mind it during the war. Now, though, Byleth wishes this skill would disappear. It is rare to find Claude entirely still, his mind quiet. It is rarer still that she gets to gaze down on him uninterrupted. His dark hair splays across the pillow, his hands curling into the bedsheets. There is something almost innocent about his expression like this, like the schemes leave him when he sleeps.
Even now, with the battle behind them, there are schemes. She wonders if it will be like that when they grow old, if when the grey reaches his temples, he’ll still have a trick up his sleeve. If she’ll always catch that mind whirling with the next plan, the next step, his body trying to keep up with the grand dreams he has envisioned of the future.
It’s peaceful now. Birds trill, greeting the rising sun. Outside, bakeries and smithies start their day. Claude mercifully stays asleep. Byleth resists the urge to run a hand through his silken locks, to brush his jaw and watch him shiver. His reaction would be a temporary pleasure soon followed by the hard edge of reality.
When he wakes, they will have to return to their duties and tasks. He is the King of Almyra. She is the leader of Fódlan. Between them, there is a country to rebuild, borders to open, people to heal. There is no time to rest. There is no time to think. And there is certainly no time to lay in bed, watching the sunrise.
It is more than she expected. Claude was raised a prince and lived a Riegan, but Byleth has always just been Byleth, a commoner in every way, shape, and form. Leading a mercenary troop was all she had expected in life.
Now she is a symbol, a goddess reborn. Now she is not Byleth, never just Byleth. People look at her with expectations and dreams and hopes, people look at her as though she can change the path of history and carve out the injustices in the world.
Byleth fiddles with her ring. When she’s troubled, her fingers are drawn to its warm metal. She loves the weight of it, the way it slides across the skin, the way it reminds her of the string connecting her to Claude. When it gets too much, she just has to touch it and she is home.
A breeze picks up. The curtains billow, fluttering like wings. Byleth smells freshly baked bread and smoke. The earthy scent of the forest, the grimy smell of dust from the road. If she inhales deeply enough, she imagines smelling the salty sea. Even deeper yet, a dozen spices she doesn’t know the name of, a little piece of Almyra smuggling its way into Fódlan.
The wind travels. Byleth stretches her legs, feeling a familiar trill running through them. She has never been in one place for so long before. A wanderlust fills her, urges her to get moving. Surely, they could both take a small trip. There are plenty of competent people around them—Lorenz at the very least would enjoy the opportunity, if not the chance to one-up Claude again. It’s not like they have to go far or long.
It could work.
There’s a soft groan as Claude stirs. His eyes crack open, his gaze unfocused. Automatically, he turns to her, his hand reaching forward to tangle in hers.
“’morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
“Morning.” Byleth leans forward, brushing his hair out of his face. Her own hair covers him like a curtain. She remembers the wind. “Let’s go on a trip.”
“A trip?” Claude blinks, forcing himself to wake up. His hand squeezes hers gently.
She nods. “Just the two of us.”
“That…” Claude stares at her in surprise before breaking into a smile. “That would be great.” He reaches up, his fingers tangling in her hair, his hand forcing her closer as he kisses her. The sun hits him and it’s like kissing molten gold, like the sun touching the sky.
-x-
Byleth has always surprised him. Ever since that first meeting eight years ago, Claude has been on his toes around his former professor. Her prowess in the battlefield, her strange connection to Rhea and Sothis, her abilities and hair colour—whenever he thinks he’s getting used to her, she throws him for a loop.
That hasn’t changed after they were engaged. For all of Byleth’s skill in war, she has very little in relationships, and it has been entertaining watching her bumble her way through with various degrees of success.
Or maybe it is ‘complete’ success, since he finds each fumble endearing. His life has always been teetering on the edge of perfection, on diligence. Claude has to predict as many possibilities as he can when he takes a step, when he picks a destination, when he chats with a dignitary. If Byleth fears failure, she never lets it show. If she makes a misstep, she doesn’t seem to care. Her expressions are honest, her gestures genuine, and he can only hope to one day reach her freedom.
In the meantime, he makes do with what he can. Their private movements together, their stolen kisses and lingering touches. Life is the interlude between long journeys from Almrya to Fódlan, the time spent in one royal house or the other before they must once more separate. One day, he wants to build a house right at the border, half in one country, half in the other. Byleth will probably never know how much he hungers for her, how much desire thrums under his skin like a drumbeat, but he has a lifetime to show her.
And today’s vacation is supposed to be a chance to do just that. When he had kissed Byleth, accepting her offer, he had imagined something soft, something luxurious. He had not imagined them traipsing through small villages dotting the border of their country, a work trip in the guise of a break.
Even now they’re in another nameless village. Claude is certain there isn’t a map that marks his location. A cool mountain breeze blows and he fights back a sigh as he takes in the dirt paths and wooden roofs. “This isn’t quite what I had in mind, Teach.”
Byleth frowns, looking more puzzled than upset. She fiddles with her ring, a tick he noticed she does whenever she’s trying to figure something out. “Did you want a different village?”
“It’s not the village that’s the problem.” Claude chuckles. He gestures as the official looking men and women approach them. “I thought this was a vacation.”
“Oh.” Byleth is contrite. “I thought it would be efficient. We can tour the country and check damages while also going on a trip.” She waits a beat. “It’s also a good excuse if anyone asks.”
“That’s true.” He doesn’t deny her words. It’s not a bad strategy. It just isn’t one he was prepared for. Though, in all honesty, he should have expected it. Byleth is a practical woman, after all. Even her gifts have some useful application.
Byleth picks up on his disappointment. “I thought you would like that.”
“I don’t hate it.” He carefully picks his words like a climber picks footholds. “A warning would have been nice, though.”
“Hello!” Fortunately, the town’s officials arrive, interrupting the conversation. It’s a gaggle of five elders, dressed up in their finest wools.
A woman in a grey tunic steps forward. Her eyes are sharp despite her white hair and wrinkled skin. ‘Greetings, your majesty.” She curtsies. “I’m Rosemary, the village head. It is an honour to have you here.”
“That’s fine.” Byleth shakes her head dismissively. She has never liked the trims and dressing of royalty. He wishes there were more like her. Perhaps they wouldn’t have had a war if there were.
Rosemary turns to him and curtsies once more. “Duke Riegan.”
“He is now the King of Almyra,” Byleth adds, smiling softly.
He waits, but she doesn’t add anything else. There have been barely any mentions of their engagement back in the royal palace and as far as his spies have told him, few knew of the true nature of their relationship.
The ring on his finger feels cold and heavy.
-x-
As expected, they are given the royal treatment, down to the room they stay in. The village head furnishes a guest bedroom. Every surface is covered in flowers. Candles light the room romantically, the town’s speciality in goat cheese is placed on a table in the center, and there’s a small basin filled with warm water to wash their faces.
Byleth already feels stuffy as she enters. It’s a small mercy that for once she isn’t wearing her proper robes and instead her old mercenary fatigues, she could not imagine making this trip otherwise. Her mouth is tired from pleasantries, her hand still curved in the shape of a handshake. Even during her days as a professor, she hadn’t really enjoyed social activities, but they had been bearable since her students were just as casual as she was.
Claude whistles softly as he looks around, his mood improving. “Nice digs.”
“It is.” She glances at the bed and for a moment, it’s six years ago and she’s travelling with her father. “There’s only one bed.”
A shadow flickers across his face, an expression that disappears before she can read it. His lips tug into a familiar smirk and he clasps his hands behind his back as Claude sidles close and leans toward her. “What, getting shy, Teach?”
Byleth flushes lightly. The promises in his waggling brow and sly smile drag up memories. “No, I…just old habits.”
“Oh?”
“It’s been a while since I travelled with someone.” Byleth studies his face—it’s impossible to tell he had been bothered at all. Then again, she has never been adept at that skill like he is. Brute honesty is the only way for her to get answers. “Is something wrong?”
“Nope.” He’s still smiling. It’s genuine, but not entirely. Part of her is disappointed; even now Claude likes to keep his secrets. There’s a wall between them, one that she can never quite scale or break down. She doesn’t know how.
There’s a knock on the door. He turns to open it. Rosemary steps in, her hands clasped in front of her as she bows slightly. “I’m sorry for interrupting your rest.”
“It’s fine,” Byleth replies. The only thing waiting for her are questions without answers. A distraction is more than welcome.
“What happened?” Claude asks. She can tell by his relaxed posture he already knows the problem. Of course he does.
“We’ve had trouble with a group of bandits nearby.” Rosemary’s eyes are clear as she looks at them. Byleth wonders if she’s been waiting to ask this question since they stepped foot in the town. “Unfortunately, no one here is able to handle them and they’ve been blocking off our supplies.”
Byleth doesn’t hesitate before nodding. “We’ll handle it.”
“Really? Thank you, your highnesses.” Rosemary smiles. “I’ll prepare a map in the morning with their location.”
