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anonymousewrites · 2 years

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Of Two Worlds (Book 1) Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen: Resolution

(Y/N) traveled to her friends who were beneath Yasohachi Bridge once more. It was tough going with her injuries, but she had managed.

“(Y/N)!” Megumi pushed himself to his feet. His eyes were wide in worry at her injuries and ripped clothing. Every ounce of tiredness was banished from his mind at the sight of the curved wound on her shoulder and bicep. Forgetting himself, Megumi cupped her cheek and searched for further wounds.

“What happened?” asked Itadori, his voice laced with worry.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Nobara, even though she had injuries of her own.

“I…killed Ryo,” said (Y/N). Her eyes were downcast. She couldn’t bring herself to look them in the eyes. She already guessed the others killed Ryo’s brothers since they were still alive.

Megumi brought his hand from her cheek to her chin and lifted it gently. “Are you…okay?”

“Let’s just get back to Nitta. She’s probably realized we’re gone.” (Y/N) deflected the question. She wasn’t ready to talk about killing a fellow half-curse yet. It was too painful.

“Okay…” murmured Megumi understandingly. He put an arm under (Y/N)’s shoulders to support her as they walked. He had a feeling her weakness had as much to do with physical strain as it did with emotional distress.

“Even among sorcerers, the rank of special-grade is a position beyond the normal scope. It’s my belief that first-grades are the ones who ought to lead other sorcerers and the jujutsu world.” Gakuganji sat at his desk proudly. “The danger, confidential information, and pay that they deal with is nothing like what those semi-first-grade and below do. So, with that in mind, what did you just say?”

“Zenin Maki, Panda…” began Mei-Mei.

“Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara, my brother, Itadori Yuuji, and (L/N) (Y/N),” said Todou. “Those are the five names that I, by my name as Todou Aoi…”

“…and I, by my name as Mei-Mei…”

“…recommend for first-grade,” finished Todou.

Gakuganji clenched his fists surreptitiously. “Even the Halfling?”

“Especially the Halfling.”

Megumi walked through the small woods around Jujutsu Tech the following night. Silence surrounded him. It seemed his only company was the trees around him, even though he was searching for a companion. Finally, he came upon just who he was looking for: (Y/N). Her gloves and jacket lay to the side. He could see a scar on her shoulder. He was tempted to call out but stopped as he took in the scene before him. Under the pale moonlight, (Y/N) knelt in front of three mounds of stones, On the top rocks, kanji was scrawled messily in black ink. They spelled out Ryo, Kechizu, and Eso.

Graves. She’s mourning them, realized Megumi.

Calmly, Megumi walked over and knelt next to her. The pair remained silent for several minutes before (Y/N) relaxed.

“You must think I’m strange for mourning their deaths. After all, they tried to kill us,” murmured (Y/N).

“Actually, I think the opposite. It makes perfect sense,” said Megumi.

(Y/N) blinked and looked at him.

“They were half curse. Like you.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and looked down. Clenching her fists, she trembled as tears began to fall. “I finally found others like me,” she sobbed, “But they were trying to kill us. And we had to kill them.” (Y/N) breathed shakily. “I know we did…but…” She buried her head in her hands. “They were like me! They just wanted a place to belong! They were sealed away for years just for being half-curses! They were hurt…They were a family…”

Megumi pulled (Y/N) close to him, so much so that she was almost in his lap. He didn’t care that her tears were dampening his jacket; he wanted (Y/N) to feel better. “It’s okay,” he said soothingly, “You don’t have to feel guilty for understanding them.”

(Y/N) sobbed. “He was so scared…All he wanted was a place for his family…They had been rejected by all around them…” She looked up at Megumi with tearful eyes, her cheeks and nose red from crying. “Why can we never belong?”

Megumi’s heart shattered at her broken voice. To hear her honestly say that she felt like she didn’t belong…it hurt him. It pained him to see that she didn’t understand how important she was to so many people. To him. He tightened his hug, holding her to his heart. “You do belong,” he whispered. “Here, with Itadori, with Kugisaki, with me.”

“Never completely…I always have to be ashamed of what I am,” cried (Y/N).

“Don’t think like that,” said Megumi. “Don’t ever think like that. You are allowed to be yourself. You’re allowed to be proud.”

“They died fighting to belong, Megumi,” said (Y/N), voice trembling with emotion. Tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Gently, Megumi reached up and wiped the drops away. More appeared, but he just comfortingly caressed her cheek. He had no words for her. He had not fought the brothers, but it had clearly been tough on Itadori and (Y/N) in particular. Both struggled with feelings of guilt after killing the half-curses. Of course, Megumi knew (Y/N) felt it deeper since she was one of them in a way. Unfortunately, the only pain he could feel was sorrow for her own state. He was not naïve enough to believe he could fully understand what (Y/N) was going through.

“They just wanted to be seen,” cried (Y/N). “That’s all they wanted, and nobody would even let them exist! They were just locked away for being different!”

“It’s unfair,” murmured Megumi, “It will change. It will change.”

(Y/N) continued to cry and shake. “I can’t even mourn them without hiding,” she sobbed.

“You can mourn with me,” assured Megumi calmingly. “Nobody will know. I know you’re afraid, but I promise that I won’t tell anyone. It’s just you and me.” He could feel (Y/N) trembling as her tears began to calm, and he continued to gently stroke her back comfortingly. Over and over, Megumi whispered, “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He didn’t care if he’d have to sit there with her all night; he wanted her to feel calm.

(Y/N)’s sobs began to subside as she tired herself out. At length, she looked up with pink, swollen eyes with dark circles beneath them. To Megumi, she still looked beautiful bathed in the moonlight. She never looked bad to him.

“Megumi…thank you,” murmured (Y/N), exhausted. She laid her head on his chest again, feeling secure and cozy.

“Anytime.” Megumi smiled tenderly at her. He rested his head atop hers. “Anytime.”

In the cool night breeze, the pair felt peaceful. For a few hours, their problems and stresses fell away. It was just the two of them, the only people in the world, resting beneath the stars and moon which watched over them.

“I know you’re there.”

The man with stitches and black hair stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight. He looked out from the cliff over the forest below and to the stars beyond. “It’s a beautiful view. I can see why you like it.”

“What do you want, Geto? Or would you prefer one of your original names?”

Geto narrowed his eyes.

The curse he was speaking to laughed derisively. “I am thousands of years old. Truly, you did not expect me to know your identity?” In the blink of an eye, the curse was in front of Geto, a hand around his throat. “I ask you again: What do you want?”

Geto regarded the curse carefully. He had never seen him before. True, there were many stories, but none accurately described him. At least, none described this particular form.

“What?” teased the curse, running a hand through his hair. “Am I handsomer than you expected?” His eyes turned black, and his grip became tighter, claws nicking at Geto’s throat. “Or I am more dangerous than you expected?”

“Oh, no, I rather counted on you being powerful,” said Geto calmly.

“Oh?” The curse raised an eyebrow imperiously.

“My associates and I have a proposition for you,” said Geto.

The other curse scoffed. “You mean those idiots of earth, fire, storm, and sea? And that child who believes he is on par with curses of our caliber just because he can think? Why should I even listen to what you have to say?”

“You’ll get to see the students of Jujutsu Tech,” said Geto.

The curse let go of Geto’s neck and stepped back. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’m sure that interests you of all people.”

“Watch your tongue. Don’t pretend to understand me,” said the curse.

“Of course,” said Geto politely. It was better not to displease a potential ally. “So, what is your answer?”

The cursed paused for a moment and looked to the stars. Finally, he looked back to Geto. “I accept. But if you dare displease me, there will be consequences. And I will want to understand specifics of your plans. I know you’ll be keeping things from the other curses.”

“You’re quite astute,” acknowledged Geto. He smirked cordially. “It will be a pleasure to have you on our side, Nox.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Mark of the Beast

Please be kind. I haven’t written werewolves before and this is an unedited drabble I did to distract myself. Hope you enjoy werewolf!Thor and needless to say it’s dark.

Reblog and comment if you like, please and thank you.

Warnings: noncon and rape, exophilia, blood, biting.

You sat along the edge of the yard, just at one of those picnic tables set with chips, salsa, and other finger foods; most of it crumbs and smears as the night wore on. The fire licked up into the sky as the strangers chatter drunkenly, laugh loudly, and sing and dance wildly to the music floating from the bassy bluetooth speaker.

Parties were never your scene and you don’t know why you agreed to come. You didn’t even know why you were asked. You never were the fun friend, hell you were often the forgotten one. The one who found out they weren’t invited or when you were privileged enough to be asked along, it was because someone else fell through.

Well you couldn’t take another night in your boxy apartment, sitting there alone as you watched the same shows over and over again. Restless as nothing ever seemed to change and yet time continued to pass you by.

You noticed how as the sky darkened, the guests began to couple up and trickle away from the flames of the tiki torches and the empty keg. You thought this kind of thing was better left to college kids.

The early summer night was cool and dull blue as clouds streaked the sky. You hadn’t seen the sun directly since noon and it cast an odd haze over the party. Even so, there had been much screaming and shrieking on the oversized slip and slide. Again, these people, you included, were too old to be throwing their drunken bodies around.

Valerie giggled as she hung off the slender man with the black hair. He wore a green button up and black jeans. His clothes were pressed and pristine. He looked out of place amid the group. He looked like you felt.

She grabbed his collar and led him away from the few stragglers still grinding around to the retro tones of TLC. You stood as she headed for the trees. She was your ride and you didn’t feel like staying all night so she could get laid by some stranger. You didn’t even know how she got invited to this.

The sky shifted and dimmed a little more. You collided with a large body as you made to catch up with Valerie. You recognized the blonde man. He’d been lurking throughout the night, socializing over the top of red plastic cup, at one point chatting with the black-haired man Valerie was flirting with and helping tap the keg when it was overturned in some dumb stunt.

“Oh, excuse me,” you said as his large hand settled on your arm, “um, I’m just…”

“You don’t like the party?” he asked in his booming voice.

“What? No, I--”

“You’ve been hiding over here all night,” he said, “and you haven’t looked very happy about it.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you countered.

“Well, this is my party,” he said lightly, “Thor.”

He removed his hand from your arm and offered it to you. You looked at it reluctantly then glanced around him.

“I’m here with my friend. We should probably go--”

“The one who just disappeared with my brother?” he chuckled, “I don’t think you want to walk in on that.”

“Then maybe I’ll just call a cab,” you shrugged, “but I should get--”

“Why did you come? To glower in the corner and feel sorry for yourself?”

“No, I… you don’t know me.”

“No, I do not but that is not my doing. You sit here and isolate yourself to the point that anyone who approaches you, cannot break that barrier you’ve put up. The one you blame on those around you but you’re the only one enforcing it,” his blue eyes were pale, almost silver as the clouds darkened, and you realised in that moment how big he was.

“I didn’t ask for your--”

“You wouldn’t know what to ask for if you found the nerve,” he gave a crooked smile, “you don’t know what you want, what you need.”

He leaned in as his voice turned to a growl, something animalistic as he leaned in and his shadow shut out the sky.

“I know I want to leave,” you said as you stepped back, only to hit the low bench behind you.

“Did you not notice?” he asked.

“Notice what?” you sidled along the wood and he stopped you, this time his fingers gripped your arm tightly.

“That everyone else is gone. They’ve found their mate…” he lowered his voice to a gristle, “the moon is close and they must consummate their pairing.”

“What are you--” you gasped as you saw the way his canines pointed dangerously and grazed along his lip.

“All in my pack made their claim,” he whispered as he leaned in and the silver moon flickered behind the wisping clouds, “I’m making mine.”

“Get off--”

Suddenly you were spun around and flung so you landed in the grass, your knees and the heels of your hands scraping against the twigs and pebbles. Before you could try to stand or turn, he was behind you. His large hands braced your throat and he pulled you onto your knees so that your back was to his torso as he lowered himself behind you.

His nose tickled your ear as he inhaled your scent and a growl crackled in his throat. His fingers tightened and you felt sharp claws prodding at your flesh. His breath picked up as you felt his body tremble. The clouds parted at last and the full moon painted the grass silver.

“You have no purpose, I see it,” his voice grinded roughly, “you are lost but I have found you…”

“Let me--” you rasped and wheezed as he choked you harder.

“You don’t know. How can you realise that I have chosen you for a greater need?” he slid one hand to the back of your neck and pushed you down sharply so that you were face down in the grass, “I can smell it on you… ripe for a pup.”

He flipped your over harshly and his hand pressed to your jaw as he squeezed it painfully. You grasped his wrist in terror as the moon limned the fine fur that had risen across his skin, his long blonde hair blending into his thick main as his eyes glowed eerily.

“I… I...what are you?”

“What are you?” he repeated back, “can you tell me that?”

“Please, don’t--”

“You’re mine,” he snarled as he dragged a long nail over your shirt and sliced through the fabric easily, his other hand still framed your jaw, “if you survive, you will carry my pup, if you don’t… an honourable death.”

You slapped at his hand as his fingers hooked in the front of your jeans and he janked them down in a single motion. Your panties caught in the denim as he brought his foot up to push them down to your ankles. He pushed his knee between your thighs and dug a nail into your hip. Hot blood rose around his claw.

“I can smell it all. The loneliness, the desperation, the fear… it’s delicious.”

His claw flicked over your clit lightly as he pushed your folds apart. He played with you as you squirmed helplessly and gripped his arm, one hand on his wrist and the other on his bicep.

“No, no--” you murmured as your body went into shock, the pleasure of his teasing like a muffled shout in your core.

When his hand moved from your cunt, you felt its absence more intensely. He brought his other knee between your legs and pushed them further apart until your jeans slipped from one ankle. He lifted your left leg and hooked his arm under it and leaned on you as he lined himself up.

You pushed on his chest as the moonlight limned his silhouette above you and clenched as he prodded against your entrance. He cradled your face and dropped his head down beside yours as he pinned you under his weight, your leg bent uncomfortably as your other splayed against his hip.

He poked at your resistance and when he finally pushed through, you cried out into the night. He was thick, so thick, and when you thought you could handle no more, he pushed further in. You strained around his cock as he snapped his hips up and when he filled you entirely, you whimpered as you felt him in your stomach.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as his hot breath tickled along the crook of your neck. He pulled back and you let go of the breath in your chest only to suck it back in as he thrust sharply. You whined as he jolted your entire body and sank his teeth into your flesh. The shock of pain mingled in your core and filled your veins with an irresistible heat. He removed his fangs from you and dragged his bloodied lips down your neck.

“If you fight it, you will suffer,” he purred, “give in… you feel it, don’t you?”

He rutted faster as his breath kept time with his hips. Your body was alight against the cool grass as your eyes rolled back. Your moans added to your horror as they rose without thought, roused by the friction of his pelvis against yours and the slapping of flesh on flesh.

He fucked you faster and harder with each tilt and held your head between two hands as he looked down at you. His thumbs rubbed your cheekbones as he kissed you hungrily and the taste of your own blood stained your lips.

You felt hollow and light. The weight of him faded and you were on high and your lashes fluttered as the silver nights and his dark shadowed coloured your vision. You curled your fingers over your chest as you came and arched beneath him like a wild animal. The orgasm sent heat through you from head to toe and you whined and whimpered desperately.

Thor hammered into you even harder and his growls filled your head. He snaked his arm under you and slammed his hips down so viciously that every bone in your body ached.

“Oh, little one,” he snarled, “you take me so well…” his thumb brushed over the bite on your neck, “you wear my mark like a true bitch.”

He buried himself completely and panted rampantly as he spasmed. His cum flooded you and seeped and squelched around him as he gave a final thrust. He held himself as deep as he could and nuzzled your cheek as the smell of his sweat filled your lungs.

“Mine,” his teeth brushed against you and you shivered as a sudden fatigue weighted your eyelids, “that’s it…” his voice grew further and further away, “let it take you, little one.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #werewolf thor #werewolf!thor #werewolf #werewolf au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #mcu #marvel #exophilia

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

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Midnight Dances

Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Summary: Upon your first week settling into your estate as a newlywed couple, you share a moment alone.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol, fluff, kissing

(aesthetic made by the lovely @heloisedaphnebrightmore )

It has been three days since your arrival at your new estate across England, and still, you have yet to see the entirety of its beauty. It was extraordinarily perfect in every way one could imagine, and impossibly grand for two newlyweds who spent most of their time in each other’s presence. In just three days time, you felt as though maybe you’d only seen just half of your newfound home, and you were determined to change that.

You huff out a quiet sigh as you stare up at the ceiling once more, not a single bit of fatigue as you lay awake. The same could not be said about Benedict as he lay tangled with you, soft snores puffing into your skin lightly. Nothing could get you to sleep; not the warmth of his skin on yours, not the late hour of the night, not the breeze seeping in through the open window, bringing with it the scent of flowers and fresh air. Any and all efforts to be swept into a blissful sleep were rapidly proving to be futile as the minutes passed.

With an exasperated sigh, you untangle yourself from him as carefully as you can manage, a smile gracing your lips as you watch his face nuzzle into the pillow. You slip on your night robe with a fond shake of your head, tying it closed before heading towards the door. You offer one last glance at your lover, at the grand details of your bedroom and the way the curtains fluttered under the breeze blowing against them. You slip out of the room and pull the door closed quietly, making your leave down the hall.

Your footsteps go unheard on the navy colored rug, not a single tassel out of place as they lined the entirety of the hall. Warm lighting illuminated the space in a dim glow, just enough to navigate but not enough to wake those trying to sleep. You were quite sure everyone in the vicinity had been asleep, everyone in the town even, everyone except for you.

The windows you pass by overlooked the gardens, perhaps the most brilliant and extravagant you’ve had the pleasure of seeing. It was hard to believe that it was yours. Finely manicured bushes were assembled in a meticulous pattern, almost maze like. And there were as many flowers as one could possibly imagine and then some, each different in color and type, each just as beautiful as the last. The blossoming trees were what had enchanted you the most, with the way their petals rain down in a flurry of pale pinks with just the slightest gust of wind.

You descended the marble staircase, your hand sliding down the smooth and cool stone railing as you made your way down the curving steps. It felt impossible to look at any one thing at a time, for everything was too glamorous and too wondrous to do so. Even down to the candles melted at varying heights as they sit in their rightful candelabras, ready to be lit again.

Shortly you arrive at the first landing, the familiar skylight coming into view as you continue walking down the stairs. The arched glass structure tucked amongst the lavish detailings on the ceiling lit up the first floor with a natural glow, the stars glimmering just beyond it. You found you liked it better at night than in the light of day.

You pass through familiar halls, ones you’ve frequented most often since arriving there but a few days ago. You passed familiar rooms such as the library, too grand and full of books for your own excited good. You passed the kitchen, still smelling of honey and cinnamon from that night’s dessert. It was the kind of scent that carried with it warmth and the feeling of being truly at home, regardless of the fact that this estate was still very new to you and most likely would be for a little while as you adjust.

With what seemed like a daunting amount of wandering through gorgeous hallways, each just as vacant as the last, you finally reach unfamiliar territory. Maybe you’d already been there, things tended to look quite similar when you were lost. The sound of ticking clocks had been apparent just about anywhere you’d been and anywhere you will go, as was the consistent artwork adorning every other wall in small glimpses of other worlds in depictions of nature. The only noticeable difference was the navy rugs had since changed to a soft lilac, fluffy golden tassels lining the perimeter.

With a few more steps, your brow raises at the sight of the unfamiliar double doors standing tall before you, adorned with intricately carved woodwork as gold sparkled on its surface. You have yet to see what was on the other side at all, and now you were taking full advantage of the opportunity to with your newfound time.

Upon pushing open the doors, you’re met with a sight so grand and enthralling you hadn’t quite expected to be presented with such beauty. Perhaps the most wondrous ballroom was contained within your very own home. It’s cream-colored walls were lined with carved framework at every edge and every corner, a metallic bronze detailing every curve and bit of linework lacing along its perimeters. Several paintings lined them, each encased in a carved and complex frame to house each nature scene captured within them. The far end of the large room held rather tall windows, nearly floor to ceiling, the very tops arched with a matching set of mirrors to adorn the walls between the glass structures. Not a single smudge was to be found.

Ruffles of silky cream curtains frame each window, pooling on the polished wood floors. Through those very windows, the moonlight had been streaming in so brightly it illuminated the room much like any candelabra could. It’s moonbeams reflected off the several chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the myriad of crystals that dangle from each one casting little flecks of light on the floor and over your skin. The ceilings were made up of several sunken ovals, the same bronze detailing encircling each one. The murals inside had made you feel as though you were standing underneath the sky itself, and it was so meticulously painted you hadn’t known how many hours it must have taken. Surely far too many to wrap your head around. The ceiling in its entirety was so impossibly detailed and intricate you could give yourself a headache thinking of the effort put into creating it. It was delightfully busy.

Your eyes fall on a grand piano sat in the corner next, sleek and pristine with its ivory keys on display and waiting to be played. And the silky upholstered seats spaced out throughout the room. It was spacious, so vast you felt as though it could house all of England if they’d been invited. Though selfishly, a part of you wanted to keep this all to yourself.

“So, this is where you’ve run off to?”

You spin on your heel, a smile pulling at your lips once you see Benedict standing in the doorway. His arms crossed over his chest, the buttons of his shirt only half done and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a haphazard attempt to look decent as he roamed the halls in search of you. His hair was a mess, however, dipping over his forehead as the corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. A grin that never fails to uncage butterflies in your stomach. You were unaware of just how long you’d been gone.

You smile, twirling once in the grand room as your nightdress flutters at the action. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I quite like it,” he says with a shrug, pushing himself off the doorframe to make his way over to you. “Though I do believe that some things in this room are far more beautiful than others.”

You turn to face him fully, a blush staining your cheeks that had fortunately gone unseen in the lighting. His smile widened as he raised a brow at you, a laugh falling past his lips when you rolled your eyes.

“What? I was referring to the chandeliers, of course,” He quips with mischief, his eyes crinkling with his grin as you swat at his arm lightly. Your attempts to evade his grasp were futile as he grabs your hand, turning you to face him again as his lips press to your cheek. “I am only kidding, my love.”

“You really are terrible sometimes, you know that, don’t you?” You ask, a lightness in your tone as he drops a kiss to your neck.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” He says, his hands squeezing your own. “Though I suppose it’s better than being terrible all the time, is it not?”

You roll your eyes once more as you turn away from him in an effort to conceal your smile at his antics, walking over to one of the large windows. Just outside was a different angle of the garden, a view aiming straight down a long pathway of perfectly imperfect trees. Fluffy hydrangeas appeared just under the stone window ledges in varying hues of pinks and purples, vines climbing up the far wall of the building.

It hadn’t been long before you felt his arms snake around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“We must take a walk through the garden tomorrow,” you state, your heart fluttering at the feeling of his lips on the exposed skin of your shoulder. You could barely remember what you had planned to say next, until you’d forgotten altogether. “Are you listening?”

“Certainly, we must,” he responds with a soft laugh, pressing his lips to your cheek again. “And should it rain?”

“Then we shall take an umbrella,” you say as if your answer was entirely obvious as you slip from his arms with a delighted grin and a tap of your finger to his nose. You left him to look after you with parted lips and a shake of his head. He was awestruck to say the very least.

You wander about the room again with a bounce in your step, running the tips of your fingers along the soft curtains. Upon closer inspection, you discover the detailed linework you had seen moments before were in fact sculpted and carved vines and flowers spidering up the walls. Such a beauty nearly made you swoon at the very sight of it. Everything just kept getting better and better the more you gazed at it.

“What could be the need of a ballroom this grand?” You ask with a laugh, your eyes falling on Benedict.

“Perhaps to dance in,” he says with a shrug, an amusement in his features. You huff out a sigh though you can’t seem to fight your smile this time.

“You know what I meant. Of course it is made for dancing. ”

“Would you be so kind as to have this dance with me, then?” He asks, a teasing tone still weaving around his words as he offers you his hand.

“If I must,” you huff lightheartedly.

His nose scrunches at your counter and he promptly pulls you close, eliciting a squeal to echo into the room at the sudden action. His hand envelopes your own and his arm encircles your waist in the rightful position of a slow dance. Though this time, it was much less formal with the absence of watchful eyes and the need to execute every move with a flawless ease. For you were quite sure bare feet and slippers, night robes and half-tucked in, half-unbuttoned dress shirts were not of appropriate attire for such things.

No music was needed to find your own rhythm, no music was ever needed when the two of you were in your own world.

“I apologize…for waking you,” you say after a few moments, meeting his gaze once more.

“I was barely asleep, not with all your tossing and turning,” He says as you sway.

“Your snoring tells me otherwise.”

A look of faux surprise and offense crosses his face as he twirls you, wrapping his arm around you once more, “I do no such thing!”

An incredulous scoff leaves your lips as he tugs you close, your brows knit together and he continues to act as though he had entirely no idea what you had been talking about.

“I suppose I’m just hearing things then,” you state, far from being earnest as he nods along, “Perhaps it may have even been me.”

“Perhaps it might’ve,” he repeats in playful agreement, halting your frown from deepening as his lips press to yours in what surely would not be the last of many kisses that evening.

You sigh softly as your lighthearted bickering falls silent in favor of enjoying each other’s presence, enjoying the very fact that this was your home. This was your life now and you couldn’t think of anything better than that. He was ever so tender when he kissed you, when his fingers grazed up your side each time you fell out of rhythm. He claims it was just to hear you laugh, and rightfully so, but it was also in a playful payback for your sleepy dancing skills or lack thereof.

He was patient regardless, for the technicalities of the dance were not of much importance, they never were. Not even in a formal setting did he care if it was done perfectly. He cared about the fact that the most wonderful person in the world had been in his arms, and he loved you for all that you are and all that you will be. He hadn’t even needed a fancy ballroom to want to dance with you, hadn’t needed a large estate to be happy with you. He was perfectly content dancing with you in the field of flowers he’d spotted just two days before, and he made a mental note to take you there the following day.

For a while it was silent between the two of you, save for the occasional giggle when his fingers brushed over your skin. Or the patter of your slippers on the hardwood floors. Or his boisterous laughter he cannot contain when your lips ghost over that very sensitive spot just under his jaw, the fading scent of his cologne still lingering on his skin.

He twirls you before drawing you back into his arms, not without you stumbling into him, of course. It was as if your own two feet had been out to get you, and the undeniable grin on his face was telling enough that he’d been up to no good. Not after that.

“Remember that one dinner with my family?” You sigh in mild exasperation as you groan and look away from him at his words, fighting your smile nonetheless. “You had been so nervous you’d sent a spoonful of peas all over the floor. And—if I recall correctly, you proceeded to knock your wine onto my lap.”

“Am I to assume that you shall never let me live that down, Benedict?” You ask with a squint, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Yes, you would assume correctly, Y/n.”

“It is only your fault, you have a dreadful habit of making me flustered after all,” you defend with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

“I very well see that,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

You bite the inside of your cheek to stave off your grin, he did not deserve that satisfaction. Instead, you lean on your toes and press your lips on his, effectively kissing away the teasing smile he once had in favor of basking in the feeling of the warmth of your lips brushing over his own. In the feeling of your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck once more. His arms tighten their hold around you out of instinct, a soft hum escaping him.

“Perhaps I should bring it up more often if this is how you choose to quiet me,” he suggests against you, stealing another kiss.

“Or perhaps you shouldn’t.”

You pull away from him much to his dismay, and he finds himself chasing your lips for more. You laugh softly, your hand settling on his cheek as his once teasing smirk turns to that of a fond smile. The crystal reflections of the chandeliers above glimmer down over you, the moonlight illuminating the loving gaze that had been focused on you and only you. He couldn’t help but to capture your lips once more, for now that he had the opportunity to do so just as much as so he pleases he finds he can’t get enough.

Your hand falls from his face as your giggle brushes against his lips, his embrace sending you stumbling back a step or two.

“We’re supposed to be dancing, are we not?” You ask, breaking from his hold and spinning away from him, leaving him to smile after you in a lovestruck daze as you twirl in the glow moonlight.

He stood back to watch you for a moment, the way you seemed to beam more beautifully than any natural wonder ever could. The way you captured his attention far more than the lavish ballroom you currently resided in. Of all the luxuries he’s seen, of all the dashing estates and elegantly decorated soirée’s he’s been in attendance of in his life, there could be no greater beauty than you. There could be nothing in the world that is more enamoring, more effortlessly alluring.

He never knew the profound effects of love until it came along and grabbed hold of his heart, the feeling lancing through him with a wholehearted certainty that it was real and it was all-consuming. He knew love, of course. The Bridgerton family was large and filled with an unwavering warmth and welcoming one could surely wish for. He knew unconditional familial love amongst numerous siblings no matter the bickering that was bound to take place, serious or not. But this—this was different.

This kind of love was wonderfully and delightfully dizzying as it crashed down upon him in waves, immeasurably intoxicating with every fleeting moment that passed him by.

“Are you going to stare at me for the entirety of the night?”

Your teasing voice had stolen his attention once more, his attention that had been so distracted focused on you. It was then that he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off your feet, suddenly spinning with you in playful retaliation for noting his gawking and telling him all about such a thing. Your laughter rang out into the glorious space while his lips pressed a flurry of kisses up your neck, your hands settling on his shoulders as his breath danced across your flushed skin.

To marry your best friend, whom you truly love endlessly is but a wonder indeed, a fate many dream of but very few experience. It is a feeling most incomparable to all else.

He set you back on your feet but his kisses never cease, his lips brushing along the underside of your jaw with his laughter left to linger against your skin. They travel upwards to press tenderly across your blush stained cheeks, to the very tip of your nose, and perhaps most giddily and passionately to your already kiss swollen lips.

He doesn’t know how he manages to stop; perhaps it’s your constant yet soft laughter breaking the two of you apart, or perhaps it’s his desire to see the way your eyes sparkle in the glowing light. Or the way your face is illuminated so beautifully that it has him fighting the urge to grab his sketchbook, but he does not want to leave you not even for a second. Perhaps it’s both and it’s almost entirely too much for him to handle all in one moment.

“Why ever are you looking at me like that?” You ask, amusement in your tone.

“Because,” He says with a breathless laugh, “because I love you. I burn for you.”

A fond smile pulls at your lips immediately as you look at him, and it is impossible to ignore the warmth blossoming in your chest, lancing through you. It is impossible to ignore the insurmountable love coursing through every part of your being as you gaze into the eyes of your lover.

“I love you, Benedict,” you murmur, “I burn for you.”

He finds his smile unable to be contained as his forehead drops to rest on yours, noses brushing. His hand once again finds yours, his arm encircling your waist, and you sway. In the ridiculously large ballroom, to a melody unheard by anyone else. You sway and twirl and laugh in a slow dance all your own, a midnight dance.

—

Tags: @dreaming-about-fanfictions @valwritesx

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton oneshot #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #bridgerton fanfiction

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shiiko529 · 2 years

Text

first scene

previous scene

They flew for hours, Ryou periodically squirming, not overly thrilled about being carried even though they didn't have much of a choice since Bakura insisted that wherever they were going was too far to walk. They stayed relatively low, not just trying to avoid being spotted by any angels or winged demons, but so they could land quickly if needed to avoid an aerial battle where Bakura would be at a severe disadvantage.

He didn’t feel like talking, and with nothing else to do the angel found himself looking around at the scenery. When he had been on his own, he hadn’t had the luxury of enjoying looking at the trees, or the clouds, or the stars. He had been staring at one particularly odd shaped cloud and was unprepared to suddenly be dropped into surprisingly warm water. Ryou sputtered and floundered for a few seconds, giving the demon a dirty look once he got his feet back under him.

Bakura snickered and dropped a bag the angel hadn't noticed earlier, not hesitating to pull off his clothes and step into the hot spring. "You need help getting those rags off?"

"I can do it myself." It quickly became apparent that he in fact, could not; not with the way his wing was bound. The more he struggled with his clothing, the more his wing hurt and the more frustrated he became. It was bad enough to not be able to fly, but to not even be able to manage his own clothing made him feel helpless.

Bakura stepped closer, deciding to intervene before the angel hurt himself further.

"Don't touch me!" Ryou snapped at him, recoiling. Apparently the pale creature’s dislike for violence didn’t preclude him from having a temper.

"The hell's your problem?"

"This is your fault! You left me!"