Only when the woman leaves, the door slamming shut behind her, does Claude turn to her with a wry smile. “More work, huh?”
“I’m sorry.” Byleth sighs, her shoulders drooping. “I might not be good at planning vacations.”
“That’s an understatement.” Claude grabs her hand and pulls her close. He presses his forehead to hers and smiles. “But I don’t mind.”
She doesn’t see any shadows this time, but part of her fears he’s just gotten better at hiding it.
-x-
Claude has always been a light sleeper. In a royal household, between actual assassins and imaginary shapes in the wind, you had to be. His uncle had been killed in his sleep, throat slit. Another poisoned. Battles for the heir apparent are a constant, no matter how old or how distant the candidates are. He learned to sleep still, to keep one eye open and ear to the sky.
With Byleth, he forgets all of that. When his arms wrap around her, when his chest presses against her back, he forgets everything. Her pine scent washes over him as he falls asleep, her soft hair tickling his neck, and he’s out like a light to the sound of her heartbeat. It’s a deep sleep. His mother would be ashamed.
As soon as she leaves the safe cage of his arms, he’s back to old habits. Claude wakes up at the crack of dawn, the spot in front of him still warm. He stares at the emptiness for a second, the impression left by her body, the way his hands can still feel the smooth expanses of her skin. Ever since her disappearance during the war, he feels like he’s spent most of his life chasing Byleth’s shadow. Then he looks up to find her half-way dressed.
“Where are you going?” he asks. He doesn’t need to hear the answer, he already knows.
This isn’t the first time he’s woken to an empty bed. And despite his hopes, it won’t be the last.
“To get the bandits,” Byleth replies, her voice clipped as she snaps on her jacket. There’s military precision to her movements, an efficiency borne from years with Jeralt. Her pants slide on, then her belt. It takes only a minute and she’s already ready to leave.
Claude sits up, running a hand through his hair, chasing the sleep from his eyes. The blanket falls off his chest and pools in his lap. To her credit, she doesn’t react. “They said they’d get the map ready in the morning.”
“It is the morning.”
He laughs. “They didn’t mean this early in the morning.”
She purses her lips, annoyed. “It’s better to deal with these things quickly. They’ll catch wind and be harder to deal with later.”
He doesn’t doubt that. Her experience in this is still greater than his—a five year absence still hasn’t changed that. “You were going alone?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She flashes a smile before glancing at the door. “So the map won’t be ready?”
That isn’t the point. Claude studies her profile: determined eyes, strong jaw, straight back. She’s a warrior at her core. The people call her a goddess, a reincarnation of Sothis, a second coming of Rhea. If she is a goddess, she is one of steel and blood. There’s a country near his where they worship such a warrior, a goddess who dances over skulls and wields a sword in each of her many hands.
He finds in Byleth the image of that goddess.
“Wait.”
But unlike that goddess, who can do her work alone, Byleth is still a human. For all of her powers, she can get injured. She can get killed.
Claude does not think he could survive that heartbreak.
“Give me a second, I’ll get ready.” He clambers out of bed. Her eyes draw lower and lower before she snaps her head away and Claude feels a brief surge of pride at the reaction. Maybe he’ll tease her a little later, see how far he can go before she pounces.
“Are you sure?” she asks, gaze pointedly away from him.
“You don’t know where to go right?” Claude grins, pulling on his pants. “I have an idea where their camp might be.”
Surprised, she turns to him, forgetting his state of undress. “You do?”
“Yeah. There were some odd signs of activity when we flew over.” He puts on his shirt, feels the hard round edge of each button before he snaps them in place. Looking down, he can’t see her expression as he says, “You can rely on me more, you know.”
Quietly, she replies. “I know. I do.”
-x-
As usual, Claude knows exactly where to go. They ambush the bandits and dispatch them quickly, springing out of nowhere like a pair of ghosts. If those ruffians didn’t pray before, they do now; quickly, silently, under their breath, in loud curses and sobbing pleads. Their skills are wanting and they fall before her sword like a pack of cards.
By the time they get back, Rosemary has already set up a celebration. They are dragged from house to house, street to street. Rings of flowers are dropped over their heads and petals float in the air. A little girl kisses Claude on the cheek. An old woman offers Byleth an apple.
Claude smiles and laughs the entire time, enthusiastically dragging Byleth with him as they are presented with all of nature’s treasures. His hand stays twined in hers, their fingers interlaced. He looks happy.
She might not be as adept as he is, but Byleth can tell that he’s partially faking it. He’s still upset about this morning, this small grievance she doesn’t entirely understand. Was it irritation that he woke up? Annoyance that he had to go out with her, since she didn’t have a map? Disappointment?
Most likely, it’s none of the above, but she can’t stop the small niggling in the corner of her mind. When she is around him, she is keenly aware of the places she lacks,
Still, even with that, there are things she can do. Claude wants her to rely on him. And she does—his strength in politics, his warmth when she’s stressed, his smiles when she’s tired. In ways big and small, he has become her rock, her center, and she feels his pull like the tide does the moon.
Byleth does lean on him—but then she remembers her father, his absent smiles, his tomorrows and next times. The words Jeralt never said, never got a chance to say. The gaps in her knowledge she has had to piece together on her own. Actions aren’t enough, sometimes. Sometimes things need to be said, experienced.
In the evening, there is a bonfire. Big and bright, it lights up the night sky. Sparks fly, small embers like fireflies into the night. Villagers pen in the town square, clapping in time with the music. Couples dance around the flames, twirling in a language she cannot even hope to replicate.
It is a language Claude knows, though. They stand side by side watching the dancers and her hand seeks his. The pads of his fingers nicked from countless arrows. His ring is warm and calming.
“Byleth?” he asks, looking down.
Sometimes Byleth forgets how much taller he is now. Her head reaches his chin. “Do you want to dance?” She rubs his ring. “I don’t know how—teach me.”
It’s more an order than a request, but his smile broadens all the same. “I get to be the teacher this time,” he teases her, pulling her along as he positions them closer to the flames.
“You’ve been the teacher for a while now,” she corrects.
He kisses her in response.
-x-
He had imagined it. That is all Claude can think of, as he spins Byleth around the fire, as she steps on his toes and apologizes before stepping on his toes once more. She’s biting her cheek, focused on the dance, but she’s smiling and she’s happy and maybe it was just in his imagination after all.
Hilda had told him, many times, that he was prone to overthinking. She’d roll her eyes, pat him on the back, and tell him maybe use that noggin of yours a little less? Sometimes things are exactly as they appear to be.
Claude still maintains that it isn’t the case, that it is better to overthink than underthink, but today he is willing to concede the point.
Byleth twirls, her green hair glowing in the firelight like a beacon. Her skirt swirls like a hurricane, pulling him toward her. It could be pitch dark and he knows his eyes would be drawn to her, that his eyes have always been drawn to her. Even when she first appeared all those years ago, impassive as a rock, he had been drawn to her like a moth to the flame.
 Her hand returns to his as she steps back into place. Byleth breathes deeply as she slows to a stop, the dance over. It’ll be a while still before the flush on her skin disappears. “Thank you,” she murmurs, giving him another one of her slight smiles, a waning moon that always appears on the edge of disappearing.
“Want another?” he asks as the music picks up again, loath to let her go.
“A drink first.” She wets her lips. “I’m parched.”
Sometimes, being human was a bother. Claude squeezed her hands once before reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll get it.”
Startled, she looks at him with wide eyes. “That’s fine, I’ll—”
“Think of it as my thanks for the dance.” Claude smiles lopsidedly. “It’ll be a minute.”
Byleth purses her lips, considering it before acquiescing. “I’ll rely on you,” she says, echoing his words from the morning.
He laughs. She’s so obvious sometimes. It’s utterly refreshing. Part of him wants to kiss her, but if he does, then no one’s getting a drink. Slipping away, Claude heads over to the long banquet tables laden with fruits, berries, entire roasted pigs, delicate chicken dishes, and more. It seems like too much for a simple ‘defeat the bandits’, but he can understand the need to celebrate.
It is the little things in life that make it worthwhile.
When he returns to the fire, Claude spots her standing by herself, her back to the fire. She’s fiddling with her ring, sliding it on and off. Part of him fears that she’s debating between taking it off or keeping it on. A bigger part of him knows that’s irrational.
At least, a bigger part until he steps closer and hears her mumble, “Was it a mistake?”
Her ring slips off.
-x-
“Claude?” Byleth’s gaze flicks between the stiff profile of her fiancé and his white-knuckled grip on her arm. This is perhaps the most emotional she’s ever seen him. No one will ever call Claude stoic, but his emotions have always been kept on a tight leash. They only see what he allows them to see, like a gardener pruning his flowers.
She’s only seen his emotions spill out of him thrice—once when she returned from her absence. Another when they finally ended the war. The third when they’d exchanged rings.