The demon frowned, remembering that Ryou’s own kind had treated him like trash and thrown him away. And it was true, if he had been there Bakura would’ve been able to prevent the angel’s injury. At the time, he simply hadn't thought about the fact that he was leaving Ryou in a position where his only real option if it came to defending himself involved bringing the house down literally on top of himself. "I came back didn't I? I didn't abandon you."

Ryou dropped his head, giving a slight nod. Bakura had come back, and not only that, but he stayed and watched over him while he was recovering, and was more than happy to carry the angel when they had left the woods; but why had he been gone for so long? "I thought you had forgotten about me."

"How could I forget about a treasure as beautiful as you?" He hadn’t meant to be gone for that long, but it had taken longer to find what he was looking for given the current state of the world. He gestured at the bag he had dropped, "The city's almost been picked clean, it took a while to find that stuff."

Ryou glanced at the bag before giving Bakura a questioning look. The demon nodded and motioned for him to open it. Inside, he found clean, new looking jeans, a rich blue backless shirt, a hair brush, a couple of well read books, and several board and card games. The thin shoulders slumped with guilt and regret at having blamed everything on Bakura; neither of them had had any way to know that Ryou was going to be attacked.

There were no further protests when the demon approached again and used his sharp claws to easily tear through the stained and threadbare fabric. Carefully but thoroughly, he scrubbed at the pale wings and back, turning the water into a murky mess.

Finally free of the dirt, Ryou’s feathers shone and reflected the moonlight, giving him a beautiful ethereal glow that Bakura found nearly impossible to tear his gaze away from. In all of his years, the demon had never seen anything so exquisite, not even another angel came close. As much as he disliked the fact that Ryou's wing was broken, part of him was glad that it meant Ryou could never leave him.

He wrapped his tail around the thin waist, pulling Ryou close before asking, “Do you know why angelic weapons are designed to burn demons when they cut us?”

The seemingly random question caught him completely off guard and he stared at Bakura for a moment before confirming that he did.

“Then you know what happens when an angel touches demon blood.”

Green eyes grew wide in horror as a dark hand grabbed his wrist, twisting so his palm was exposed as a sharp claw broke the demon’s own skin.

“Don’t! Please! Stop!” he cried, frantically squirming, unable to free himself from Bakura’s superior physical strength.

Ryou froze when the drop of thick, dark liquid landed on his hand. And then another. Slowly he cracked open an eye, blinking in confusion as he turned his head to see better. “It… It doesn’t hurt.” He could only stare as a couple more drops fell without causing him any pain. “Why? I… I don’t understand.”

“You are not an angel. Or at least not a normal one.”

He gaped as the same demon that had, in less than a week of knowing him, been nicer to him than any of the angels, continued to shatter his world view.

“Your wings aren’t white, they’re silver. They’re thinner than a normal angel’s wings, and the feathers are smaller, finer, more delicate. Your blood is different too.”

Bakura looked him right in the face and said, “So the question is: what are you?”

---

i may have lied >.>

#no spoilers in the tags #gemshipping #angel/demon au #bakura #bakura ryou #ryou bakura #thief king bakura #tkb #angel!ryou #demon!bakura #yugioh #fanfiction #writing #wip

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anxiousstark · 3 years

Text

The three times JJ tried not to break down + the time he did | JJ MAYBANK

Request: “Fluff request: The day after JJ has a fight with his dad, the reader and JJ stay in bed laying down facing each other and their noses are touching and they have their hands intertwined and the reader is telling JJ everything she loves about him.”

Word Count: 1977

Warnings: Changed it a little bit. Mentions of abuse, drugs, blood, swearing (always). Didn’t proofread much, I’m tired.

BIG MASTERLIST

You couldn't help but laugh loudly as JJ Maybank guided you around the beach, dancing under the moonlight. His chest rumbled while he examined how dizzy you felt from going in circles. "It's coming. It's coming." He warned. His left hand ended up resting on your waist while his right hand, was intertwined with yours. "I'm going to dip you." And he did. And when he did, you had the best view, even though everything seemed to move as you were dizzy from laughing and dancing so much with him. You could see JJ Maybank's face and the fully-starred dark sky behind him.

JJ let you fall on the sand gently, falling next to you and breathing hard. You were still laughing, serotonin running through your veins.

"You guys are stupid," Kiara smirked, sitting down on the sand, cuddling Pope whose arms were wide open, hoping to hug the girl he was in love with, and warming her up as the night seemed to be cold. "I admire you two not having worries at all." She sighed, still smiling.

"Ugh," The blond next to you groaned. "You are just jealous because I prefer Y/N as my dancing partner." He teased her, making her roll her eyes. "And she prefers me." He glanced at you.

Turning your head to the side to look at him, you nodded. "But I think we didn't dance much, most likely we were going in circles." You grinned. The boy laughed, coughing due to how hard he was laughing. Happily, you gazed at the sky. "I'm sleepy." Yawning, you turned on your side, getting closer to JJ. His left arm was under his head while his right arm immediately brought you closer to him, helping you rest your head on his chest.

You liked JJ Maybank, but you always believed that he was far from your reach. And (probably) he just saw you as his closest friend. However, even if it killed you deep inside, you would stay like you were if that meant JJ Maybank would be the happiest person in the world because he deserved it more than anyone else.

But.

When Kiara had said that she admired how both of you had nothing to worry about, she didn't know the weight he carried on his back due to the situation in his house. JJ didn't cough because he was laughing too hard, he coughed because his father had beaten him last night and his tummy was full of red bruises, turning into purple and green.

JJ and you were the only ones in the Chateau. Sarah and Kie and went out grocery shopping, dragging John B with them. Pope was coming later as he had to help his dad with some late deliveries. Therefore, the Maybank boy, and you were the only ones, playing with a volleyball you had found while going to the Chateau.

JJ tried not to be competitive, not wanting to hit the ball with too much strength, accidentally hitting you and causing you pain. Hence, he tried to use a suitable strength, passing the ball to you. You were doing the same.

However, the ball fell to the ground as you saw two cars getting too close to both of you. "JJ," You whispered without turning around to glance at him. You just felt his hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind him as he saw some people getting out of the car, coming closer to both of you in quick steps. "Who are they?"

"I don't know." He noticed that those young adults looked furious. He didn't like the way they were getting closer to the both of you, especially because two of them were grabbing basketball bats. "Just stay behind me, okay?"

"JJ Maybank, right?" One of them asked. He seemed to be the leader. The blond boy nodded, which was the only thing you could see as you were listening to him, staying behind him. His arms were extended because everyone would have to pass over his dead body to get to you. That wouldn't happen. "Your fucking dad said to come to find you. He said you would pay us."

"What?" You didn't know what they were talking about. "He lied to you all. I have nothing to do with him, especially with that topic." He growled. "I don't even have money for myself. He is avoiding paying you all."

"Well, I don't care," The man gritted his yellow teeth. He seemed to be young, but he looked so fucked up. "I care about my money."

"Well, I don't care," JJ answered back. "I care about you all getting out of here because I have nothing to do with that son of a bitch."

The man walked closer to both of you, his hands gripping JJ's shirt collar, moving him harshly until his back hit the trunk of a tree. "I want my fucking money! And I don't care what I have to do to get it." He spitted on his face.

"Oh," God no, you knew that tone. You knew JJ was going to be sarcastic, and you were already shaking from fear. "So you are into BDSM?"

"Oh, so you are one of those funny guys, uh?" He made a gesture with his head. One of the other men walked closer to you, one of those who had a bat. You tried to step back, but he quickly grabbed your arm. "Let's see how much you laugh now, boy."

Maybank noticed what was going on, his eyes going from the man that was grabbing you to his bat. "Don't you dare."

"Let's show the boy that we don't joke around with mad drug dealers that are anxious to get their fucking money." Another gesture. Next thing you knew, the bat had hit your upper thigh, making you gasp. Eyes glistened due to the pain he had inflicted.

"Dude," JJ screamed, spitting all over the man's face. "I'm not fucking kidding, you hear me?" He glanced at the man that was seizing you. "I will fucking go crazy and kill all of you if you touch her again, you hear me?!" He started fighting against the man that had him clutched by his collar, trying to get away from him. "Don't you fucking even look at her!" He continued screaming, which made you break down, sobbing violently. "Don't be fucking cowards! Come at me! She has nothing to do with this!"

And that's how you ended up being seized too, so you wouldn't run to JJ while the others were beating the shit out of him. When they left, you ran to him. He was just there; pale, spitting blood, not being able to move from the ground. And thankfully, the others arrived, shocked to see their bloody friend laying on the ground while you were on your knees, crying and asking him what you could do to help him.

While explaining the situation as best as you could while sobbing hysterically, John B and Pope helped JJ sit down, giving him some time before they would help him inside the Chateau. Kiara was searching the aid kit, and Sarah had gone inside to get a glass of water so JJ could clean his bloody mouth.

"H-Hey," JJ stopped you from talking or weeping. "T-That was n-nothing. I-I'm perfectly f-f-fine."

No, he wasn't.

"Hey, we can't leave yet." You furrowed your eyebrows, glancing at your friends, who were excited to get into the water. "JJ isn't here."

"He texted me saying he can't come today. Said he felt sick." Pope shrugged. What?

JJ texted Pope Heyward to tell him that he wouldn't join you all today, and that was strange. That was so rare. You were always JJ's first option when he needed to call or text someone. Okay, maybe you were overreacting, and nothing was going on. But you couldn't help but feel this uneasy feeling thinking that maybe JJ texted Pope because he was mad at you, or something had happened to him.

Intrusive thoughts run through your head, making you even more anxious. "I'm going to bail on you guys!" You ran to John B, showing him your hand, asking to borrow his car. He placed the keys on your hand without asking where you were going. "Have fun! Don't wait up for me!" You screamed while running towards the car.

Your heart broke.

Your heart broke because you had noticed that JJ avoided talking about his dad. He never talked about his family, claiming that the Pogues were the only people he needed.

Your heart broke because you had noticed how he seemed to avoid swimming, not wanting to take his shirt off. You noticed how his confidence disappeared. You noticed all those things but tried to convince yourself that everything was alright. Because the last time you asked JJ if he was doing fine, he avoided the topic.

Your heart broke because you had parked the car at the end of the street. An empty street if only JJ Maybank's father wasn't hitting him repeatedly, pushing him inside their house. You gasped and got mad at yourself for not coming out of the car and insulting that son of a bitch. But maybe walking closer to JJ would make his dad even madder, hitting him harder. That's why you waited for the right moment.

You closed the door behind you, trying not to make any sound. Going upstairs and cursing yourself lowly when the old wood creaked. "Fuck, where was it?" Finding the door you were searching for, you opened it slowly.

The person lying on the bed quickly turned to glance at you, terrified of someone breaking in his house. "Y/N?" The blond boy turned on the lamp that was beside him. "H-How?" He glanced at you with a confused expression decorating his face. "D-Did you just break into my house?"

You nodded your head, taking off your shoes and getting into his bed. His face was full of bruises and scratches. Biting your lower lip, you tried not to cry for him. "You taught me to do so," Both of you were lying on your stomachs, facing each other. "JJ," You started, getting closer to him until your noses were touching and his hot breathe fanned over your face. "I love you," You swallowed. "I love you more than a friend does, and I want you to know that you are so loved. We love everything about you. I love everything about you."

JJ's face came even closer, his lips grazing yours, too emotionally tired to kiss you as bad as he wanted since you guys were fifteen. He pecked your lips. "I love you too."

"You know we all are here, right?" Your left hand found his right, clutching it as gently and firmly as you could.

He nodded his head. "He makes me feel like I'm not worth anything." His eyes got teary until he couldn't hold the tears anymore, running down his red cheeks due to the pain and anger he felt.

"I'm going to beat him up," JJ chuckled. "The way you would give your own life for everyone you love? The way someone hurts you deeply, but you would still give them a second choice because you believe people should have opportunities? The way you move me away from the road when we are walking, and you get that place? The way you always remember to buy everyone's favourite snacks when it's your turn to do grocery shopping for the Chateau? The way you smile and make everyone feel better?" The way-."

"Okay, okay," He stopped you, pecking your lips. "I get it. I'm worth it."

"Yes, you are."

JJ Maybank broke down that night. But JJ Maybank had all of the Pogues to help him get up.

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elsewhereuniversity · 3 years

Text

rescue mission

It’s been five weeks and two days since Fake Dana was kil- disappeared and Real Dana came back. I didn’t know exactly what would happen to me should I complain about it to anyone but the dean, so I was laying low, but… the recent discovery of my roommate’s skin being a bright shade of green changed some of my plans.

When I told him - Threeox - about Real Dana murdering Fake Dana, and now living invisibly on the campus (I’d never seen her again), he sighed, locked the door and windows, before making me sit on the floor between our beds and getting out a small wooden key out of a seemingly lidless box made of shimmery dark brown wood. The box was amazingly carved, so much so that looking at it too long made me dizzy, and I had to close my eyes not to faint as the patterns on the lid started to sway as to a sharp breeze.

“Threeox, what’s that about ?” I asked, a little confused - and a whole lot scared.

That was probably not my smartest move - Threeox doesn’t talk per se, he just… gets his point across in a remarkable way that I had yet to pin down. A series of drawings of a cat with five eyes and a full ten minutes of interpretative dancing later, I kind of gathered that Fake Dana was trapped in the mirrors in the North Dorm, and couldn’t get out because of all the iron.

Naturally, I tried to organise a rescue mission, but gathering partners proved difficult. Real Dana apparently gained quite a reputation among the Student Witches, and everyone kept looking at me weirdly when I asked where Fake Dana was and if we could, like, rescue her maybe ? No one wanted to talk to me for more than two minutes, fidgeting uncomfortably and asking me if I’d packed my suitcase yet. I wasn’t going anywhere without Fake Dana, but hey, who am I to contradict the masses ? I’d just have to lay low a little longer.

It started on rocky grounds but I did gather for this mission a few seniors, all knights that had a history of being kind(er) to the Changelings, even though I’d never heard of them before. Their names were Toll, Bell and Eulogy, which - okay, some of us have weird names, but… It’s not that hard to pick a happy one. I couldn’t quite remember what mine was now but people had no trouble remembering me when I talked to them, so I assumed that was fine.

Add to the knights a freshman, EXO. Freshmen are probably a bit too young and frightened for that, but the fearless EXO wasn’t, uh, exactly a freshman ? Freshperson ? They were at least two metres tall and they had that look in their eyes that told you not to mess with them or they’d do unspeakable things that I, well, couldn’t speak of. Just know they were good for stuff like this. Or so I assumed, since they were the one who brought the knights to my bi-weekly “Where is Fake Dana” search.

We got some supplies: the baseball bat Fake Dana hid under my bed that one night the dean decided to do a room check, a good couple teaspoons of charcoal, some rags, a freaking battleaxe that Toll swooshed around like it weighed nothing, and that one river rock the archivist kindly lent us, and we departed for the wild wild north. Midnight seemed an appropriate time.

The dorm looked fancy, not gonna lie, the iron structure glimmered and almost rippled under the moonlight. I felt EXO shiver as we entered, their eyes losing any life that they might have had, their skin getting that weird greenish hue it didn’t have just moments before. The knights also shivered, but that might have been the cold.

The entrance was deserted, no sign of life save for a calico cat who meowed at us and tried to eat my shoelaces. She promptly departed when I told her they were a gift from the president, though I didn’t specify which president. It was the president of the cross-stitching club I was in in middle school, and she, uh, suffered from a slight eye issue after she looked through my hagstone. I mean, I did warn her about seeing the Nethers through the hole, but she didn’t listen.

Anyways, enough of that. Toll started to hack at the nearest door with his axe, waking up the poor unsuspecting students living there. “Where the fuck is she ?”, I asked, peeking around Toll’s shoulders. The two girls looked at each other, at Toll’s axe, at each other again, and one of them ended up spitting out “Basement. Third door to the left. Hope you die a slow, painful death, girl, you deserve it.”

Eulogy, true to her name, sang a few verses in Tamil, and we all collected our spirits before walking towards the basement. The iron in the walls seemed to sing to the beat of our steps, the doors creaking to the rhythm of our breaths. EXO seemed paler and paler under the dimmed overhead lights, until Eulogy sprayed us all with what I can only assume is water from that Wishing Well we’re not exactly supposed to talk about. That seemed to calm us down a little. I squeezed EXO’s hand when they looked at me questioningly, my smile thin and eyes dulled by fatigue. I couldn’t sleep that well since Fake Dana was gone, so I just wanted this to be over with already.

The third door was cracked open, but no sounds emanated from behind the heavy iron and the weird, Tolkien-inspired words of advice in elvish. I could recognise “The way is shut, and the Dead keep it”, which wasn’t even the full correct quote. The door swayed to an invisible breeze and it opened way too silently for something made of rusty metal. As we went down the stairs, we could hear the stone crackle with contained electricity, so much so that Toll, Bell and Eulogy decided to stay up to guard our backs. EXO grit their teeth but didn’t stop, grabbing Toll’s axe on the way.

“Good luck, bro, and good riddance, you girl,” Eulogy waved, and the three knights were gone as if they were never here. I wondered what she meant by that, but I couldn’t ask in time. EXO gestured to the stairs, mouth shut tight. I was kind of getting tired of everyone telling me I should leave, so I hoped at least Fake Dana would help with that. Hadn’t I been working so hard to rescue her ?

At the bottom of the narrow stairs were two doors, also made out of metal, and what Threeox told me about - the mirror.

Ten feet tall, circled with iron chains, the metal behind the glass pane was reminiscent of clouds, though it was most likely silver. I could see a prostrate silhouette in the bottom right corner, faint tremors running through her whole body, sobs muffled, whimpers of pain spread between fits of coughing.

I yelled something I couldn’t really understand, a guttural sound that made her raise her head, and I saw Fake Dana’s eyes grow wide as she recognised me.

“Missed me ?” She smiled, teeth sharp.

My throat went tight as she started to slam her fists against the glass. “It’ll be okay soon. I promise,” I said, examining the lock keeping the iron chains together.

“Hey, move, I’ll take care of it,” a voice I pinned on EXO whispered in my ear. “Tell her to stand back.”

I did so, and Fake Dana retreated to the far side of the mirrorspace. With three swipes of his axe, EXO managed to hack away most of the chains, and the rest I hastily discarded, fists pounding on the glass as Fake Dana pounded back.

“The key. The lock.”

“Fuck.” I started rummaging through my satchel, finally finding the small piece of wood that has slithered into the bag of crackers I keep for the crows. “Where is that fucking lock ?”

EXO gestured to the back of the mirror and helped me turn it around, their skin starting to sea as they kept pushing the metal. They eventually managed to shift it enough that I could wrestle my arm in and fit the key into an oddly shaped keyhole.

The back of the mirror started glowing a pale green before cracking open, revealing a room barely large enough to fit Fake Dana. Tears welling up in my eyes, I did my best to extract her without causing her too much damage until she finally made it out to the other side.

“Friend,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d ever find you ! Thankfully Threeox helped, and there’s - look,” I continued, turning back to face my rescue team, forgetting it was only me and EXO now.

They were smiling, too, and they gestured at the stairs. I understood what they meant - out.

I turned to Fake Dana again, still somewhat relieved to see her dry her tears and gracefully get up without giving me the time to offer help. She smiled like nothing was wrong. I followed her up the stairs and into the hall, her naked feet sizzling and leaving angry red marks on the floor, probably due to the iron dust covering every inch of the place. EXO swung the the front door open, touching the iron pane with a quickly blistering hand, and as I looked at them more closely, I couldn’t help but mouth “Threeox”.

“Oh shit, right, come here !” Fake Dana grabbed my face with both her hands, her palms wet with leftover tears and blood, the feel of them sending shivers down my spine. She spat in my eyes like she’d done before, and suddenly the night became less bright, her skin less pale, EXO’s features morphing into the face of my roommate, skin going from that red I’d been kinda surprised about, to the vibrant green that the cat warned me about.

Toll, Bell and Eulogy were nowhere to be seen. I started wondering if I’d dreamed about them, if they were ever here at all. Their names had stuck in my mind and once again I wondered what mine was. I know Sizzle, my roommate, was quite upset before shoving me out of the room - which room was that again ? 17 ? 23 ? I forgot.

Fake Dana interrupted my thoughts with a light shove on my arm. “You can leave, now, you’ll remember who you are soon. It’s okay, it’s done.”

“What’s done ?” I tried to ask, but my eyelids suddenly became so heavy I had trouble keeping them open.

The last thing I heard were guttural sounds, so unlike Fake Dana’s voice, and a wet caress on my back.

I woke up on this train a few moments ago. I don’t know where it’s going, except from “Far away” and “Not where I came from”. My suitcase is filled with all my belongings, except the iron jewellery I acquired during my two years as Elsewhere U. And as I look at the landscape we are zapping by, I do not recognise the streets nor the trees.

The only thing keeping me from falling asleep again is the sticky red liquid pouring out of my nose, making me curse out loud as I scramble for a handkerchief. The blood stops flowing after a while, and I catch my reflection in the window across me.

I have several streaks of white hair, the contrast sharp with my otherwise dark brown ponytail. My eyes are bloodshot and I have blood caked on my face in the shape of hands. My skin is pale, my eyes gleam a quickly fading red.

I remember it now. My name is Dana.

#hazblogs #rescue mission #stories #long post #dana #exo #threeox #fake dana #mirrors #submission

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bokutosvoid · 3 years

Text

Remember me, even when I’m gone | t.s

pairing - tendou x imaginaryfriend!reader (fem reader)

(A/N; okay I wrote this last night at one in the morning and I don’t know how I feel about this, it’s much longer than I originally wanted.)

Genre - fluff and angst with a happy-ish ending.

Warning - suggested bullying and descriptions of cuts and blood.

Word count - 2.1k

Tendou sat alone on the grass lawn behind his house that led to towering trees and shrubbery he hoped to once venture to find you. Tendou watched the sky with longing as brisk air blew around him, fluttering his hair and eyelashes gently. The red head boy flopped backwards, the long grass felt itchy against his pale skin but he didn't want to move so he allowed the prickly feeling to remain. The gleam of the sun made his eyes shut slowly, the wind ruffling his shirt in this comforting way.

He felt something bop onto the tip of his nose, followed by a soft laugh that ripped his eyes open. “Are you okay?” your voice peeped “Satori~” you sang with a smile, looking down at him. Your eyes were filled with delicateness, soft and gentle in a way Tendou hadn't ever seen. He didn't expect you to look at him with disdain, but at this point it felt like muscle memory for everyone to be scared of him at first glance. But this feeling he felt when you reached out to him, no fear occupying any space in your mind, it was a feeling that was new, like a warm hug from someone he wished to find.

“How was your day?” you asked, sitting down next to him, pressing your leg next to his. He looked away from you, and towards the fresh wound on his knee, a small amount of dried blood surrounding the shallow graze. You took notice of his quiet demeanour, glancing to where his eyes fell. A soft gasp escaped you as you scrambled up onto your knees to examine his cut, using gracious touches so as to not hurt him. Frustration bubbled in your chest ferociously as his face remained nonchalant. “Did they do this to you?” you asked.

Satori nodded. “Yeah...kept callin’ me a monster too...but it's oka-'' his words were cut short as your small hand squished his cheeks together. Your eyes burned with unsweet tempered anger for the people who did this to him. “It's not okay. You're not a monster, Satori...say it...please” you pleaded softly, wanting him to see what you did.

His eyes widened, blown wide by your words. The sudden, all-consuming thought that you were an angel crossed his mind, briefly, but long enough to halt his own words for a moment. Your hand remained squishing his cheeks, warm but with purpose. After a few quiet moments, the silence filled with the wind, Tendou was able to speak. “I'm not a monster.”

Once your hand left his flushed cheeks, the air felt colder with the absence of your warm palm. He missed that warmth that you gave him for a long time after that. Getting onto your knees, you ran over to the tap on the fence, ripping away poison ivy vines as if it were nothing, only to wet the corner of your dress before running back. You sat between Tendou’s knees as you cleaned the blood. “Your dress is getting dirty, y/n.” Satori interrupted, but you only gave him a smile. “I don't mind, it’s what friends are for,” you looked up at him once more. “Isn't it?” Tendou didn't know, he hadn't ever had a friend to clean his cuts and piece him back together as gently as you did.

From that day, you remained by Tendou’s side, kissing better his bruises and making him repeat the notion that he isn't a monster, that he isn't disposable, that he isn't unwanted. The question as to if you were an angel remained a common occurrence for him, not seeing how a human could love him as much as you had, how you were able to see something in him under surface level.

Satori gifted you flowers bundled messily in his fist, blushed cheeks as he held them before you. You looked up at him and took them with a smile every time, holding them as if they were jewels and not roses missing petals. He didn't care about the thorns, only taking notice of them as he pulled them off so they wouldn't hurt your precious hands. But the small pricks to his fingers did not pass you as he wiped the small amounts of seeping blood onto his shirt. You tended to the cuts again, patiently placing pink bandaids over each of his sores, never forgetting to leave a gentle kiss over it. You were his remedy and your tender, sweet affection always made him smile.

Some nights, he would beg you to stay. Between his shaky breaths and teary eyes, you agreed, whispering ‘only five more minutes’ before climbing into bed with him. Tendou was taller than you, but at times it felt like you were the one protecting him. But you didn't mind. He pressed his forehead against yours to obtain some of your warmth, hands tangled together as you waited for him to drift to sleep. You stayed for a moment, looking at his calm face. You liked to see him calm and peaceful.

Your laughs echoed off the branches the day you dragged him to the woods, finding a tree not too deep into the maze of greenery. “Here!” you picked up a rock. He looked at you confused. “What is that for, y/n?” Tendou asked, still holding your hand.

“Im marking the tree!” you smiled, walking towards the tree. “This is our tree, Satori. So this tree will be ours forever...so you can remember me, even when i'm gone!” you laughed, carving your name into the tree. You turned to him, “we will be best friends forever, This will prove that” he took the rock from your hand and began carving his name into the tree. “But you’ll always be here...right, y/n?”

One night, you stayed up late to watch the stars. Everything just felt...right. It felt like Tendou was complete. Safe with you there, holding his hand tightly as if to make sure you were still there. He noticed how you kept squeezing his hand, your touch loosening as your voice went quiet for a while. He looked to the side to find you, and saw a tear sliding down your cheek. He immediately sat up, panicking slightly as your skin had become pale, maybe it was just the moonlight, but he knew deep down that wasn't it.

“y/n...what's wrong? Are...are you okay?” he asked, wiping the stray tear off your cheek. You sat up, looking at him, taking in his face. “I love you, Tendou. Thank you...for being my first real friend.” you looked up at him with glossy eyes, bringing tears to prick his own.

“I love you too, y/n...thank you...for finding me.” he nodded, pulling your body towards his chest.

That night, after you had let Satori fall asleep, you watched from his door and a feeling you didn't understand wracked your entire body. It hurt and reached deep down into your chest. You didn't know why this departure hurt so much as it was the same as every night, but this odd melancholy feeling was suck drifting over your head as you turned away and walked down the hallway of his home, out the door and into the world.

Tendou never saw you again after that night. He waited for you in the field, but all he found was the space you used to fill. Now empty and lacklustre with the missing piece of him that was you. He waited until dark, hoping that maybe you would come. But you never did. He screamed into the world, hoping maybe you’d come back to him, he searched the sky for you everyday. After a few years, the memory of you had become distant but cherished. When Tendou recalled your voice, your smile, you, his heart sunk with unknowing of where you had gone, why you had left him. He wasn't mad at you, no, he just missed you. He missed you so very much. Every now and then, Satori would venture to your tree, a place that was a physical totem of you and proof that you were there once. You were there and you left Tendou with fleeting memories and this longing feeling that remained a long time afterwards. The names carved into the tree that you shared remained, only your one didn't look like he remembered it, instead of messy, childlike writing he thought were so pretty then, your name was now written like his was in the same writing.

Tendou didn't think the memory of you would follow behind him for as long as it did, staying fresh in his mind all through highschool where he recognized that you were imaginary, nothing more than a perfect angel he had created to be by his side. His parents would often bring up the imaginary friend Tendou had, saying how he would spare her seats at dinner or make sure she always had a pillow to sleep on. He would laugh along but it was always accompanied by this weird twinge to his heart. You just felt so real.

The question if you were even there kept him awake some nights, tossing and turning with doubtful thoughts rattling around his head. He could have sworn you were. The way you held his hand and wiped his tears felt so real. The way you would tell him “as long as i am here, nothing can hurt you, Satori.” when he would come home with fresh scrapes on his cheeks and chin, sitting under the glow of the sun as you told him he was beautiful. Each brush of your fingers, each of your lashes and soft laughs, it all felt so real.

That feeling lingered even as he ran towards the train station on a cold morning, bundles of books in his arms as people stared at him, eyes upon eyes glued on him. Satori had gotten used to it now, but those people were the last thing on his mind as he tried to make the train that would be arriving in less than two minutes. Once his feet made contact with the platform, he heaved out heavy breaths. A sudden jerk sent him falling backwards, the cold concrete making harsh contact with his back. He sat up, groaning as he looked back to the group of people who had knocked him over.

“Are you okay?” a voice asked him as his head was turned. It felt like someone had shot electricity up his spine, sending a rush through his entire body. That voice…

Tendou looked at the person before him, eyes blown wide as they looked down to him. You stood there, softness covering your face as you looked at him worriedly. The train zoomed by behind you but Satori could only notice the way your hair looked as the wind picked it up, flourishing around your face. He could have sworn it was you. Your eyes held that same look you had given him all those years ago.

“I saw those people knock you over...god, some people are rude.” you scoffed before dropping to your knees, to pick up the books and papers that laid scattered on the station ground.

Tendou couldn't say anything, all motion felt ceased as he looked at you. You looked different, but all the same in a way. Words felt harsh as he tried to find the right ones. He saw you pick all his things into a neat pile before putting them next to him. “Did you hit your head?” you checked his face for cuts, but all seemed fine. Tendou felt his heart squish in his chest. Was it really you?

“No...i’m alright, thank you” he responded and you nodded. Sighing with a smile. “What's your name?” Satori blurted before he could stop himself. Your lips remained pulled into a grin as you answered. “My name is y/n l/n...what about you?” you asked, standing to your feet.

“My name's Tendou Satori.” he responded, trying to process. It's you. You're here. “Well, it's very nice to meet you, Tendou,” you held a hand towards him. He looked at your outstretched arm and fleeting memories came rushing back, now vivid and bright. He took your hand, getting to his feet. You gave a departing smile before you walked past. After a silent moment, Satori turned quickly, suddenly.

“Wait!” but when he turned, he saw your fading figure walking away.

His legs moved before he could think, bringing him to you. He stopped, a small distance keeping you apart.

“Wait…” he panted, out of breath but still determined. You turned to him. “Yeah?” you laughed softly.

He had so much to say, so many things he needed to say. But he had found you, or maybe you had found him. Whatever it was, he didn't want to lose you again.

“Do you wanna hang out sometime?” was all he could think of. But your lips curled into a smile.

“Sure.”

#tendou scenario #tendou x reader #tendou satori #tendou angst #haikyu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyū!!#haikyuu fluff #shiratorizawa #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #satori x reader #satori tendo x reader

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

October Writing Challenge 2021 - Day 1

The wonderful Eliot Gerard belongs to @kc-and-oc and Selene's better half Ethel Hexley belongs to my beloved bestie @the-al-chemist.

This is a mirror POV to @kc-and-oc first entry to this challenge, so the credit for the framework of the middle part goes to her 💛💙

Night had fallen over the Scottish Highlands, and with it the peaceful quiet the darkness brought with it. Everything was still´; the green and brown meadows decked with the pink bloom of bell heather; the wind rustling through the old trees; even the waves in the lake seemed to have retired for the night.

The halls of the Fraser Estate were dark and quiet, all of its occupants had long retired to bed; all except one. The silence of the night was broken by a frustrated cry coming from the only room still lit in the vast building.

“Where are those doaty herbs?” Selene Fraser muttered and rummaged through one of the countless open drawers she had only searched twice so far. “Buggers must be around ‘ere somewhere.”