And now, a fourth time. His feelings overflow, a tempest she can feel, as Claude pulls her off the main street. It’s only when they’re finally alone that he finally stops in his tracks. His hand is still gripping her wrist tight.
“Claude?” Byleth repeats, stepping forward to look at him. It’s too dark to read his expression, especially here. There’s only a flickering lantern three houses down and it casts shadows that she can’t see past.
“I…” Claude turns to her, then away. He runs a hand through his hair. “We…”
It’s the first time she’s seen him speechless. Claude always has a word on his tongue, always has something witty to say. Yet now he fumbles like a child and something in her unravels at the sight. Gently, she pries his hand off her wrist and intertwines their fingers instead. “What is it?” she asks encouragingly.
“We…we need to talk.” He doesn’t pull away, but his hand is stiff and her heart sinks.
“About?”
“…us.” Claude looks at her now. “What was a mistake?”
“Huh?” Byleth flushes as she remembers—had he heard her then? Embarrassment fills her and she ducks her head. “That’s...”
“I understand.” She hears a shift in his voice and before she can ask, there’s a hand in front of her. “I’ll take it back.”
Byleth stares at his hand. “You’ll what?”
“You don’t have to worry about it. These things happen. I’ll take the ring back and—”
This time, she can hear the heartbreak in his voice. It echoes the sound in her chest. Immediately, she recoils, stepping as far away from his hand as possible. “What are you doing?”
She still can’t see him clearly. Maybe she never has.
“Taking the ring back.” For once, there isn’t a hint of jesting in his tone, no matter how badly she wants to hear it.
“I don’t want to give it back,” she snaps, a fury growing within her. His decisions are a mystery to her and she’s tired of it. “Why are you always like this?”
He freezes. “Always like what?”
“Making decisions on your own. Hiding your feelings.” Byleth balls her hands into tight fists, wanting nothing more than a bandit to hit. “You never explain anything. We’re not at war anymore. You don’t always need a plan! You can at least tell me what they are!”
Claude flinches. “I’m not that secretive.”
“You are.” She pleads, “I can’t tell what you’re thinking sometimes. And it scares me.”
“That…you scare me,” he replies softly. “You say I’m the one acting on my own? No, that’s you, it’s always you. You act like you’re still a mercenary, and you’re not. You act like you’re alone, and you’re not.”
She freezes.
“You’re not,” he repeats, softer now. He steps forward now and she can make out the furrow in his brow, the soft droop of his lips, the slump in his shoulders. “I’m with you. I’m always with you.”
And just like that, her fury calms. Byleth might not know Claude as well as she’d like to, but right there, right then, she knows him perfectly. She knows his fear. She knows how it mirrors her own. Years ago, his arm had wrapped around her shoulder after Jeralt’s death, a warm reminder that the universe was not as empty as she feared.
Death isn’t the only thing that can take away a person.
She steps forward, meeting him in the shadows. Her arms wrap around him, pulling him close. He flinches, startled, but doesn’t back away. Standing on the tips of her toes, Byleth presses her forehead to his. “Claude.”
“Yeah?” he breathes and she remembers that warm breeze that had started it all, the spices she could not name. She couldn’t, but he could. Whatever she couldn’t do, he could. And wherever he failed, she could give him a hand.
“You’re with me. I know that.” She closes her eyes. “I forget, sometimes, that I don’t have to do things on my own. It’s an old habit. It’s hard to stop. I’ll try.”
“You don’t—”
“For you, I’ll try. Just like I wanted to make this vacation for you.” She opens her eyes now. This close, she can just make out the lashes on his eyes, the dim light barely outlining them. “I thought I had made a mistake planning it. It’s full of work. You always seem troubled. Did I make a mistake?”
His lips part as he gasps softly and his arms go around her now, squeezing her tight. “It wasn’t. It isn’t.”
She smiles, her fears released. “I’m glad.”
“And I…” He chuckles weakly. “You’re right, old habits are hard to break. I can’t promise no more schemes but...none from you. You’ll always know what I’m thinking.”
“That’s all I need.” Byleth relaxes.
“And the ring?”
“You can pry it off my dead hands,” she replies smartly.
Claude laughs. It’s pure and honest and a wave of relief fills her. “As long as you don’t die before me, I’m game.”
“You’re not allowed to die before me either,” she murmurs.
“No, I suppose not.” There’s a pregnant pause before he looks up at her. Their foreheads are still touching, and she can almost feel his look like a physical thing, like it jumps through that connection and into her core. Electricity fills her. “Hey, Byleth, want to know what I’m thinking now?”
For once, she doesn’t need the words.
15 notes · View notes
sweetestgrethan · 3 months
Note
You should make a grethan one shot based on the song Little bit by drake ft-Lykke Li you don’t have to of course just think it’s a fun idea !
Thank you for this ask and the suggestion! Hope you enjoy :] 🩵🩷
WC: 4246
———
Hands down
I’m too proud for love
But with eyes shut
It’s you I’m thinking of
———
It’s always hazy to start.
He didn’t used to dream about Ethan very often, only randomly, usually with him being a side character at best, never just about him.
Grayson’s vision is cloudy, barely helped by the few slow blinks he tries, the blurry image before him slowly getting clearer.
It feels like wading through clouds— fluffy, dense, suffocating— but he just has to focus.
Focus.
Grayson can smell freshly ground coffee beans, freshly baked bread, sweet cream, caramel sauce. He blinks one more time, and he’s sat at a booth, in a small cafe, bustling with people. He smiles to himself as he watches people walk up to the register. They’re speaking a language he doesn’t quite understand, their syllables sound slurred and vowels elongated, sounding strange to his ear.
Grayson feels warm, warmer than usual, on the verge of breaking a sweat, but not quite. His hand is resting on the side of his mug, and it feels even warmer. Grayson looks down at it and studies the intricate design made out of frothy milk. He’s not moving, but the rings of foam seem to swirl, slow and measured, creating ripples in his coffee.
“Grayson.”
He finally looks up, met with dark brown eyes and a square jaw, curly black hair that falls just above bushy brows.
“Ethan,” Grayson says in return, a look of disbelief on his face. Ethan looks lovely, healthy. His cheeks are rosy, his face free of stubble, supple, smooth skin. He’s glowing, radiating a warm, yellow light, angelic in the way it radiated.
“I got you a cappuccino,” Ethan chuckles and stares back. He looks fond, a happy, toothy grin revealing as much.
He’s so beautiful.
“My favorite,” Grayson chuckled, reaching down to grab his mug by the handle and taking a long sip from it. It feels good, perfectly warm, savory and frothy in all the right ways. When he pulled away from the mug, Ethan’s smile was even bigger. Grayson didn’t even process him leaning closer, over the table, before his twin was kissing him slowly. Grayson kissed back, probably a bit too eagerly considering they were out in public.
Ethan pulled away slowly and sat back down in his seat, licking his top lip. “You had a little foam,” he explained, his grin curling around the edges of his mouth, devious and affectionate all at once.
Grayson was still trying to decide whether this was a dream or not, licking his lips too, savoring the taste of Ethan. “You sure you got it all?” Grayson said softly, leaning in slightly, smiling, too.
As Ethan leaned in again, Grayson felt his world shift around him. Before their lips could meet, the scenery changed in seconds, suddenly standing with Ethan right in front of him.
The sun was shining bright above them, blinding. The air smelled just as sweet, less of espresso and more like peonies and roses. They glow, just like Ethan, hues of pink and white and purple. They’re back home, in their backyard. It’s the same, yet different. There are too many flowers, covering every inch of grass. Still the same, still lined with a white picket fence and an excess of trees. Grayson doesn’t have to look behind himself to know that there’s a towering oak a few yards away, long dead, still a behemoth that plagued his thoughts. Grayson’s eyes are still closed, and he can see the etching in the bark, a heart, E + G in the middle. It’s faded, wet, mossy.
“Do you mean it?” Grayson heard himself ask. His eyes opened and Ethan was still there, looking just as beautiful as he did in the coffee shop.
Ethan didn’t say anything at first, didn’t move when he felt Grayson’s fingers grip his biceps. He leaned in just a few inches from Grayson’s mouth, as if to kiss him. His eyes are lidded, nearly closed, but he doesn’t dare move closer. “I do. Always,” he murmured.
Grayson doesn’t move, either. He can feel Ethan’s breath, shallow and slow. “I love you too.” He met Ethan halfway and kissed him again to punctuate his sentence, indulgently letting his hands slide up to rest on Ethan’s broad shoulders, fingers kneading into the flesh, trailing up his neck until he had both sides of Ethan’s face cupped in his hands. Grayson is the first to pull away, quite reluctantly, face-splitting smile on his face.