She paused for a moment and grinned; her parents would be mortified to hear her talk like this. Her Highland accent wasn’t strong by any means, but whenever Selene returned to her grandparents’ distillery in between her travels, she found herself falling back into it.

Tomorrow she would set out for her next assignment; apparently, a group of Gringotts Curse-Breakers had unearthed a whole new set of tombs in Egypt, full to the brim with all sorts of magical objects that were of particular interest to Selene.

She wouldn’t call herself a Curse-Breaker by all means, but there were few witches or wizards who had as much knowledge about the darker sides of ancient magic than she did, and so she had been hired for her assistance.

Her last expedition to India had been a disaster, to put it mildly; the healers assigned to their team were the biggest twits Selene had ever come across. She absentmindedly rubbed the bright red scar running across her forearm, a souvenir from their pathetic attempts to heal her wound after she had been hit by a curse gone rogue. It still itched when she remembered it was there.

To not be at the complete mercy of a bunch of amateurs, Selene was determined to make sure she would be properly prepared for the desert. If only she could remember where she had last seen the dried bundle of healing herbs she had purchased on a market in China.

She removed a stack of maps from the drawer and gingerly pushed a perfectly round globe of smooth onyx to the side with the hilt of a hairbrush - it was a souvenir from Peru Selene wasn’t entirely sure she had uncursed it yet, so she figured it was better not to touch it. But still, no healing herbs anywhere to be seen.

With a sigh, she slammed the drawer shut and turned around. “They got to be somewhere,” she muttered, “yer didn’t happen to see them anywhere, did yer?”

The spectral ferret hovering above the drawer Selene had been perusing wiggled his nose and yawned, presenting his pearly white teeth to her.

“Yer not much of a help,” Selene told Alan sternly and turned to the fireplace. She relit the dying fire with a flick of her wand, basking the better half of her room in a golden glow; at least now there was sufficient light to search.

“Make yerself useful and go look in that chest over yonder,” she said and pointed to a huge oak chest in the far corner of the room. Selene usually stuffed everything that didn’t have a proper place in there, and she didn’t even know what it all contained at this point.

Alan chirruped obediently and floated over, doing a few barrel rolls on the way before diving headfirst into the chest. Selene chuckled; even though Alan had been a ghost for some years now, he was still the funny little chap she and Ethel had rescued from their Transfigurations class.

Smiling to herself, Selene turned her attention back to her drawer, when Alan suddenly squeaked triumphantly.

“No way that bugger found them so quickly,” Selene frowned and made her way over. She opened the heavy lid of the chest and moved the things Alan was pointing his nose at to the side until she found an old box with a slightly adjacent lid.

“These aren’t healing herbs, silly, these are…”

The laughter in her voice died when she realised what exactly it was that Alan had found. Ignoring Alan’s questioning squeak, Selene took the box from the oak chest and carried it over to the windowsill, stepping out of the golden glow of the fireplace into the pale silver light of the moon.

A sad expression crossed her face as she removed the small corsage from the box. The dried wildflowers crinkled softly as she turned them carefully between her fingers, thinking back on the night they had been given to her.

It had been in their last year at Hogwarts. It had been only a matter of days until their graduation and their inevitable final departure from the castle, which had been more of a home to Selene than her parents’ townhouse in Edinburgh had ever been.

To mark the occasion, the last ball of the year was taking place in the Great Hall. It had been decorated so lavishly Selene almost didn’t recognise it anymore, just as she hadn’t recognised herself when she had stepped in front of her mirror in her new dress. It was made of dark red silk and even though it featured one of the corsets Selene loathed like nothing else, it was surprisingly comfortable, and not constricting in the slightest. According to his letters, her Uncle Mortimer had spent ages trying to find the perfect dress for the last school dance of his favourite niece.

Where Selene had felt reasonably pretty before, she had felt downright beautiful when her companion for the night, her ex-boyfriend Eliot Gerard, had first seen her walking out of the Gryffindor Common Room. She didn’t want to admit that her heart had started beating faster when had to clear his throat before being able to compliment her and offer her his arm, but she had felt like she was floating on their way down to meet their friends.

She had even ignored Ethel’s sharp look at Eliot. Selene knew Ethel - who was so much more than only her best friend - was only worried. She was convinced bringing her former love to the dance after the way their relationship had ended was a bad idea - something Ethel had made very clear in a very wordy way. But when Eliot led her through the open portal into the glittering Great Hall, even her soul sister’s concerns were wiped from Selene’s mind.

Seeing as they were only going as friends, clearly showing they were mature enough to let the past be in the past, Eliot hadn’t brought Selene a corsage. She had thought she would have felt strange wearing a corsage from someone who wasn’t her date but her friend, but upon seeing a bracelet of flowers on the wrist of almost every other girl in the room, Selene felt her smile grow just that tiny bit sadder.

It didn’t help that most of her friends were too busy with their dates to provide any sort of distraction from how handsome Eliot was looking in his suit and felt hat; even Ethel was too busy bickering with her brother’s best friend to notice Selene’s restlessness.

When she couldn’t bear the light and noise of the music anymore she got up from her seat. “Eliot, it has never been so stuffy in here. I’m going to take a walk,” she said and took a deep breath. She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “Will you join me?”

They left the castle behind and took the winding path down to the Black Lake. A warm spring breeze was blowing and catching in Selene’s dark hair, which was tumbling down over her shoulders. She breathed in deeply, more freely now, relishing the scent of the spring night and wildflowers blooming around them; how she would miss this place.

She raised an eyebrow when Eliot suddenly stopped and walked off the path into the meadow beside them and started picking a handful of the flowers that hadn’t closed their petals for the night just yet.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s unfitting that the most beautiful girl at the dance didn’t have her own corsage,” Eliot smiled, “not that you would have needed one to shine, of course.”

He walked over to the huge tree at the shore which had been uprooted by the most recent storm. Selene knew it had been one of Eliot’s favourite places to study, and sure enough, he looked sad as he sat down on it. “Metaphor for us being uprooted soon, I suppose.”

He motioned for Selene to join him; Selene kicked off her heeled shoes with a laugh, gathered up her skirts, and clambered up onto the log. She walked barefoot over the warm wood and hopped down on Eliot’s other side.

Eliot was already busy weaving half of the flowers into a small wreath. His fingers were working deftly and Selene watched with fascination as he tied them together with a few long leaves.

She reached for the other half of the flowers Eliot had set aside and started arranging them to a little bouquet of her own. “It wouldn’t be fair if only the lady got some flowers, would it?”

Eliot looked up from his work and smirked. “I know. That’s why I got so many.”

Selene had to laugh. “Seems like Ethel taught you well.”

Eliot was serious as he slipped the corsage he had crafted over her wrist. “No, you did. You taught me a lot of things.”

He got up and offered Selene his hand. “Might I have one last dance before your next adventure?” he asked.

If Selene listened closely, she could hear the faint sound of music drifting down to them from the castle, but the murmur of the water lapping against the shore was much more beautiful to her. It spoke of freedom, the wide world, adventure, and a longing in her heart Selene wasn’t sure had anything to do with the future that was awaiting them.

She let Eliot pull herself up from the tree trunk and wiggled her bare toes in the cool grass under her feet. With a smile, she fixed the boutonniere she had made to his suit and let Eliot pull her into his arms.

Selene didn’t know how long they were dancing in the moonlight, swaying to a music only they could hear. As much as she burned to see what the future held for her, she didn’t want this moment with Eliot to end.

“This time in a few weeks I’ll be off to America,” Eliot whispered into her hair. “I will miss you. Where will your first adventure take you?”

Selene rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart. “I don’t know. Wherever the wind will blow me, I suppose.”

“Wherever the wind will blow me…” Selene repeated the words of her younger, more foolish self, as she stood watching another lake glimmering in the moonlight so many years later. She blinked slowly, as if waking up from a dream. The wind had blown her many places, and time had made her forget many things, but there were some things she never had been able to erase from her mind entirely.

Her last dance with Eliot was one of them; as was the pain that only came with the shattering devastation of the first time a heart got broken.

Selene turned away from the window abruptly and placed the dried wildflowers back into their box. She put them away into the lowest layer of the oaken chest and piled everything she could reach above it.

Shutting the lid with a resounding pang, Selene stepped from the silver moonlight of the past into the golden firelight of her future. She had no time to wallow in memories better left alone; she had some healing herbs to find.

Eliot Gerard was a ghost of her past, and had no business in her life anymore; not in her present, and most certainly not in her future.

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #selene fraser #eliot gerard #seliot #october otp challenge #october writing challenge #october writing challenge 2021

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blacknailpolishonguitarstrings · 3 years

Text

O Children

Minerva couldn’t sleep. Ever since the war had begun, she had become more and more restless in her sleep, increasingly worrying Poppy. Thus, she did not miss a single second of the sharp, rapid, loud knock on the door of their little cottage that sounded at 4 am on that cold November morning. Tightening the string of her checkered green plaid robe, she walked rapidly down the stairs, leaving the vapour of her cup of tea resting on the window sill to god up the window. The lower floor of the house was plunged deep in darkness, the only light coming from the porch lamp whose glow glittered through the door’s coloured glass panels. Gripping her wand tightly, she unlocked the door.

“Albus!” She gasped. “What type of ice cream did I get at Florean’s in Diagon Alleys on August 22nd, 1975?”

Her wand was pointed right at the centre of his chest omnipresent reminder of the war.

“Raspberry sprinkled with rose petals and lavender-infused chocolate topped with almond brittle,” said the old man tiredly.

He looked weary the twinkle in his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles dim, long white hair and beard having lost their silvery shine, clothes dusty. It was almost as if more wrinkles had appeared on his face since the last time she had seen him, rendering his face even grimmer, a gloom look stretching across his features.

“What happened?” She asked tightly. “Who…who died?”

Her friend’s silence was unbearable, hanging heavy in the air, announcing in-pendent doom.

“I can’t remain long, I must go and take care of matters, but I assumed you would wish to be notified among the first…”

“Albus. Who. Died?” She repeated.

He sighed.

“Peter Pettigrew and…James and Lily Potter, all murdered by Sirius Black.”

An icy, unpleasant, terrifying wave of cold flooded her veins, disbelief painted on her face. It wasn’t possible.

“No,” she whispered. “There must have been an error. No. Sirius would never do such a thing to James and Lily. They were his best friends. You are wrong.”

The Headmaster watched her with compassion as she muttered “no” under her breath over and over again, refusing to acknowledge the hard and bitter truth. It felt as if the world was spinning at breakneck speed around her, dizzying her. Everything swam before her eyes, blurring and mixing, a kaleidoscopic slush of colours, and numerous seconds passed before Minerva realised that the thin watery veil clouding her gaze was burning hot, unspilt tears. Her grip on the door handle was so tight her knuckles had turned white.

“When? How?…Why?” She breathed raggedly.

“We don’t know exactly,” started Albus gently. “All we know is that Sirius Black was the Potter’s Secret Keeper, he allegedly betrayed them, which led us to believe he reconnected with his family and worked closely with Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew attempted to warn and save Lily and James, and in a fit of madness, Black blew up the street and killed Pettigrew along with thirteen muggles. He was found in a muggle neighbourhood nearby and has since then been arrested and sentenced to Azkaban for life. It was debated whether or not he should receive the Dementor’s kiss, but the judges decided upon a life sentence at Azkaban. I am still waiting for more information, and I will send you the full Order report as soon as it is ready. Members of the Order are of course working on the case along with the Ministry Aurors.”

She watched him tiredly, still refusing to believe him.

“Now, if you will excuse me, Minerva, I unfortunately still have urgent matters to attend to, I cannot remain any longer. I present you my sincerest condolences for your loss, I know that they were all very dear to you, and excellent students. I myself am still quite disbelieving at the situation.”

She looked at him stonily.

“No, you are not,” she thought, but she only asked:

“And Remus? And harry, James’ and Lily’s child?”

“Mr. Lupin hasn’t returned from his mission yet, as for young Harry…I’ve taken care of it

An uneasy feeling overcame her.

“Albus, what did you do?”

The elderly wizard failed to meet her eye.

“I have left him with his last living relatives, the Dursleys. Petunia Dursley was Lily Evans Potter’s sister—“

“I know that, “ snapped Minerva. “What I do not understand is why you thought this was a viable solution. I have met the Dursleys. They are close-minded, rude, and despicable people. They are not a good family or entourage for Harry to grow up in. Petunia Dursley could barely stomach her own sister, I shudder at the thought of how she will treat her nephew. Neither James nor Lily would have wanted this for their son, Albus, I can’t—“

“It does not matter, Minerva,” he cut her off. “While I appreciate your concerns, the matter is sealed and there is nothing to be done now. I have my reasons, and I hope you will trust me as you have done many times before. I wish you a pleasant evening, or well, rather morning I suppose.”

He turned around, his robes sweeping the floor as he walked away until he was nothing but a mere silhouette amongst the shadows, all semblants of warm, glowing light gone.

“Bastard,” seethed the witch after him, before slamming the door shut.

The shock of wood against wood resonated around her in the darkness. She did not know what to do now, what to say, what to think, what to feel. For the first time in years, Minerva was lost. She stood there, back pressed against the hard door, wand held tightly in her wrinkled hand, dark brown hair streaked with gray tumbling down her shoulders, and felt oddly empty, almost numb, as she looked curiously at the single ray of moonlight piercing through the back windows. The old stairs creaked in the far left corner of the living room, and a trembling golden glow filled the lower floor of the white brick cottage. Poppy appeared behind the sofa, gripping her wand whose tip was alight with a soft shine, wrapped in her midnight blue nightgown. She looked weary and pale in the dim light, almost ghost-like, her quivering lip betraying her inner turmoil. Minerva stared at her blankly, as she approached her.

“Minnie,” whispered her wife, kneeling in front of her, placing a soft hand on her wrinkled cheek.

“That’s what they used to call me, James and Sirius, Minnie, mum…they were the only ones who dared to,” she croaked.

“I know,” said Poppy softly, wrapping her arms around her frail shoulders, hugging her tightly. “They were wonderful children and—“

“He killed them,” interrupted Minerva hoarsely. “He killed them…”

She shivered, whether it was coldness or something else, much darker, buried inside of her, she did not know, but she began trembling violently.

“VOLDEMORT KILLED THEM!” She roared, eyes blazing, face red, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Minerva,” murmured Poppy, chocking on her name, as she held her crying wife in her arms, who shook violently, wracked by uncontrollable sobs.

“He killed them, he killed them, he killed them,” she muttered over and over again, face buried in the crook of Poppy’s neck.

Neither of them had any idea how long they stayed there, on the cold hard floor, leaving against the entrance door of their house. But, soon enough, the morning sun’s first golden rays began filtering through the windows. The sky was beautiful outside, a painted canvas of amber, orange and pink fading into a dark blue in one corner and a clear azure in the other. It was all awfully joyful and pretty, considered the grim circumstances. Exhausted, Poppy got up, and holding Minerva by the elbow, led her to the upholstered burgundy armchair overlooking the small fireplace where coals lay cold and dead amongst the ash. She settled weakly into it, covering herself with a large plaid blanket. She felt nothing, no pain, no sorrow, no joy, nothing. Her mind still hadn’t fully processed the loss, and the first shock of emotions having been evacuated by hours and hours of mourning the dead, she was now empty, hollow.

“Poppy,” she said quietly, taking the small green hand-painted ceramic mug her wife handed her, having come back from the kitchen. “Do you honestly believe, Sirius…”

She stopped, her voice cracking, a shy remnant of the power it used to be.

She took a deep breath in, before trying again.

“Do you think Sirius killed James, Lily, and Peter?” She asked in a small voice,

“Of course not, replied Poppy, taking a sip of her tea. “I don’t believe Sirius would be able to kill someone in the first place, let alone murder his best friends.”

Minerva nodded,

“I do not think so either, but…I don’t know, something is wrong…”

Silence settled in their home, as the birds chirped merrily outside, welcoming the new day with joy and excitement. Suddenly, a loud knock sounded at the kitchen window. Minerva stood up heavily, and leaving her empty teacup on the worktop, she opened it, letting the waiting owl in. Running her hand gently through its glossy tan plumage, she took the newspaper from its claws and slipped five Knuts into the small leather pouch tied at its leg. Big headlines printed in bold black letters glared back at her from the white paper, screaming victory:

“Dark Lord vanquished and gone, for good this time”

“Dark Lord dead: Wizarding Britain celebrates”

“Harry Potter, the young saviour of our world”

She skimmed briefly through the paragraphs, squinting at the fine print, shaking her head slowly.

“Fools,” she thought.

She opened the Daily Prophet to the second page and dropped it in shock when Sirius Black’s desperate face stared back at her from the black and white moving picture. An Auror was restraining him, holding him at wand point, as he desperately attempted to free himself from her iron grip. His face was a mask of pure anguish and misery, as tears ran down his face, his usually lustrous black hair sticking in mangy strands to his skin.

“I’m so sorry.”

He appeared to be mouthing the same three words over and over again.

Above the picture, the headline read:

“Sirius Orion Black: murderer, madman, and traitor”

Facing Poppy who was watching her worriedly, she whispered, voice breaking:

“I must find Remus, now.”

#angst #remus lupin #sirius black #james and lily #minerva mcgonagall #poppy pomfrey #minerva x poppy

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mellointheory · 3 years

Note

I fucking demand chicken punz angst /lh

// vomit

Punz wasn’t thinking.

And then, all of a sudden, he was.

He dug his fingers into the dew-soaked ground, hauled himself up to his knees, and promptly threw up. It was awful. What the fuck had he been eating?

When he opened his eyes he found that he had, apparently, been eating grass, insects, and corn. He spat bile onto the wet ground and sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It was like pulling his mind out of sleep, but worse. He knew that just a few moments ago he hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t been conscious at all. What had happened?

A quiet cluck behind him, and he turned around. There was a chicken perched on the back of an empty chair, its feathers ruffled and eyes closed. He was in an empty schoolhouse, lit only by moonlight coming in from the gaps in the eaves, kneeling on a dirt floor.

He stood to walk over to the chicken and then choked, something tightening around his throat. He put his hand up to find the thin leather of a leash tied around his neck, attached to one of the posts of the blackboard at the front of the room. It snapped when he yanked on it, but the ghost of that tightness still lingered around his neck. What the hell.

He turned around and sat on the desk behind him, reaching a hand out to the chicken on the back of the chair. It opened an eye and regarded him sleepily, then slowly stepped off the wood and onto his arm. He pet the feathers on the back of its head and rested his forearm on his lap while she settled down into sleep again, rustling her feathers. The skin under his hoodie itched, irritated from something, but her claws digging into his skin alleviated that slightly.

Her? Odd. He frowned and glanced around the schoolhouse, wincing at the taste of bile and vomit in his mouth. It was full of empty chairs and desks. There were drawings scribbled on the board, amatuer sketches done in chalk. He noticed his handwriting on one of them.

Me, it said above one of the figures in the drawing, and then above the shorter one: KSI. Then he started to remember.

KSI. Some being Quackity had brought in, some weird-as-hell spirit mildly obsessed with debauchery and a vast degree of inexperience with their world. They had all gone along with the chaos, for some reason. How had every single one of them ended up inside this little schoolhouse, letting a thing with zero knowledge of how the mortal plane worked explain to them what sex was.

That thing had done something to their heads.

He stood up to walk around the classroom. It was mostly empty, just the drawings on the board, a broken leash on the ground, a drowsy hen perched on his arm. Where had everyone gone, and why did they leave him?

A flash of yellow caught his eye and he stepped around one of the desks to see…something, lying limp on the ground. A little bundle of pale feathers. He bent over and reached out with a fingertip to nudge it, then stopped before he could touch it. It was a dead chick, its dark eyes still open, beak slightly parted. Its head was bent back at an odd angle.

Punz still felt unwilling to touch it. It was so…small. Just a little thing of flesh and fragile bones, the yellow down that covered its body wet from dew, tiny nubs of wings half-opened. Its feet were curled up under it. He’d seen dead birds before, fuck, he’d even killed them himself. Karl once had an entire pit of chickens on Punz’s property that were multiplying at an alarming rate until Punz killed them. There should be no reason for this tiny, broken body in the moonlight to be as tragic as it was.

The leash around his neck when he awoke. The…stuff he’d been eating. The strange sadness at seeing that dead chick on the ground. KSI, staring Punz straight in the eyes.

They’d transformed him into a chicken.

Jesus fucking christ.

Punz threw up again.

After he’d finished gagging on the bile in his mouth he turned back to the body of the dead chick. The chick…oh god, he’d fathered that thing. He’d been turned into an animal and they’d tied him to a post and watched him…watched him…

The chicken on his arm opened its eyes and looked at him quizzically. He wanted to throw it. Yeah, he’d been a chicken at the time but holy fuck. Punz averted his eyes and bent to slide a hand, shaking slightly, under the dead chick’s body. Its head flops a little when he picked it up and he steadied it with his thumb. His head was clouded and at some point any sentience in his brain had deteriorated, trapped in the mind of a bird. And he couldn’t have been in his right mind originally, not if he was sitting at a desk playing school while some dark-skinned spirit with purple hair explained what an orgy was to them.

He tries to string together the events as he walks home, quietly praying that no one sees him, and that no one remembers. Quackity showed up with some being that wanted to teach them about sex and couldn’t pronounce his name right. They’d made drawings, as homework, and Punz had called the thing short. And it turned him to a bird.

The chick on the ground couldn’t be his, he realized. It wasn’t old enough, and you had to incubate eggs for a long time before they hatched. Whatever was in the bowels of the chicken on his shoulder at the moment was his, though. Biologically.

He wanted to die. It was humiliating. They’d tied him up and watched him fuck a bird and he still remembered the laughter.

Thank XD, Punz didn’t pass anyone on his way back. And he wondered: would they even remember? He still remembers what happened because of the bile in his throat from throwing up insects and the ghost of a leash around his neck and the itch in his forearms. Maybe the rest of them will wake up with no real recollection of what happened last night. Unless the only reason Punz forgot was because of the time he spent trapped in the head of an animal…

He didn’t go straight to sleep when he reached his tower. Instead he went up to the pumpkin patch beside his house and knelt in the night-wet grass, digging a grave in the earth with his hands. His fingernails were sharper than he remembered, sturdier, and it was easier to make a hole in the dirt than it should have been. He hated how easily the soil crumbled under his fingers. Make it difficult, he cried in his head. Humans weren't built to burrow into the earth, make it hard enough to remind him he didn’t belong on his knees in the grass with a curious hen perched on his shoulder.

He buried the chick in minutes and turned to go inside.

There was rising dread in the back of his head about the irritating prickle on his forearms. It wasn’t until he got into the bedroom in his tower that he could set the hen on the post of his bed and tear his hoodie off, examining his arms in the moonlight.

They looked like they were covered in goosebumps, little bumps bristling all over his arms, but he already knew what it had to be. He could feel similar ones on his shoulders and the back. Feathers. It had to be feathers. Fuck, not even his body could stay the same after that, could it? How long did it even take to grow feathers?

Far, far too long, he found out. He attempted to fall asleep only to be woken less than an hour later by an increasing itch in his skin. He could feel the shafts as they grew, pushing up under his skin. It was agonizing, the slow stretch of skin as feathers attempted to push through. His skin wasn’t fucking built for it; he wasn’t supposed to have any of this happen to him in the first place. Itching at the spots only drew blood with his far-too-sharp nails.

Maybe he fell asleep somewhere in that first nightmarish night, but everything blended together into the itch on his arms and the exhaustion in his head and the soft clucking of the hen on his bedpost.

He wanted to die.

#yes #it's here the angst you've all been waiting for #part two should be slightly more crack-type beat #tw vomit #idk its not a very happy thing #punz #mello writes #long post

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pasteljeon · 4 years

Text

Blood Bound (m)

Summary: Tragedy brought you home. Love made you stay. Despite all odds, Namjoon has always been yours.

Werewolf!AU

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Warnings: werewolf au, fluff, mild angst, heat sex, breeding kink, namjoon has a big cock ana oop, size kink, mating, brief mention of death

Length: 7.1k

Notes: after almost a year in the making, it’s finally here!! i worked really hard on it so sdjskd please let me know what you think !! <3

There’s a wolf staring at you.

It’s misty. Wisps of fog curl around your wrist, skin pricking as the tendrils dissolve, droplets sliding from your fingertips to soak into the underlay of moss coating the ground.

There is no path here, only one worn through years of treading and the same footsteps sinking into rich soil. Only its eyes are visible, a deep amber hue peering from the thick smog, its body veiled by the equivalent shade.

Its gaze is unyielding, intense yet soft. Unmoving.

“Momma! Mommy, he’s hurting!”

The bundle of fur cradled in your small arms lay in silence, chest barely rising and falling unsteadily as rivets of crimson liquid stained his smoky coat alarmingly fast.

You waddled your way clumsily to the house, your mother stumbling out to the backyard in a panic at your yell with a first aid kit.

“Bring him here,” she beckoned. You placed him down gently, trying your best to keep from jostling him too much, lest the wounds were irritated. Your mother set to work immediately, clearing a work station on the patio tables.

You sniffled, watching as she cleans his injuries. “Is he going to be okay?”

“It’s hard to say, sweetheart. His cuts aren’t too deep, but there is still a chance for infection. We must act quickly.”

You ran to find your father, who’d been napping on the couch. It was a Sunday, the clinic closed and void of any patients.

“Dad! Daddy, come help! There’s a doggy and he’s really hurt! Mommy says she needs the – the t-tweasers?” You fumbled with the word, tentatively testing it out. He groaned, rolling from the sofa as he rubbed his neck. “A dog?” He yawned as he dug around the medical cabinet. He ruffled your hair as he passed, smiling fondly at the anxious look on your face.

“Your mom and I are going to help him, so don’t worry that little head of yours too much, okay?” You nodded, hot on his heels as he stepped out.

You clutched your skirt nervously, restless as you tried to focus on the book you were reading. The pictures failed to cheer you up as they usually did, and you closed it to take another look at the creature sleeping on the counter. Your father had carefully set him into a basket padded with cushioning and pulled a thin blanket of linen over his body. It was summer, warm enough so he wouldn’t need much more to keep comfortable.

It had been hours since they cleaned and dressed his wounds. A particularly long gash ran down his tummy, and your lips had quivered at the sight. The long rays of evening sun casted shadows, your stubborn insistence to take vigil over the puppy lasting until your mother came out again with some lemonade and sandwiches.

“Come inside, sweetie,” she said sympathetically. “He’s not going to get better just by you staring at him. The worst has passed. He’ll need a few weeks to heal fully.”

“Can he sleep with me?” You asked. She chuckled. It was against their policy to allow patients in their own rooms, but she could see how troubled you were. “Sure, baby.”

It took months before the puppy was strong enough to walk. Even then, he limped awkwardly, the abrasion on his calf closing slowly. Half a year passed swiftly, and he grew strong enough to run and jump. Your attachment to him was growing by the day. He seemed just as enamoured by you, never straying too far from your side, pulling at your leg to play with him or snoozing on your lap. He liked licking your cheek, and barked softly whenever he saw a mouse scurrying in the overgrowth.

“Ghost!” His ears perked, tail wagging as he trotted to you. You laughed as he leapt into your arms, sending the two of you sprawling onto the grass.

Just as a year slipped by, so did he.

“Ghost? Ghost!” Your sobs bubbled up, tears clouding your vision as you searched for him, knees scraped and dirty. Your mother put a hand over your shoulder, coaxing you up.

You turned around, giving the yard one last sweep as she led you back in. You wept.

He was gone.

You blink, and the memory fades. Your return your attention to the pair of golden eyes, but they’ve already disappeared.

The cottage is cold. A delicate layer of dust has already collected over the furniture. Picture frames litter the mantle, a family portrait over the centre top. Setting your luggage aside, you shrug off your coat and rummage for cleaning materials underneath the sink. Tossing wood into the fireplace, you start with the timber figurines lining the living room. Your father’s handiwork, for your mother. For every anniversary.

It’s dark when you finish. You think you’ve cried at least thrice as you pack away your mother’s jewellery.

Scrubbing the remains of grime from your body, you settle into your childhood room for the first time in fifteen years. Staring out the window, it’s hard to find sleep. There’s much grief swirling within you, and little means of coping. But you like it here, and you’ve missed it. Your friends had offered to accompany you, to which you declined. This was something you needed to do alone.

Saying goodbye has always been the hardest part, after all.

You dream of him. Ghost, darting through the forest. He’s bigger, now twice your size. You’re older, too. 13, maybe.

He’s as playful as you remember, stopping to sniff every undergrowth and occasionally scratch at a tree. You follow him, tugged by something inexplicable. He leads you to a meadow, a quiet space privy to nothing but your breathing and the gentle whispers of wind. The tiny glen is moonlight dappled, with fireflies flickering like stars.

He pads to the centre of the field, waiting for you patiently, tail flicking slowly. He blinks up at you, head cocked, and then lays down, resting his head on his forearms. Come here, he seems to say. So you do.

Tentatively approaching him, he only watches you with sleepy eyes as you gingerly recline on top of his back. He promptly curls around you, tail coming around to rest protectively over your stomach.

Combing through his fur, you smile as he nudges your hand. His tail thumps happily the moment your nails scratch behind his ears, nearly knocking you breathless. He whines softly as an apology, nosing your palm as he peers up at you sorrowfully.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. A content rumble erupts from his muzzle and he ducks his head under your arm so both are now wrapped firmly around his neck.

You don’t say anything after, cheek pressed against his thick pelt, skin warm as you feel his chest rise and fall rhythmically. The two of you watch the stars twinkle in companionable silence for the remainder of the night.

The fire burns strongly as you wake, though the last time you touched it was hours ago. You feel disoriented, nostalgia aching in your heart. Yet, you’re also oddly comforted by the memory of something sweet.

Grabbing your drawstring bag, you pour some silver coins into it, enough for a quick trip to the market for groceries and some material for the dress you’ve been working on the past week.

A hoarse whimper startles you as you step out of the lodge, and you fall to your knees instantly at the sight of the bloodstained bundle of fur strewn next to your entrance, crawling to it quickly. Upon closer inspection, you realize with a sharp exhale that it’s a wolf—male, the very one that you’d glimpsed at your arrival. He’s massive, out shadowing you easily and in obvious pain by the way it’s panting, barely able to lift its head.

“Hey, hey,” you coo. “It’s going to be okay. Let me help you.” He seems eager to trust you, the way he closes his eyes and slumps, like he’s tired of having to guard its six. Hauling a pail of cool water and the med kit, it’s history remade once more as you wash his wounds and stitch them up. He watches you work, quiet even as you disinfect the deep claw marks.

“Got into a fight, didn’t you?” You say absently as you begin rolling the bandages on his torso. He huffs, warm air ruffling your tied locks as he blinks those gold-rimmed orbs forlornly at you.

“I wonder if Ghost is as big as you.” Running a hand lightly over his unmarred neck, he allows you to stroke him gently. Your palm practically sinks into his fur, thick and soft; his silvery pelt a shockingly gossamer sheen. With difficulty, he shifts, nearly toppling you over in the process, but you steady yourself on your knees as he reveals his stomach.

“No,” you breathe. Your blood runs cold, paling as you reach with shaky fingers to touch the thin scar stretching across the soft line of his tummy. “Ghost?” You say, stunned. He whines faintly, ears flattening as if expecting resentment. “You’re a wolf.”

He lowers his head, expression rather doleful as he puffs out another breath. “You’ve grown so much,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He rolls over, concealing the old wound once more, and paws at the ground at your knees.

“Don’t move so much,” you warn immediately, swiping at your cheeks. You touch his jaw delicately. “I’m not mad, I promise. Just … surprised. In a good way.”

“Can you walk?” Normally you would feel a bit awkward speaking to an entirely different species incapable of similar speech, but the intelligence and wisdom glowing in those tender tawny irises suggest otherwise. He feels familiar, and warm.

He heaves himself up, limping slowly as he shoulders his way through the narrow doorway and staggers onto the centerpiece rug. “Sleep baby,” you murmur, dragging over a thin sheet over him. He watches you with half-lidded eyes, tail swishing leisurely as you move around. “I have to go to the market,” you say as you pour water into a hefty bowl you hauled from the lower cabinets.

Ghost wrinkles his nose at the basin, looking fairly offended as he scowls at the object. “You lost a lot of blood. I know it’s not ideal, but bear with me here,” you say, amused.