“I’m making eggs. Any way you’d like,” Ethan said, and it made Grayson pull back further, confused. “Or I could try to make bacon again,” Ethan continued and looked mischievous then, knowing, like he knew Grayson wouldn’t like that.
Grayson could feel his body hum, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears, booming, making it impossible to hear anything else. His vision was blurry again, cloudy images of Ethan fading before him.
Grayson gasped as his eyes flew open, chest heaving with his breaths. He sat upright, looking wide-eyed and confused at Ethan, who was doubled over in his own fit of laughter by the door.
“Gray, that was seriously the funniest thing ever,” Ethan snorted, trying to wipe the tears that were streaming out of his eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Grayson said groggily, rubbing at his eyes to try and get some of the sleep out of them, stretching his arms over his head.
“You were in, like, the deepest sleep ever, and as soon as I mentioned cooking bacon you woke up,” Ethan chuckled and joined his twin on the bed, plopping himself down comfortably in the sleep-warmed sheets.
Grayson regarded him cautiously, trying not to think of the strange dream he’d just had, or the dull ache in his chest, something like longing. “Don’t you dare touch the bacon. I’m not in the mood to put out any fires today,” Grayson scolded softly and playfully pushed at Ethan’s arm. Grayson’s eyes caught Ethan’s, and he stared for a moment, remembering the fuzzy details from his dream, how close Ethan was to him, how it felt to kiss him. Grayson played it off with a smile, looking away before he could get too carried away. “Scrambled, please,” Grayson finally responded to Ethan’s initial offer, not moving to get out of bed.
“What was your dream about?” Ethan asked, instead of getting back up. “You were saying something but I couldn’t understand it,” he chuckled and turned onto his side, looking at Grayson expectantly.
Grayson hated that Ethan knew he’d been dreaming, trying desperately to come up with a good cover for the dream he’d had. He’d never tell Ethan about it, or about his feelings that manifested the vivid dreams. “We were just getting coffee,” he stated. It wasn’t a lie, they did get coffee, among other things.
“And?” Ethan pressed on. He knew his brother quite well, and he could already tell Grayson was omitting something. “Is that all we did?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows at his younger twin.
Grayson had the decency to look offended, pinching Ethan’s arm to get him to ease up in the interrogation he was conducting. When Ethan flinched and yelped, Grayson laughed sweetly, shaking his head. “Yes, that’s all we did. Creep,” he tacked on playfully, even though he had been the one to dream of himself kissing his own brother, and liked it.
“I’m gonna over-salt your eggs,” Ethan said, matter-of-factly, scooting off the bed so he could do just that.
“Please don’t!” Grayson called after him, unable to hide the wide smile on his face as he watched Ethan leave, his heart still beating a mile a minute from the events of his dream.
———
Grayson breathed harshly against the soft pillows beneath him, fingers gripping them so hard that his knuckles were white, endless mewls and squeals spilling out of him.
He felt unbearably hot, like he’d burst into flames at any moment. His skin was sticky and damp with sweat, dripping down his temples.
It was a stifling warmth, radiating from deep within him, only rivaled by the searing touch of two hands on his waist, forcing him to move as they pleased.
The body behind him pounded into him mercilessly as he arched his back deeper, the sound of skin against skin loud in his ears.
“Ethan,” Grayson heard himself moan. “More,” he babbled. He could feel his cock slapping uselessly against his tummy, the movement giving him barely anything, barely any friction to really get him off. The feeling of a thick cock jabbing against his prostate was making up for it, making his brain feel like mush in his head, thoughts all about Ethan Ethan Ethan.
“Fuck, Grayson,” Ethan panted and pressed his fingers harder into the flesh of Grayson’s hips, slamming him back on his cock with every thrust. “You were made for this,” he purred, his pace slowing but not getting any less harsh. “Made for me.”
Grayson nodded along without thinking, wanting nothing more than to give himself completely to his brother. “Made for you,” he repeated back shakily and buried his face in the pillow below, unable to control the way Ethan was punching more moans out of him, higher-pitched than before, a desperate plea for Ethan to ruin him.
Ethan chuckled lowly behind Grayson, deciding to be a bit cruel and pulling out without warning. Before Grayson could protest, he flipped him onto his back, Ethan immediately crowding into his space, mouth hovering close to Grayson’s. “Say it again,” he instructed evenly.
Grayson whined as he was flipped around, head spinning with desire and desperation. “I’m made for you,” Grayson panted. It was almost embarrassing how much he meant it, how much of himself he’d be willing to give just to make Ethan happy. He would give everything, anything, if it meant Ethan was happy.
“Again,” Ethan continued as he lined himself up with Grayson’s fluttering entrance once more, slipping back into the tight clutch of him.
“I’m made for you,” Grayson said again, louder, only impeded by the feeling of Ethan’s cock sliding back into him to the hilt. He let out a strained moan, squirming helplessly underneath Ethan as he got used to the feeling all over again.
One of Ethan’s hands reached up to grip Grayson’s jaw, thumb and forefinger on either side of his face, forcing him to look straight at him as he began his brutal pace once more. “Can you feel how perfect I fit, Grayson?” Ethan egged on, lips barely an inch from Grayson’s as he spoke, sharing the same breaths, suffocating Grayson with all his love. “I can feel you squeezing around me, don’t wanna let me go, huh?” he said, tone turning saccharine, soft and sweet. Ethan’s hips rolled against him languidly with the little space he had put between them, only pulling out a couple inches at a time, grinding himself deeper and deeper.
Grayson was on the verge of losing himself completely in the intensity of Ethan’s words, shaking against his twin unashamedly, slack-jawed. He couldn’t even form a coherent response to what Ethan was saying, his cock jolting between them with the very beginnings of his orgasm.
Grayson only got to experience the pure euphoria of it for a few moments before his vision turned black, his eyes opening suddenly to no one above him, or beside him, staring into the darkness of his room.
Grayson’s breathing was ragged and choppy, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty skin. His blanket was nowhere to be found, tossed onto the floor, his bed a mess of scattered pillows.
Grayson felt around for his phone to check the time.
4 AM.
Grayson dropped his phone and let out a pitiful sound, something like embarrassment and shame creeping up his neck, tinting his skin a burgundy red.
The plague of dreams about Ethan hadn’t let up, not even for one night. This had been the most intense one yet, the most realistic, the most memorable. Grayson could almost recall the way Ethan’s fingers pressed bruises into his skin and the satisfying fullness of being impaled on his cock, the way his words made his heart flutter and burst all at once.
Grayson was left with an ache much different than he was expecting, a sort of emptiness in the cavity of his chest, simultaneously filled with all his love and devoid of the love he truly wanted, needed. The ache between his legs was worse, a wet spot visible on the front of his sweatpants.
“Grayson?”
Grayson startled himself into sitting up, looking at his door to see Ethan standing there, so similar to how his twin had caught him during his first dream. His demeanor was different, though— shy, unsure.
“Ethan,” Grayson responded with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face. “What’s wrong?”
“You were calling for me,” Ethan explained, deciding to take a step into the room and close the door behind him, assured by the sound of the doorknob clicking shut. Ethan regarded Grayson curiously, noting his sweaty appearance, the way his chest heaved slightly, hair stuck to his forehead. He briefly wondered if checking on him was a bad idea, just from the disheveled look of him.
Grayson reached down to the floor to grab his blanket, using it to hide the evidence of his dream that showed clearly in his sweats, trying to mask the embarrassment from his expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Grayson murmured.
“Another dream about me?” Ethan chanced, smiling softly at his twin brother, who flushed ever so slightly at his words.
“Yeah,” Grayson admitted without a fight, knowing it would’ve been impossible to explain it away. He looked back at Ethan just as cautiously, taking note of Ethan’s grin, his sleepy eyes and the stubble that seemed to grow as quickly as it was shaved off. Flashes of his dream came without warning, the feeling of that same stubble rubbing against his face, his neck.
Ethan didn’t know how to respond to the simple truth, to the fact that he seemed to be quite pervasive in Grayson’s psyche lately. “Why have I been on your mind so much lately?” Ethan asked, genuinely curious, taking a few steps towards Grayson’s bed as he spoke, sitting beside him in the mess of pillows and blankets.
Grayson watched Ethan’s every move as he came closer, fists tightening in his duvet to keep himself covered, still certain his hard-on hadn’t gone down yet. “I.. I don’t know, Ethan,” he said, honest as he could be.
The question about how Grayson felt about his twin brother had been something he’d contemplated his whole life. It was complicated, in more ways than one, and it wasn’t something he could sit down and figure out in one sitting, even if he really wanted to. Ethan was everything to Grayson, his best friend and built-in companion, and Grayson had tried his best to keep it that way. It was impossible to stop the onslaught of prickly warmth that filled him when he thought about Ethan, or to put a stop to the dreams that seemed to fill his every sleeping moment. Grayson supposed it was easier to explore his feelings in his dreams; he could have Ethan however he wanted when he was dreaming, with no one to say no or pull them apart. In his dreams, Ethan was his, body and soul. It wasn’t hard to understand why Grayson leaned on these dreams so much, just so he could get a glimpse of what he truly wanted, a bittersweet taste of what could be.
Grayson’s silence prompted Ethan to do the same. Grayson wasn’t usually hard to read, but he could tell his brother had a very firm wall up. “I have dreams about you sometimes,” Ethan offered, reaching up to tenderly push Grayson’s hair out of his face, offering some relief to the warmth of his skin, even if brief. “The other night, you were my teacher. It was so weird. And you wouldn’t give me an extension on an assignment,” Ethan laughed, trying to lighten the mood a bit. It seemed to work, Ethan staring shamelessly at the way Grayson’s shoulders shook with his laughter.
Grayson held his breath when he felt Ethan’s hand in his hair, a small token of affection that was common between them. He felt himself finally relax when Ethan recounted one of his own dreams, fingers trying to keep busy by smoothing over the soft fabric of his duvet, picking at the seams. Still, he didn’t say a word, still too jarred by his dream, not knowing how to approach this conversation at all.
“I’ve had.. weird dreams. With you in them,” Ethan continued. “Weird, like..” Ethan hesitated, looking down at Grayson’s fingers momentarily, working up the courage to look at his face again. “I’ve kissed you before. Not to be graphic, but, we made out,” he chuckled, trying not to reveal how nervous he was. All he wanted to do was prove to Grayson that weird dreams happened. There was no need to be embarrassed. Ethan knew it was bound to happen with how close they were, that at some point, a wire would get crossed during a dream.
Grayson was surprised to hear the confession, blinking at Ethan with a look of shock on his face. Maybe he wasn’t so fucked up for having these dreams, then. Sure, making out wasn’t comparable to what he’d just dreamed, but it was a start, a line cast to try and make him feel better about it. The fact that the seed had been planted in Ethan’s brain as well was also reassuring, knowing that his twin had to have thought about it before he dreamt it for it to happen in his dreams, too.
“You kind of sucked at it, actual-“ Ethan tried to land another joke to see if it would suffice in making Grayson say something, quite anxious that he wasn��t saying anything in reaction to his admittance. He was cut off by Grayson lunging forward without warning, his lips crashing against his twin’s with enough force to knock Ethan onto his back, Ethan’s hands instinctively grabbing Grayson’s waist. The kiss only lasted a few moments before Grayson pulled away.
Grayson wasn’t sure what had come over him between now and just a few seconds ago, before he had permanently altered the trajectory of their relationship. Something clicked into place in his head, a sort of assurance that it was okay, that Ethan would understand the monstrous feelings that crowded themselves around Grayson’s heart, possibly even reciprocate them.
“Whoa,” Ethan said after Grayson parted from him, eyes wide and breaths shallow, his shock still settling in. Suddenly, he had his twin on top of him, straddling his hips, something he’d never thought would happen. “What was that?” He asked urgently, searching Grayson’s face for some sort of answer. Why in the world had Grayson just kissed him?
“You were fucking me,” Grayson responded softly, seemingly off-topic from Ethan’s question, lips parted as he stared at his twin’s mouth. “In my dream. You fucked me so good,” he sighed, nearly turning into a whine, feeling his body warm at the distant memory of Ethan’s cock shoved deep inside of him.
Ethan felt himself stiffen at Grayson’s candid admittance, as if they weren’t brothers, as if revealing something so damning wouldn’t change everything. Ethan wasn’t naive, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about Grayson in that way before, on his loneliest nights when he was the only one left to turn to. “Grayson,” he said meekly, attempting to steer this conversation back to some normalcy.
Grayson easily ignored Ethan, pulling away completely and settling back on Ethan’s hips. Ethan’s hands were still splayed over his waist, prompting Grayson to lay his hands over them, letting the heat from his palms transfer to Ethan’s. “You held me exactly like this,” Grayson hummed, indulgently trailing one of his hands up the length of Ethan’s torso and letting his fingers wrap around his neck, mimicking the grip Ethan had had on his face in his dream. “You held me down, just like this,” Grayson purred. He didn’t break eye contact once, didn’t stop staring at the fearful, curious look on Ethan’s face. “You were.. unbelievable. Unreal. Just-“ Grayson cut himself off with a sigh and let his gaze land on the ceiling above them, as if to ask for forgiveness, repenting for the confession he’d just made. He settled his hands on his own thighs, itching to touch more of his brother, but refraining. “I know I can’t have you like that. Not in real life. But it’s still good. Still feels real.” Grayson looked down at Ethan again. He didn’t have to look down at himself to know his dick was coming back to life, slowly fattening up in his pants, pressing urgently against Ethan’s tummy. He couldn’t even find it in himself to care that he was being so intense, so shameless as to get hard at the thought of his brother fucking him.
Ethan held his breath when he felt Grayson’s hands all over him, staring back up at him, clinging to every word he said. Ethan could feel it, too, Grayson’s excitement pressing against him, along with the palpable tension that swirled around him. Grayson saying such vulgar things and touching him like this was confusing and enticing, forcing him to consider what Grayson was saying. “Grayson,” Ethan said again, after swallowing the lump in his throat, mouth feeling dry. “I don’t understand,” he murmured. He wasn’t entirely sure what Grayson was getting at or if he was trying to get at anything. Maybe Grayson had finally gone insane and this was his last stand, his attempt at getting Ethan to understand his desires.
The corner of Grayson’s mouth quirked up into a smirk before he shrugged his shoulders. “Come on, E,” Grayson chuckled and scooted back until he was sitting on Ethan’s thighs, eyes grazing down his body until he landed on the front of Ethan’s plaid pajama pants. Grayson didn’t think he had to say anything else on the matter, especially when it was pretty clear what Ethan thought of this. Maybe it was unfair to put him in this position, to climb on top of him and talk about all the things they’d done in a dream. Ethan was hard. Grayson had felt it growing against his ass for the last few minutes, a physical reminder of what shouldn’t be, what couldn’t be.
Ethan flushed down to his toes, suddenly much too hot to handle any of this, Grayson still staring at his dick. He hadn’t meant to give himself away so easily. He was already hyper-aware of Grayson’s every move, every word, every predatory look along the length of his body. The thought of his brother acting like this should’ve been repulsive, but Ethan couldn’t explain the way he was feeling, the fiery licks of lust that burned his throat, threatening to put into words what he truly wanted. Ethan’s own gaze flickered down to join the tense stare-off, their cocks barely pressing together, chubbed up under their respective clothes.
“We shouldn’t,” Grayson spoke softly after a bit of silence, though his fingers said a completely different thing, gently pushing up Ethan’s shirt, fingertips gliding slowly up his skin. He could feel his own pulse increase as his hand pushed higher, trying to memorize every groove of Ethan’s abs, the slope of his pecs, the way his nipple pebbles under his touch.
“We shouldn’t,” Ethan repeated back, though he made no move to push Grayson off or tell him to stop touching. “You should go back to sleep, Grayson,” Ethan murmured, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. Ethan wasn’t equipped to deny himself this, especially when he’d already seen such intimate parts of Grayson and the thoughts that filled his head. The hand under his shirt was making goosebumps rise on his skin in anticipation for more, more touches and kisses and blazing confessions.
Ethan’s words made Grayson stop in his tracks, pulling his hand away as if he had been burned. He knew this was the right thing to do. He shouldn’t have expected Ethan to bend to his will, not when it came to this. “I’m gonna dream about you again,” he sighed. He sounded tired as he said it, sleepy and all too aware of his nightly fate.
“That’s okay,” Ethan assured. He finally offered a small smile, a reassurance that Grayson didn’t realize he needed. They couldn’t, it was one step too far, despite how much they wanted to indulge their desires.
Grayson’s somber expression turned into a more pleasant one when Ethan gave him his blessing. He moved slowly as he climbed off of Ethan and laid beside him, an appropriate amount of space between them now. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Grayson muttered, eyes closed already, breathing evenly to try and calm his heartbeat.
Ethan felt a whole slew of emotions as Grayson climbed off of him, some he wasn’t exactly expecting. He didn’t want to call it disappointment, but he felt something tug in his chest when Grayson agreed so easily to not continue. Ethan sat up and looked down at Grayson, wanting to say everything and nothing at all. The older twin stood without a word and made his way towards the door, not looking back as he left.