He stares at you stubbornly, the thumping against the muffed boards increasing in volume. It takes one glance at those pleading honey-coloured orbs of his for you to cave.

“It’s okay,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t really want to go anyway.” If wolves could grin, you imagine that’s what it would look like. Ghost’s lips pull back, sharp canines glinting in the firelight as his tongue rolls out excitedly. “You really are just like a dog,” you giggle. “But bigger.”

He barks, just once, in defiance. You laugh again, lugging a spare coverlet next to him for a makeshift bed. You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose gently. “Rest up, baby.”

His every exhale ruffles your locks, and his tail stills as you close your eyes.

The first rays of light peek from the horizon just as you rouse at dawn, having slept unexpectedly peacefully. Your nightmares seem to have ceased momentarily, and your mind is clearer than it has been for a long time now. You muse it likely has something to do with Ghost’s presence being a wordless comfort.

Ghost heals much quicker than you’d thought possible. When you peel away the gauze, fully prepared to clean and rebind his wounds, med kit sprawled at your side, you find the cut is no more than a fresh layer of skin.

“How …?” You stroke the tender patch cautiously, testing the depth of damage, but Ghost nuzzles your arm, seemingly unbothered. Examining the area, you realize his fur has also grown back to full. It’s disorienting, like the injury never occurred in the first place.

“Are you well enough to join me?” You ask as you rise to your feet and pull on a clean shirt. The wolf follows, shaking himself out before padding toward the door and taking a seat at the entrance, golden eyes patient as he waits silently.

With a giggle, you scratch under his chin in appreciation, his tail nearly dislodging the flooring beneath him in its intensity. He leans against you heavily when you reach the spot behind his ear, tongue loose as he pants.

“Found your weak spot, huh,” you tease. Ghost lets out a faint whine but remains lifeless against you save for the furious wagging of his tail. “So cute.”

He whimpers when you release him reluctantly. “I’ve gotta change and eat something quickly, and then we can go, okay?”

He huffs and straightens again, struggling to cast the drowsiness from his pelt, managing to look much more alert when he sits up once more.

When the sun is at its peak and you’ve showered, feeling a little more refreshed, and finished the small snack of grapes and apples you’d brought along for your journey, you sling your bag over your shoulder and the two of you set out to the market.

This village is home.

And you’re reminded of it with every step you take into the crowded streets, the cheerful calls of merchandise and a wide assortment of edible goods from foreign lands set up in colourful arrays of stalls, the kind smiles flashed in every direction. You breathe in the familiar scents of traded spice and homemade concoctions alike.

Their gazes are strangely intimate, and you know it is because of the label you wear with the shape of your lips and structure of your cheekbones. You’d left so young, but your family had stayed. For them, this village was everything.

And they remember.

It’s not as painful as you thought it would be. The recognition and quiet sympathy don’t suffocate you like you anticipated. Instead, you feel warm. Ghost is pressed tightly by your side, and the sight of a Grey wolf should both alarm and frighten, but this is no ordinary town. Hidden in the mountains and protected by fog and legend, magic is whispered through generations of bloodlines.

“Hello, dear,” a merchant says. “Interested in some silk threads?” She’s old, deep crinkles at the edge of her eyes as she beams up at you. Still so lively, despite her age and deteriorating body. You like her.

“Hello,” you say shyly. “Would you have any spider silk on hand, by any chance?”

The trader brightens. “Of course! One moment.” Disappearing behind artistically beaded curtains, you wait patiently at the side, one hand absently scratching Ghost behind his ears as you peruse the charms and accessories on display.

“Princess. It’s so very good to see you again.” Startled, your fingers still, head raising slowly. Your companion seems to sense your uneasiness and nuzzles your palm as if to reassure you the newcomer is of no immediate threat.

“I’m sorry,” you say, puzzled. “Do I know you?”

He grins. “You don’t remember? I’m hurt. I thought we’d be friends forever. Granted, I was 6 at the time, but we had so much fun.”

Ebony-dark hair, plush lips, eyes that slit into crescent moons when he smiled. A silver chain rests at the dip of the dangerously low v of his cotton tee. Wrists adorned with more silver, as well as several rings.

“J-Jimin?” You blink, stunned. “Oh my God. It’s been so long.” He pulls you into him the instant you’re on your feet.

“I know. You look as beautiful as ever,” he says fondly when you pull back. “We’ve missed you. Why didn’t you ever write?”

You avoid the thinly veiled curiosity in his look, hands sliding down his arms to grip his elbows. Ghost presses himself closer, pushing his head onto your upper thigh as he lets out a quiet huff. “You’re so handsome now, Chimmy. You’ve grown up so well. I see you’ve been running with the pack. Beta, right? Mother told me.”

Jimin takes your hands gently. “Noona, it’s just me.”

You stare at his chest, tracing the dark ink that flaring across his ivory skin absently.

“Princess, please.” He tips your chin up, amber orbs soft and unguarded as he pleads. They can’t. They can’t.

“I can’t.” You close your eyes. “Please, Jimin. Don’t ask.”

“It’s safe here. You know that, right? We would never let anything happen to you,” he says tightly.

“I know,” you draw away, resting your hand on Ghost’s massive head lightly. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Jiminie. No one wants to talk about it because they trust you, but the treaty needs to be renegotiated before the blood moon rises.”

“Then come back,” Jimin insists, stepping closer. Your companion rumbles, though remains immobile.

You take a breath. “It’s not that easy.”

“He’s your mate.”

“Not by choice. He doesn’t really want me. I’m a means to an end, Jimin,” you exhale tiredly. “I always have been. It’s why I left. At least for a little while, I could pretend my life could be something more than just destiny.”

“___, please. You know what happens if the full moon comes and goes and you don’t bond with him. The treaty will end. The bloodline … it’s what keeps this place alive.” He’s imploring you, sympathetic but resolute.

“I don’t want this,” you say in a small voice. “He deserves to be happy, too.”

“What makes you think you wouldn’t make him?” It makes you pause for a moment, surprise flickering, and Jimin smiles wryly.

“Give this a chance, noona,” he says. “You are more suited for each other than you think. Fate is not a fool. You were chosen for a reason.”

From his pocket, he opens your palm, dropping the item and closing your fingers over it firmly. “Give him a chance. He might just be everything you never knew you needed.”

“Sorry for the delay, dear!” You jerk at the sound, slipping the object in your bag before turning on your heel. The merchant makes her way over, waving a roll of thin silk in her hand.

“It was in the back shelves. My assistant being mischievous again,” she explains, chuckling. You manage a polite smile. If she catches your sudden change of mood, she doesn’t comment, simply going about wrapping your goods cheerfully.

When you glance back, Jimin’s gone.

Ghost whines. You nod. “Thank you. How much?”

It’s quiet.

A cool breeze ruffles your locks, the lawn freshly mowed. Morning dew sparkles from the afternoon glow, the sound of grass and the odd leaf crumpling beneath your shoes.

Ghost is silent as he pads next to you, steps light despite the sheer mass of his body. He’s keeping close to you, the extraordinary heat emanating from him a wordless comfort against the chill settling deep in your bones.

You stop.

You exhale shakily, bending to gently set the bouquet at the foot of the grave.

Ghost sweeps the area behind you with his tail, brushing away debris and droplets. You crack a tiny smile at the very humanlike gesture, rubbing his ears in gratitude before taking a seat.

He wraps himself around you, circling twice before settling, resting his chin on his forepaws.

You lean into him, and Ghost whimpers lowly, nudging you.

With a watery sigh, you bury your face in his fur, sobs muffled by the density and his tail curls around your stomach, a reassuring weight.

You cry until you’re empty and all that’s left is you and him.

The skies are pink when you leave.

The sun peeks from over the horizon, dipping low. Your gait is slow, the mental exhaustion pulling on your physical form heavily.

Ghost trots beside you, echoing your steps, but pushes before you to stop at the foot of the entrance.

His head cocks to the side, golden eyes impossibly wise yet tender.

You scratch under his chin lightly, cracking a smile. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

The wolf licks a long stripe up your cheek, nosing your jaw. You kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you.”

Ghost weaves himself effortlessly back into your life.

He stays with you, guards you. Sleeps at the foot of your bed, keeping you grounded on nights sleep escaped you.

He’s there when the nightmares threaten to consume you, gently pawing at you, barking quietly. Your anguish was powerful, but Ghost never baulked.

Eventually the dreams faded. Your grief, like a storm, passed. The sorrow lessened, and breathing became easier.

Princess, still whispered but less so. With the White Wolf guarding your back, they wonder why you’re trying to run. No one prods, but you know they wonder.

The days continue to slip by peacefully. Despite this, you know time is ticking. The deadline is drawing near and you’re terrified.

You know they’re going to try to find you.

He’s going to try to find you.

And you have no idea what to do.

Your next trip to the market, the sweet farmer you’ve been building a steady friendship with is absent.

“He’s out sick,” her replacement explains. She’s youthful, likely around your age. She’s beautiful, with long cerulean hair and cold green eyes, an uncommon set of characteristics found in your village. She’s not from here.

Ghost is tense beside you, ears flattened. She leers at him subtly. Your skin prickles at her smile.

Your lips quirk and you buy one bushel of strawberries from her.

“Meat?” You ask instead, glancing down at him. Ghost blinks.

Idly, you wonder if her presence here means any threat.

It’s not your place for concern, you remind yourself. Because it isn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

The season is turning when he comes.

You wake to a warm, hard body pressed against you.

He’s gorgeous, with silky silver hair and a chiselled jaw line. Asleep, the broad expanse of his bare chest rises and falls rhythmically, an arm resting over your stomach.

In one swift maneuver, you flip him over, pressing the blade against his neck. “Where. Is. Ghost.”

He doesn’t flinch, eyes fluttering open to reveal beautiful molten gold irises. “Namjoon,” he says. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” His voice is deep, rumbly. Like velvet.

He shifts, hands up placidly when you push the blade harder in warning. You let him pull the sheets down to reveal his naked abdomen, where a long, healed laceration sits.

You falter, knife slipping from your grasp. He catches it easily, setting it to the side. His piercing gaze never drifts.

You get off him, move to your wardrobe. Throw him some old clothes. Your father’s, likely to be a bit loose on him. You hear him fumbling with them, mattress creaking as he stands.

You remain silent as you pull a shawl over yourself.

“You’re angry.”

He’s behind you, that supernatural heat radiating off him warming you despite your inner turmoil. Worry seeps into his tone.

He reaches for your hand, but you step away quickly. “Don’t touch me,” you say. Hiding your trembling fingers buried in your elbows.

“Please don’t push me away. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know how else to—to approach you. To see beyond the labels.” Desperation. Frustration. “Please, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you say automatically. Your feet lead you to the kitchen. To start your morning routine. Pulling out ingredients, striking a match to start the stove.

“Princ—___. Please. I—I was wrong, I know. I just—I wanted to be here for you. This was the only way you would ever let me in.” He follows you. Like a puppy, like he’s always done. All his life.

“When I was gone—did you ever—did you ever try with anyone else?” You ask bluntly, turning around to meet his gauge his reaction.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Yes—yes, I tried. That’s what you wanted all along, right? But it doesn’t work. All I could think about was you. Even—even with my ruts. Nothing worked, nothing helped. I suffered, ___. It was torture being without you, all these years.”

“Not for me,” you say matter-of-factly before returning to your task. You concentrate on chopping onions to avoid the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach. You’re a fucking sadist, you tell yourself grimly. All you’ve ever done is hurt him. Even though he deserves the world.

“And … and you? Did you … did you—try?” He’s hesitant. He doesn’t really want an answer, but he wants to know. He wants to pretend the knowledge of his won’t kill him.

“Yes, and it works for me. I can’t feel the bond,” you say. “I’m not one of you, remember? All human, one hundred percent of the time.”

He thinks he’s going to kneel over with how powerful the pain crashing over him feels. It almost cripples him, but he also knows—

“You’re lying.”

You stop. “No, I’m not.” The cutting resumes.

“You’re cooking for me. Historically, females have accepted the mating bond through a demonstration of food,” he says casually.

You stare at the plates.

The table is set for two.

The atmosphere is tense, the silence broken only by the occasional clink of silverware.

“___—”

“Namjoon, please.” You drop the fork you’re holding. “I don’t want to talk about this. There’s no discussion. I never wanted this, and I never will. End of story. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.”

“There is no one else. I don’t think you understand. We can only choose once. That’s it. And my wolf chose you. I chose you.” He sounds like he’s choking up, voice caught in his throat. “I’m not asking for a definite answer. I just want you to try. I know you can feel the bond between us. I can hear your heart. It’s fluttering.” Like a hummingbird in your rib cage, eager to take flight, he wants to say. He is not good at wooing, has never needed to before. He has wanted, before, despite his position, personality, looks, everything. Despite all that he is, he has never wanted anything more than what he is, and yet here he sits, begging you to take all that he can be for a mere chance.

“Have you ever thought maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn’t your choice? That we’re simply meant to be because of destiny?” You say bitterly. The bigger part of you wants to say yes, yes, all I’ve ever wanted to say is yes, but what if all of this is a mistake, what if I can’t be the one you need, what if—

“I don’t care,” he says fiercely. “I want you. I know I want you. Every fibre of my being needs you. Close to me, always. You spirit, your soul. It calls to mine.”

“You don’t even know me,” you shoot back. Weaker. His eyes gleam.

“But I want to,” he insists. “I want to know everything about you. I already know your heart. It is gentle and kind and giving and that is enough for me. Please. I can be good for you, I promise.”

Your chair screeches loudly as you stand, half-finished plate in hand. Your hunger eludes you again.

He watches you warily.

You take a breath.

“The first time—why did you go?” Voice timid. Scared. –Because you’re nothing, you were never anything, can never be anything and—

“To keep you safe.” He’s firm. You risk a glance. His eyes are honest. He’s never lied to you before. Until now.

You cover your forgotten meal with a cloth.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He perks up, disbelief and excitement sparkling. He can hardly dare to believe. Finally, finally—

“Yes. But slow. I don’t know—I still don’t know if I’m ready for this,” you say, leaning against the counter as you turn.

He rushes over, nearly tripping over the leg of the table, exhilarated and ecstatic.

“Yes—yes. Of course.” He skids to a stop, hands hovering near you, remembering the lines as he begins to withdraw, looking embarrassed at his childish enthusiasm.

“Kiss me.” You dare. He flushes. “I—I do not think that’s slow, exactly—”

“Namjoon.”

He cups your cheek gingerly, palms so large they engulf your entire face, dipping his head. You say his name again, breath sweet as it ghosts across his lips.

Kisses you softly.

You grip his shirt, swallowing his moan when his lips crash over yours again, dragging his tongue over your seam.

He parts your mouth easily, devours you, one hand braced around your waist where he crowds you against the marble counter.

Then you make a noise.

Namjoon groans, reluctantly tearing himself away, the movement sluggish and impossibly difficult given the way his body refuses to unglue itself from you.

He buries his face in your neck, suckling your skin tenderly.

“Slowly,” he rasps.

Your breathing is laboured and you nod against his chest, dazed. “Yeah.”

“I see you took my advice.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling tonight?” You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to throw him a look as you continue patting in the soil. You know he’s sporting his signature smug grin.

“This is patrolling. It’s part of my route.” You hum, determined to engage in as little talk as possible. It’s already enough mortification to walk through the village with the tall, handsome leader by your side, with the knowing smiles and fond congratulations. You know they mean well, and this is a big deal, but—it’s a lot to take in. You’ve never enjoyed being the centre of attention. And now you’re exactly that.

“Jimin, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Namjoon’s voice cuts in, annoyed.

The Beta pouts. “Way to ruin my fun, Joonie.”

“Jimin.” The warning tone has him sighing.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you lovebirds be, but remember! I get to name your first pup,” he calls as he jogs off.

“I hate him,” Namjoon says flatly, watching him leave with his arms crossed.

“No, you love him. He’s just being nosy because he cares about you,” you correct, smiling as you stretch. Dropping a kiss on his cheek, you tug him inside. “It’s time for dinner.”

Namjoon trails after you, glowing.

He never discusses pack business with you.