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stupidcanofpeaches · 2 years
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so the scene with drunk giggly five lives in my head rent-free
and i also put this line in one of my fics: He did find it hilarious when Luther had to pick him up from a diner and the sweet waitresses thought he was trying to kidnap Five at first, and almost called the cops on him. Then, when Five mostly coherently explained the situation, they called Luther a shitty older brother, when really, all things considered, a shitty older brother there was Five.
and ever since then i had been thinking about writing something a little bigger than this bc i just love the dichotomy of five not being a kid but looking like one and people getting (understandably) worried about him
so here it is
the one where a complete stranger thought that five was a kid in a really unsafe situation and got protective over him but ended up being completely wrong
He is drunk, and the world passes him by blissfully. It's not just a metaphor, either; whenever he hazily blinks his eyes open, the scenery changes. The bar entrance, crowds of people wearing brightly-colored clothes, flashes of neon. Then, dark alleyways and buildings and squares of light in the windows. The color of the sky changes from dark blue to an even darker blue and grey and then he can barely see the sky at all. 
Oh. He is being carried.
Somehow, it doesn't bother him much. Not until they suddenly and abruptly come to a stop in a way that jolts him and he squeezes his eyes shut against a wave of nausea.
He wouldn't want to vomit on luther's pants. He barely missed him the last time.
Ah, right. Luther. Luther is carrying him home. How convenient. Domestic, even.
"Hey," someone says, harshly, and their voice is loud and clear. "Hey, you, big guy. Where are you taking this kid?"
It's a woman. A young one, by the sounds of it. Five tries to focus his eyes on her. All he can make out is that she's wearing red.
"Uh," Luther says intelligently above him.
"Is he your son?" the woman challenges him, fearlessly taking a step closer because her voice is louder now. She barrels on without a pause. "Who are you, what's your name? Where are you going this time of night?"
The questioning is overwhelming. That's too many questions for how drunk he is right now. He must make some sort of sound because there's a hand reaching out towards him, touching his cheek before Luther takes a step back defensively. The contact is brief but warm. "Hey, sweetheart," she says, not deterred by Luther's protectiveness. Her whole intonation suddenly shifts into something firm but also warm, pleasant. Like fresh bread. Five remembers freshly baked bread.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
Five hums. He is okay. He's nice and relaxed and okay and still very, very drunk all over which was why he went out in the first place so he's feeling pretty self-satisfied right now, too. He just wishes they were home already because it's been an exhausting, sleepless week, and it would be nice to just get into his childhood bed to sleep while the alcohol is still working.
Or maybe he could just get some coffee to sober him up instead.
He can almost make out her features from this up close. She's not as young as he thought she was. She's still young enough to be only somewhere around his siblings' age. A kid.
"Wait," the woman says suddenly. Her nostrils flare and her already tense posture changes as she reaches into her pocket with urgency, gripping something tightly. "Is he drunk? My god, he looks like he's twelve. What is wrong with you?"
She is - angry. She’s not just a stranger - she’s a stranger who thinks she’s protecting him.
Five can't help but chuckle. The sound is smothered by luther's chest. It's - well, it's a little funny. He's the most dangerous thing here, and yet here is this woman thinking that it's Luther who's the dangerous one. Or that she could do anything to stop him if that were the case.  
Not that Five would want for her to get hurt. It's a little endearing, how concerned she is. A real upstanding citizen.
"Wait!" Luther quickly says. his hands tighten around Five. If his hands were free, he’d probably put one palm up in a placating gesture. Five can remember him doing that before, from way back when, when they were kids. "Wait, it's - I can explain. He - that's my brother. He snuck out. Got drunk. I'm taking him back home to our siblings, that's it."
"Brother, huh," the woman echoes him, suspiciously. her hand is still stuck inconspicuously in her pocket, shoulder turned a little oddly. Tensed up. Ready.
Suddenly, she looks down at him again.
"Sweety, can you look at me?” she asks, leaning close to where he’s dangling in Luther’s hands. “Hey. Look at me, alright? Is he telling the truth? Is he forcing you to say this?”
Luther sputters audibly at the insinuation.
Ha. Luther can't make Five do shit. 
So Five focuses on her and shakes his head. She's lovely. Her full red lips make him think about Dolores and also maybe a little about mother - about Grace. He finds that he doesn't even really mind the silly little names she uses for him. Not much, anyway. 
"'m Five," he informs her anyway.
She frowns.
"That's his nickname," Luther hurriedly interjects. "His name is - it's Fiore? His dad's italian. We have different dads."
Technically, they do have different dads, as far as Five knows, so Luther’s not really lying. Unless they’re twins which, frankly, seems unlikely to him.
"What kind of nickname is that?" she narrows her eyes. 
"Oh," Luther forces a chuckle. "kind of a long story. Right, Five?"
"Yep," Five says.
"Do you have any identification to prove this?" the woman inquires, and Five exhales heavily against Luther's chest.
"I wanna go home," he mutters into his heavy jacket, too heavy and tired to care about the fact that he sounds like a child, and Luther sighs. 
"Just wait a bit, okay? She’s right to be concerned, you know."
"Don't want to."
"Well I can't just leave!"
"Well I can," Five says, but doesn't force a jump - just habitually clenches his fists and tucks them to his chest, the way he did when he was younger, the intention and calculations behind the movement usually just enough to make the space split open forcefully. Not this time.
"Not right now you can't," Luther tells him, "that is exactly why I had to come and get you."
He sounds a pinch annoyed. It's only half-serious.
The woman watches the exchange bemusedly.
"You... do know each other," she suddenly says, slowly, testing the waters, and Luther perks up. The traces of suspicion aren't gone from her voice just yet, but she softens somewhat.
"Yeah," Luther hurriedly confirms, relieved. "We - we grew up together. Well, I mean, I saw him grow up. We are brothers. Honest. Aren't we, Five?"
"I’m the oldest," Five adds smugly, and the woman just smiles at him with a tight, odd smile. She clearly doesn't believe him.
"He's - well, he's thirteen, and he's just - going through that rebellious phase. You know how teens can get sometimes.”
Five tries to poke him in the side, digging one bony finger between the ribs. Luther doesn't flinch - probably doesn't notice it at all. “Sneaks out all the time,” he continues instead. “No idea where he gets the alcohol from. We're all... really worried about him."
And now, he sounds almost believable. It occurs to him that Luther used to be the one pushed into the interviews the most. It appears that this particular old skill of playing things up for the media somehow survived his three years on the moon. Huh.
Are they worried? he suddenly wonders.
They shouldn't be. He's an adult. He knows what he's doing.
The woman seems to relax. Her head leans lower and her tense arm finally pulls out of her jacket pocket. "I do know," she says, somewhat melancholically. “Teenagers can be a pain in the ass.”
She sounds sympathetic now.
"Luther," Five blinks at him. "Let's - let's jus' go. I want coffee."
"You don't need coffee,” Luther tells him, sounding infuriatingly levelheaded. “You need water and sleep. Do you know how absolutely pissed Allison is going to be?"
Five grimaces. He’s not looking forward to getting lectured by someone who could literally be his daughter in terms of age.
The woman rubs her neck and clears her throat a little awkwardly. Luther picks his head up from he’d been staring at Five. "Sorry about that," she finally reluctantly says, and looks Five in the eye again. "Just making sure, you know. Plenty of creeps going around. But he seems pretty comfortable around you, and it looks like he does know you, so..."
"I understand," Luther says, quietly. "I... I appreciate that. You looking out for him, I mean."
Not a lot of people did that before. 
"Someone has to," the woman shrugs. "Take care of him, will you?"
"I will," luther simply answers. It's short and easy - luther completely calm and comfortable in his knowledge.
Well. This is - a little new.
It's not bad.
"He's not - iss’ not dangerous," he says drowsily, just as the woman turns away from them on her sensible low heels. It seems important to tell her that Luther's alright, to prove it that he really is safe somehow. "He's jus' stupid."
"Hey!" Luther protests indignantly, and Five snorts. "Next time, I will send Allison to get you," Luther threatens, "She won't be this nice."
"Wow, I'm so scared.”
"You are insufferable," Luther grumbles, and while they bicker, the woman silently takes a step back - another one - and quietly leaves, just as suddenly as she approached them in the dark. 
Because Five does have someone to look after him. 
At least this once.
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Note
dynamic: mostly alpha-adjacent, but with a bit of omega traits in there as well. they/he.
scents i can't stand: chemical-y artificial fragrances in the form of air fresheners, scented cleaning products, bug sprays and whatever those things are that people put in their toilet bowls to scent after each flush. not a big fan of citronella, either. and that smell in a high school girl's change room of too much fruity scented artificial deodorants, perfurmes and antiperspirants? olfactory hell. also hate the smell of chlorine.
scents i like: natural scents and earthy, spicy, herbal warm things like sandalwood, cedar, pine, cinnamon, nutmeg, anise, toasted sesame seeds, pumpkin spice, cloves, roast garlic, coffee, baked breads and pastries, anise, boiled candy, mint, rose, caramel, vanilla, chocolate and cocoa, sawdust, pine, smoke, frankincense, rooibos tea, warm milk, honey, barbequed and grilled meats, roast vegetables, caramelized onion, teriyaki stirfry, paprika, mushroom, damp moss, old leather, musty books, that ozone smell in the air before it rains/during a thunderstorm, sea spray, frangipani and hibiscus, rosemary, sage, lavender, the smell of freshly ground marijuana, whiskey and rum, hot spiced wine, citrus, baked apple
what i like in a partner/mate: someone like myself, aka someone who isn't afraid to laugh at some dark jokes or crack a raunchy one liner at a comedically inappropriate time. an adventurer and traveller, someone willing to find the fun side of life and take a few risks. affectionate, sensual, not afraid to get a little bit flirtatious and experimental (if you know what i mean, wink wink). preferably on the andromasc side, with a sassy boyish charm, impish grin, bit punky. all cheesy b grade movies and junk food binges, fast cars and long nights listening to music, talking about the weird eccentric things in the universe, sharing a joint or a glass of energy drink sipped out of the last clean coffee mug by the sink. kinda tacky, but able to make it work. not too over the top, though, there should be some rest and recovery between the partying but still able to keep it interesting. very warm and tender.
what i dislike in a partner/mate: not willing to come out of their shell and explore the world. too much of a stay-at-home type to the point that domesticity becomes repetitive, monotonous and mundane. i don't like when people can't find a balance between conservative/humble and wild/outgoing. if they can't take a dicey joke or get uncomfortable with heated topics, or are the type to get uncomfortable around my friends or become too possessive or clingy, it becomes offputting. however, i absolutely loathe feeling ignored or neglected myself and nothing bugs me more in a relationship than a lack of communication or disrespect for established boundaries and mutual comfort levels. dishonesty, lying and deceipt is a big turn off and long held grudges put me on edge. I also don't like having to be a 24/7 caretaker to someone else's emotional needs, especially if I don't feel I'm getting any tenderness and support in return. I value an emotional connection as well as a physically oriented one, and I don't bide well with casual hook ups or one night flings.
anything else?: nothing i can think of, other than the fact i like my scents and fragrances i wear on myself to be strong enough that even i feel a little affected by them. i like to feel that my own scents will affect my mood and either spice me up with confidence, or mellow me out and calm me down when I'm feeling heated and riled up.
Hi Anon! I love how much thought you put into everything!
Let's see, certainly a lover of the bold and authentic I would say. After reading through your post multiple times, I can't help but to think of Mulled Wine. Deep, warm and stands solidly.
I'd recommend you try the scents of mandarin to brighten and amber musk to heat you up with confidence. Clove would be a nice addition to keep it away from that overly sweet perfume smell you dislike.
I think with this smell combo, you'd walk into a room with so much confidence people will be begging to go on adventures with you.
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comparativetarot · 2 years
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The Hanged Man. Art by Kim Thompson, from Divine Your Dinner.
SHIFT YOUR PERSPECTIVE TO CHANGE YOUR WORLD.
Magickal Ingredient: Mushrooms Eases fear to encourage adventure
This card may seem morbid, but the wisdom it provides is anything but. The man in question invites you to join him in hanging upside down to change your perspective, widening your field of possibilities. You might notice things from this perspective you couldn’t see before—about yourself and your place in the world. Not into literally hanging upside down? No problem. Anything you do to knock yourself out of your routine will do. Or, you can go straight to the delicious part and eat our mushroom panzanella.
Mushrooms come in many varieties, some more…adventurous than others. While most have specific uses and associations, all are good for coaxing you out of your shell and running wild, so feel free to explore your options.
ADDITIONAL MAGICKAL INGREDIENTS: THYME, OREGANO, GARLIC (SEE ALLIUMS), MUSTARD, BLACK PEPPER, CHILE, PARSLEY, RED PEPPER FLAKES (SEE CHILES)
ROASTED MUSHROOMS AND RYE PANZANELLA SIDE—SERVES 4 TO 6
The rye, mushrooms, and Comté cheese bring earthy depth to this dish, while the tomato vinaigrette keeps it light and breezy enough for a late summer/early fall salad. It’s great to make in advance or for a picnic, but make sure the bread is well toasted or you will end up with a pile of mush. And the riper the tomatoes, the better it will be.
Use any kind of mushroom you like. You can keep it simple with white button mushrooms or get real fancy with a mix of morels and chanterelles. We like to use an assortment of whatever looks best from the market. Roasting time varies according to the size and type of mushrooms—just be sure to roast them until they are extra browned and crisp on the edges for the tastiest results.
HOT TIP: COMTÉ CAN BE SWAPPED OUT FOR ANY MILD, MEDIUM-FIRM CHEESE, LIKE GRUYÈRE OR FONTINA.
5 cups stale rye bread, cut or torn into 1-inch chunks 9 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil ¾ pound assorted mushrooms, halved or cut into 1-inch chunks if they are very large 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional) Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 3 tablespoons sherry vinegar 1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme or oregano 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard ½ teaspoon minced garlic 1 extra-large tomato, roughly chopped ½ cup grated Comté cheese, plus more for topping ¼ cup roughly chopped fresh Italian parsley
1. Preheat the oven to 400°F.
2. Add the bread and 2 tablespoons of the olive oil to a sheet pan and toss to coat. Spread them out in an even layer and bake until dry and browned, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove them from the oven and let cool for 5 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl. Leave the oven on and hold on to the sheet pan.
3. In a medium bowl, combine the mushrooms, pepper flakes, 3 tablespoons of the olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste and toss to coat. Spread the mushrooms in an even layer on the reserved sheet pan and bake, stirring occasionally, until golden brown and crisp around the edges, 30 to 40 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool for 5 minutes. Add the mushrooms to the large bowl with the bread.
4. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the sherry vinegar, thyme, mustard, garlic, and the remaining 4 tablespoons olive oil. Add the tomato and stir to combine. Taste and season with salt and pepper as needed.
5. Add the tomato mixture, the Comté, and parsley to the large bowl and toss to combine. Let sit for 30 minutes before serving.
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bakery-cake · 1 year
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Bakery
Bakeries have been a staple of communities around the world for centuries, providing fresh bread, pastries, cakes, and other baked goods to locals. From small family-run businesses to large commercial operations, bakeries are an integral part of many cultures and are often associated with warm memories and comforting aromas.
The history of baking can be traced back to ancient civilizations, where people would cook dough over hot stones or in earthen ovens. As time passed, bakers began experimenting with different ingredients and techniques, leading to the development of a wide range of baked goods. Today, bakeries offer an array of products, from traditional sourdough bread to creative and complex desserts.
One of the main draws of a bakery is the freshness and quality of their products. Many bakeries pride themselves on using high-quality ingredients and taking the time to prepare each item from scratch. Whether you are looking for a flaky croissant, a gooey cinnamon roll, or a hearty loaf of bread, a good bakery will have something to satisfy your cravings.
In addition to the delicious baked goods themselves, bakeries also offer a unique atmosphere that can be both cozy and inviting. The smell of freshly baked bread and pastries can be incredibly comforting and can transport customers back to childhood memories or happy moments. Some bakeries even offer seating areas where customers can enjoy their treats while sipping on a cup of coffee or tea.
Bakeries also play an important role in many cultural traditions and celebrations. From birthday cakes to wedding desserts, bakeries are often called upon to create special and unique treats for customers. In some cultures, certain baked goods are associated with specific holidays or religious events, such as hot cross buns during Easter or mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Finally, bakeries have adapted to changing times and tastes by offering a wider range of options. In recent years, there has been a growing demand for gluten-free, vegan, and other specialty baked goods, and many bakeries have risen to the challenge by creating products that cater to these dietary restrictions.
In conclusion, bakeries are more than just places to buy bread and pastries. They are integral parts of many communities, offering delicious and comforting treats, unique atmospheres, and cultural connections. So next time you pass by a bakery, why not step inside and treat yourself to something sweet?
for more details visit www.thesweetsin.com
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mxlfoydraco · 1 year
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What are the sweetest, most fluffy, most tender fic recs you have? Hurt/comfort préférable but anything works
I'm a major angst reader so our definitions of fluff may vary! I'm adding on to these lists: Fluff & Hogwarts Era Fluff
Save My Wonders by @unmistakablyoatmeal(21k)
Immediately chocolate assaulted Draco’s senses. Warm melted chocolate mixed with his mother’s roses and… something else. Something new. Freshly scrubbed skin and maybe a faint sheen of sweat. It was so familiar… And it only intensified when Potter came up behind him.
Two of Us by @sorrybutblog (5k)
The gang goes to a gay bar. Or: five times Harry accidentally pretended to be Draco’s boyfriend and one time Draco told him to put out or shut up.
All Things Go by @sorrybutblog (32k)
Draco’s back at Hogwarts by court order. Harry’s back for no particular reason at all. Some things change, some stay the same. Neither expects to spend eighth-year living in close quarters, playing rugby (poorly), staying up late, sneaking around, and finally figuring it all out.
Quick as a Flash of Lightning, Unhurried as Eternity by @onbeinganangel (10k)
Can you fall in love with someone by simply watching them fiercely love another version of yourself?
Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (83k)
This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.
the treehouse near primrose downs by @softlystarstruck (14k)
Draco and Harry have been roommates for years, so buying a magical house in the countryside shouldn’t be a big difference. But in between fresh loaves of bread and beds of wildflowers, things start to fall into place.
you bring me home by @softlystarstruck (35k)
Harry is happy. He has his cat cafe and his hobbies. He has his friends, and Dolly Parton, and a shirt with a cowboy frog on it. It’s all a man needs, really. He doesn’t need to obsess over a magic-less, anxious Draco Malfoy coming into his cafe after disappearing from the wizarding world years ago. He doesn’t. Not even if the cats like Malfoy. Not even if Malfoy is soft, and funny, and a little bit neurotic. No matter how much he wants to obsess.
With Great Yawns and Stretchings by @sugar-screw (22k)
The coffee is very good. Really. And the cats are so cute. That's why Harry goes so often.
I Think I Want to Marry You by @phdmama (6k)
5 times Harry Potter asks Draco Malfoy to marry him and Draco doesn't answer. And then the one time he does.
Meddling, Menswear, and Magic by @writcraft (18k)
Draco Malfoy is working in a job he hates and avoiding the magical world entirely, but he really is fine. When a bequest from Severus Snape brings Draco back to a much-changed magical world, he must find his place within it and navigate his growing attraction to Harry Potter in the process.
Constellations on your skin by @orange-peony (56k)
“I’m going to get my scars removed,” Draco announces on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. “Who are you seeing?” Blaise asks. “The best Healer out there,” Draco replies with a little shrug. “Harry Potter.”
Sweeten to Taste by @saintgarbanzo (51k)
It starts with Draco's buckwheat crepes with honeyed oranges. Or maybe it starts with his porridge with toasted walnuts and homemade apple butter. Or perhaps it starts with the cinnamon buns Draco made from scratch with mascarpone icing. Harry just knows he's hungry for more.
The Little Marauders Nursery and Day Care by @digthewriter (9k)
Harry Potter is the proud owner of The Little Marauders Nursery and Day Care and his favourite student is Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius’s dad might be okay, too.
Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (17k)
Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.
The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by @cibeewastaken (19k)
Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved! So Draco decides to boldly go where no one has gone before: to put himself through scrutiny; their friends’ teasing and pranks; unsound romantic advice from a house-elf; wearing pretty clothes; all to try and win Potter’s heart through courtship. (An unnamed ginger bastard can be heard yelling from afar: “This is actually a detailed guide on how not to court someone!”) But who cares about the opinions of redheads? Literally no one.
Nice Things by aideomai (22k)
The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.
Thermodynamic Equilibrium by @dorthyanndrarry (5k)
Harry's far too hot. Draco's always cold. And somehow against all odds, together they create a perfect equilibrium.
Stay (With Me) by @dorthyanndrarry (6k)
Harry and Draco have been seeing each other casually, whenever they bumped into one another at Galas and Balls and other social events, always keeping one another at a careful distance. But one step forward seems to remove all space between them, sending them crashing together with an almost inevitable gravity.
If It Takes All Night by @tackytigerfic (10k)
It's not the first time Harry's been the victim of a botched curse (that's one of the reasons he doesn't like crowds), but he feels bad that Malfoy had to get caught up in it too. So they're bonded. That's ok, they just have to make sure to be touching at all time. No problem. Because Malfoy smells so nice, and has such lovely shiny hair, and his skin is so very warm. But this isn't going to be a problem for their friendship at all. Is it, Harry?
Espresso Patronum by @tasteofshapes (15k)
When Draco reappears five years after the war and opens a wildly popular coffee shop, Harry’s pretty sure that Draco’s Up to Something. He just has to prove it.
The Charm Conundrum by dysonrules (8k)
Harry misplaces an interesting "self-help" manual. Draco finds it and discovers some fascinating insights into Harry Potter.
Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by @greaseonmymouth (96k)
Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry. Features: Little League Quidditch, an abundance of bath bombs, happy endings, and gay robots in space.
Harry Potter’s biggest fan by @gnarf (9k)
Ever since Scorpius heard about Harry Potter for the first time from one of his friends, one could say that he was his biggest fan. So naturally, it would be the thing he needs to talk about while visiting his grandparents for Sunday dinner. Draco’s father could not hold back the comments on why he had to go through this again, and Scorpius understood just enough to know that his father actually knew Harry Potter in person. That’s when the pestering started. Not much later and Draco found himself face to face with Potter, all thanks to his son.
Sunseeker by @shiftylinguini (15k)
Harry is a struggling writer. Namely, he is struggling with: writing his next book, dealing with his agent, finding a decent tea strainer, fielding his friend's concern over the aforementioned book, and figuring out who the cat loitering in his garden belongs to. He also has a slight liking-Malfoy problem. Okay, he has a massive liking-Malfoy problem.
All Roads Lead Home by dracogotgame (14k)
Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.
Draco Malfoy Absolutely Does Not Need to Be Loved by Harry Bloody Potter by @nv-md (18k)
It’s not easy to be bonded to your childhood rival, turned fuckbuddy, who you also have extremely uncomfortable but repressed feelings for—just ask Draco Malfoy.
Nyctophilia by prolonged_autumn (107k)
Everyone's back for 8th year, and Harry and his friends seem determined to spend their last year in school running around at night, hyped up on coffee and alcohol and Honeydukes candy, doing all the childish things they didn't have the chance to do before. Draco watches as he's always watched: from afar, quiet and bitter and hopelessly in love. That is, until Pansy decides she's had quite enough of it.
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hyperfixated-homo · 1 year
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Different worlds only buildings apart
Chapter 3 - Late for work
Storms lead to sunny skies while the world wakes up. Six people start six stories, as different as can be. Or at least, it all seems so different. In reality, the world is much smaller than they might think, and what’s the difference between a horror story and a romantic comedy but a change in perspective?
Ao3 link
Chapter summary: Patton is late to work again. It's fine though! Nobody really minds :)
Warnings: Also none! Ro and Pat are much fluffier than the others are
Word count: 586
PREVIOUS NEXT
Patton shoved one final cookie into his mouth as he ran out the door.
This was the fifth time in the past two weeks he was running late for his job at the cafe, but really, he couldn’t help it! It was just so difficult to get up when his bed was so nice and comfy, and his little pupper Floof didn’t make it any easier. When Floof demands cuddles, Floof demands cuddles.
He opted to take the bus instead of his bike like usual. Daisy had made excuses for him the last two times, but he didn’t want to risk having her do it again.
The sky was a sunny blue today, as it usually was, little cumulus clouds forming shapes in the distance (Patton found himself instinctively looking for animals in them, and giggled quietly every time he found one). The sun shone on another beautiful day, and all around him the world buzzed with excited energy.
He jogged to the cafe from his bus stop. Opening the door, he was met with the scent of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee. The cozy little building was illuminated by the sunlight, and any shadows were eliminated by their careful use of fairy lights. Music flowed from speakers in every corner of the room, further adding to the calm and happy atmosphere.
It was early morning, just at the start of work, so not many people were inside. Patton made his way past them and into the back room, sending a quick wave towards Daisy at the counter.
Working in a cafe wouldn’t exactly be what most people considered a dream job, but Patton absolutely loved it here. He’d found a lot of coffee shops near his house but none had really called to him like the Sunrise Cafe (although, that one kitty cafe had come close second. If he weren’t allergic, that one would have been first pick). It seemed like even more of a godsend that they were hiring just as Patton moved to the city from his hometown.
A lot of Patton’s life was full of happy little coincidences like that.
But now was no time to think about that. He threw on an apron and clocked in just as his boss walked through the door.
“Hey there, Pattoncake.”
“Hey Remy!” he shot him a smile as he put his bag away, fiddling a bit with the bow at the back of his apron. “I’m sorry for being late again, I turned my alarm off instead of hitting snooze and then Floof kept me in bed for so long and-”
Remy held up a hand. “It’s all good, babes. Daisy can keep the store running for a couple minutes before you get here.” Patton sighed in relief. It seemed that he would be keeping his job another day.
“Although, you should probably get out there,” Remy said, smirking slightly. “Apparently the girlie’s got a date with that one girl from the library. I’m gonna dress her up a little before she goes.”
Patton squealed, whipping around to look at him with stars in his eyes. “Did she finally ask her out! That’s so cute! Where are they going? What are they doing?”
Remy chuckled warmly at his energy. “I’ll tell you about it later, sweetie.” Patton nodded almost aggressively, almost tripping over himself as he went to tell Daisy she was free.
He was chaotic and maybe a little overenthusiastic, but who was blaming him? After all, it was a beautiful day.
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