He knows this relationship you’ve been building together is still preliminary, still just a trial run. It’s going well—so well, in fact, that he’s terrified something will happen that’ll flip all of it on its head. Things usually do, because he attracts disaster. He always has.

He’s never been happier. He feels at peace with you, content and bursting at the seams with every word, every smile, every touch.

His wolf is quiet, tamed at your very presence. Basking in your attention.

He’s just—so whole.

So it’s only natural, he supposes, that he’s the one that destroys it.

It’s ironic that it’s raining.

You can hardly tell if it’s your tears or the rain that blurs your vision.

It doesn’t matter much, you think, as you stare at the scene of Namjoon kissing someone else.

Not just someone else—the girl from the stall. The one with blue hair and bright eyes.

Prettier. Smarter. Everything. Liar.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Your basket is dropped, somewhere, lost. Where should you go?

“___, please! I didn’t kiss her, she’s set this up so you’d reject me—so I’d have no choice but to go to her, but I won’t!” He’s loud, frantic, following you again.

A door, a door, your door. You fumble with the key.

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” you chant, teeth chattering. Cold. You’re soaked to the bone.

“I love you,” he breaks, a sob catching. His voice is strangled, throaty. “I love you. Please believe me. I don’t—I can’t do this life without you. Please. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

“Leave, Namjoon. I never want to see your face again. I hate you,” you say hollowly.

“You don’t mean that. You don’t mean that. Say you don’t mean that. Please. Please,” he repeats, crying earnestly now. He looks so small, clothes clinging to him, expression fearful and miserable. Hunched into himself. Reaching out for you.

“Stay away from me,” you grit. The lock clicks. His eyes widen, panicked. “No—no, no, no, no! Don’t—don’t shut me out, don’t do this, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You slide to the ground, shivers wracking your body as you listen to him sob on the other side of the door.

Time loses meaning, the water from your clothes creating a puddle as you sit there, huddled.

He doesn’t stop whispering apologies until Jimin comes to collect him an hour later, dragging him away as he fights. You can hear him shouting and struggling, but Jimin’s firm, hauling him away.

When all that’s left is the quiet patter of rain on your rooftop, their voices fading into silence, you get up and draw yourself a bath.

He’s so weak. You make him weak. His role as the pack leader, his senses, rationale, everything flies out the window when it comes to you. Everything he’s built the past decade, the person he’s become.

“Jimin, I fucked up,” he says wretchedly. The empty crater is growing, expanding each second he’s away from you. His wolf howls, the anguish too raw for him to bear much longer.

“You need to prep for your rut,” his Beta says instead. Jimin paces restlessly, rubbing his temples as he watches Namjoon bury his face in his hands. He’s never seen their leader so broken, it terrifies him.

“I—I need to see her,” Namjoon says suddenly, standing abruptly. Jimin rushes to the door, blocking the entrance.

“Now is not the time,” Jimin warns. “You’re entering your pre-rut. You could hurt her. She’s not ready.”

Namjoon sucks in a shuddery sigh. And then, “Jungkook.”

A beat.

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Set up the chains. And have Yoongi stand guard. Make sure I don’t get out,” Namjoon orders.

Jungkook meets Jimin’s gaze briefly. The Beta nods and he disappears from the room.

Namjoon collapses back in his seat, staring down at his hands silently.

The group looks at him worriedly. Jimin merely shakes his head, lips pursed. They’ve never seen their leader look so defeated before.

“It’s fine. It’ll be fine. They’ll talk it out and she’ll understand. She’s just hurting right now,” Jimin says.

But his tone wavers, uncertainty seeping in. He doesn’t know.

You wake to the sounds of someone pounding at your door.

The moon is high, your camisole thin and your exhaustion wearing thin.

“Jimin, why are you—” Rubbing your eyes, you pull it open, only to be shoved into an overheating body. You let out a surprised gasp, stumbling back as you struggle to support the weight.

“Wha—Namjoon? What are you—what are you doing here? Why are you so warm?” He’s burning up, feverish. Your palm meets bare skin, sweat coating his chest. Half-naked and delirious, Namjoon slurs, “I—I have to … apologize. Can’t lose you, not like—like this, she did this, I don’t want her, I don’t care about her. I need you. I need you. Princess … Princess, come home.”

“Are you—are you sick?” You nearly topple over as he crumples on your bed, silver locks plastered to his forehead. Something tinkles, and you pale at the sight of broken chains around his wrists.

“You’re ignoring … ignoring me. Don’t, please,” he pants, sitting up with difficulty. He rakes a hand through his hair, eyes bright but hazy, golden irises a mere thin ring. It’s so hard to … to talk, to think with this heat running through his veins.

“Namjoon …”

“I know—I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not true! I didn’t kiss her back, I pushed her away, I—I—I—” he’s babbling, he’s losing it and you grab his face.

“I know,” you say simply. Namjoon closes his eyes, sagging in your hold as relief floods through him, the deliria fading momentarily.

“I know. I just … it hurt. I thought—maybe I was right. That your feelings for me aren’t real, that you’re just … settling.” He frowns, shaking his head rapidly as he takes your hands. “No, no that’s not true. I’ve always loved you, since we met, since we were kids.”

“As Ghost, I … I saw your compassion, your humanity,” he rasps. “I didn’t mean to chase you away. I didn’t even know what my feelings for you would entail back then.”

“No … I was being stupid. I was scared,” your gaze drops. “I’m sorry. I should’ve waited to hear you out. I was just afraid that you’d only wanted me out of convenience.”

“___. I love you. I want to know you, if you’d let me,” he says shyly. He’s flushed, the heat bleeding back, but he can’t lose focus.

“Complete the treaty, then,” you say breathlessly. You don’t want to run anymore. For once, you want to face your fate head-on. You step back, pulling your top off in one fluid motion.

Namjoon freezes, wide-eyed. “You … you don’t know what you’re saying. What that means,” he croaks. He leans back, struggling to breathe.

Your core clenches at the sight of him, silver hair raked back, muscles taut and rippling beneath smooth caramel skin. He’s beautiful.

“Are you sure? You know what happens after, right? You’ll become my Luna, the Pack’s Princess … are you sure you want this?” He’s still holding himself back, likely by his sheer will at this point. Ruts are powerful, even more so when he’s the Alpha.

“Yes,” you say, straddling him. His hands feel so large where they come to rest at your hips, squeezing gently.

With him, you feel safe.

“I want you … I’ve been waiting for you, all this time. I want you to be my mate. To be mine.” You can feel his length, hard and throbbing, beneath his slacks. His kind has always been well-endowed, and you can feel his tip nudging at your centre.

“Take me, then,” you whisper, nosing his jaw. Namjoon groans, hold tightening before he slams you against the mattress.

“You drive me crazy,” he growls, ripping your panties off impatiently with his teeth. Shoving down his jeans, he wastes no time aligning himself. You’re already so wet, and he preps you easily, sliding two fingers in and scissoring you gingerly. Your spine locks, the pleasure flooding your system like a forgotten drug.

You gasp his name and he nips at your throat, violet flowers blooming with every touch.

“Wanna breed you, make you mine, fill you to the brim with my seed,” he moans, hips jerking as he enters you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him sends his head spinning.

“N-Namjoon,” you mewl, clawing at his back helplessly as he punctures every word with a thrust. He sets a punishing pace, already edged and desperate. Having you splayed out like this, so ethereal and so wholly his, awakens something primal, darker. His wolf demands to be unchained.

“I can’t think, can’t focus on anything but fucking you senseless and knocking you up with a litter of my pup,” his voice is guttural, so deep you know it’s not quite the man you’ve gotten to know the past few weeks.

“Hello, Luna,” he drawls. His eyes are flecked with silver, lips curled into a lazy smirk. The other side of the same coin.

“Ghost,” you murmur, smiling. You reach up to stroke his cheek, and he nuzzles your palm, turning to kiss it gently.

His touch is sweeter, loving. The frenzy is lost for the moment, the heat and the need dissipating as he licks into your mouth eagerly. He exhales, cock twitching inside of you as he fucks into you slowly.

“With this vow, we are bound. In sickness and in health, to protect and to cherish. Let the moon be our witness,” he breathes, dragging his fangs over the delicate skin of your neck.

You hold him close as he marks you, lapping at your blood as you cry out softly.

Forevermore, he wants to say, but he refrains because though it’s part of the vow, it’s still too early, too much.

For now, this is enough.

You lose track of time after that. They switch periodically, taking turns fucking you into oblivion before waking you with their mouth on your breast, suckling hard as their fingers tease your clit. Between the sheets, they learn to worship every crevice of your body, how to make you sing and sigh and moan so beautifully.

You take breaks only to drink water and to feed each other pieces of fruit and bread. Showers become pointless after he takes you against the wall twice before falling back onto the bed for a third and fourth.

It’s dawn when he’s finally burned through most of his rut.

“Who was that girl?” Namjoon hums, fingers sliding through your locks as you trace figures on his bare chest absently.

You’re exhausted but glowing, and he can’t stop smiling.

“From a neighbouring pack. They wanted me to choose her instead, to solidify an alliance. We already had one, they were just being greedy. She knew about you and tried to sabotage me. Don’t worry, I had Jin take care of it,” he kisses your nose. “You know I only want you, right?”

You nod, cheeks colouring.

“It’s only ever been you.”

“And the bell?”

Jimin grins, twirling the spatula in his hand. “It’s the one Joon gave to you the first night he met you. He didn’t just pick it up out of nowhere, you know. It’s like a family heirloom. Only his mate can wield it and only he can hear it.”

“Where’d you find it? I thought I lost it when I moved.” The bell sways silently where it dangles from the red string.

“You didn’t,” he says simply, flipping the pancake.

“Huh.”

“___! Princess, are you okay?” Namjoon comes barrelling through the door, skidding to a stop in front of you with wide, panicked eyes.

“Jimin,” you say slowly. “Just how sensitive is this bell?”

“I wouldn’t use it. Like, ever, unless you’re about to die or you want those flaming hot cheetos when you’re carrying,” Jimin answers matter-of-factly.

Namjoon’s still fussing over you and you sigh.

“I fucking hate you, Park.”

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ecrivant · 3 years

Text

under the yoke | porco galliard

(porco galliard x reader)

an exploration of porco’s life after the warriors leave for paradis, told through a collection of vignettes.

word count: 2.8k

He sat, crumpled, clutching a hand which bore bloodied and broken knuckles, unfeeling. His white clothes, once pristine and perpetually ironed and representative of honor and heroism and potential, were now marred by redness. Covered in the eviscerated gore and dermis which, from his forelimb, surged. The hole in his bedroom door, framed by splintered wood and dressed with remnants of that same sanguinary amalgam. The air, once tenanted by irate bellows and gesticulation, stood oppressively still. Occupied, now, only by his swallowed sobs. From the window: the muffled, revelatory sounds of the Warrior commemoration ceremony one street over; and he, in his room, washed in the quiet, aching aftermath of ebullition. Another roar, hoarse, abraded, a guttural eruption. He launched forward in an attempt to lash out, again—at the door, the wall, himself—but his legs buckled beneath him and his palms, outstretched by instinct to catch his exhausted form, scraped against the floor, leaving bloody trails in their wake. His corporeal pain, once numbed by rage, now crept along skin and burrowed into bone, and he cradled his own form, laid fetal, and wailed. A prolonged, cathartic cry which propagated another, and another, until his lungs burned, raw and void of breath, and head thrummed, and soreness and anguish within him suffused. From outside the window, a cheer; within, cries, spates of ‘why’s,’ directed at no one. The Armored Titan, squandered—his own failure from which he already imbibed such abject and indefinite nemesism. His mouth tore open in a disfigured cry; no sound emitted. A breathless, silent whine; vision blurred by tears.

Sight and sound dissolved as blood poured from his wounds, relentless. Numbness returned—he remarked from afar the peaceful exit from his own body. He was vaguely aware of his door slamming against the wall as it opened. His name, a hazy and distant vocalization, repeated, urgent. A violent shaking of his body. On his cheek, a soft touch. He maybe saw your face. Concerned, no, fearful eyes. His own voice, thick in his throat, pathetic and begging and desperate:

“Please just let me die.”

The tremors of footsteps on wood, of weak limbs. Then his brother, his mother. You. The vague feeling of being lifted to his feet, of being stripped of his clothes, of being laid on the bed. A cloth, cold on tender skin.

Marcel’s embrace.

Sleep so abnormally dreamless and pitch that he was sure he had died, pervaded by a feeling of absence.

He awoke in the darkness of night and felt he was not alone. Eyes adjusting, he saw one body in a chair next to him, another in his brother’s bed. His entirety complained, aching. A low groan escaped him. The one in the chair stirred at the sound and eyed him in the dark. He could all but see the scrutinizing gaze. A grip on his uninjured hand, squeezing. His brother’s whispered apology.

Marcel rose from his seat and roused the other, who groggily sat up and listened for a moment before rushing over to the bed. Another hand in his, this time soft and un-calloused, and timid. He, now acclimated to the dark of the room, saw your scrunched face and teary eyes and quivering lip. You bowed your head to hide them, instead bringing his hand to your forehead, still trembling. As if in mourning.

“Let him sleep.”

A gentle command, for your sake and not his. He wished for you to embrace him but could not bring himself to say it.

—

He woke to his mother’s insistence that they see Marcel off. He first thought of you.

“Mom, don’t make him go.”

He felt his brother approach his bed, slow, timid. A kiss on his temple. A whispered promise:

“I’ll be home soon.”

—

He staggered as he climbed out of bed. The bandages on his hand and forearm, the hole in the door—ugly reminders of his abortion. Weak fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Fresh blood seeped through the gauze around his knuckles, spreading over the fibrous surface like a creeping, infective redness.

He made it to the port just as the boat undocked and withdrew from the shore. He saw you in the crowd, hand excitedly waving in the air as if a flag enlivened by breeze.

He returned home and undressed himself and laid back in bed and closed his eyes just as his mother reentered the house and forthwith tended to her sleeping child’s wounds.

—

A knock at his door.

“Porco? It’s Pieck and Zeke.”

“Tell them I’m alright.”

His mother bit her lip before shutting his door again.

He did not wish to see them, though he thought of them each day. Becoming less like people and more like deformed effigies begotten from his own envious thoughts. Though a given, since the beginning, that Zeke would claim the Beast Titan, he considered that he could have inherited Cartman. A moment of clarity told him Pieck was more than deserving of her inheritance, and he flushed with guilt. The candidacy, Reiner, they had made him so spiteful.

Still, he did not wish to see them.

Another knock at the door. He repressed the annoyance that flared in his chest.

“Yes?”

He could not help the edge that slipped through.

His eyes widened when you stuck your head around the door. Eyes asking for permission to enter. He moved to make room for you on his bed, granting it. Mattress dipping as you sat. Your hands gently turned his injured arm in inspection—its gauzy covering now gone and replaced by a dusting of red-rimmed scabs and pale, white scars. The haphazard gash in his wrist nearly but a memory. The touch, gentle, nearly imperceptible. Again feeling guilty, as he had not thought of you in weeks, though you should have been the first to which he turned. Your non-affiliation with the Warriors was something he unknowingly craved. Soft fingers grazed his arm and the sillage of your scent hung in the air, calming him. He needed your touch, a same and even greater need than that night before the Warriors’ departure.

You did not speak and instead wrapped your hands around his. Heedful of his injuries. Even in the dim candlelight of the room, a ray of moonlight flooded through the window and struck his floor—an expansive stain of red, impossible to fully remove, illuminated. You gazed at him, sad, as if you pitied him. He wished he had not seen it, perhaps he was not meant to, and he asked you to leave before he could suppress his anger. He spurned your pity.

You were surprised but not hurt: instead, he was met with a melancholic look, one of understanding. As you walked out, shutting the door behind you, he wished you had been hurt—he envied your emotional control, your empathy. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, and they blurred his view of you leaving the front stoop and walking down the street, swallowed by the night.

He grabbed his pillow and hurled it at the wall. It landed with a dull thump. If he was anything like you, he could have controlled his anger and kept you with him. Spent the night in your presence. He gritted his teeth and slammed back onto the mattress, taking notice of the missing cushion. He rolled to the side and slept without it.

—

He could not say when he finally rescinded the grudge he held against Pieck and Zeke. He began talking to them again, finally caving on his self-imposed strike after realizing he was lonely, but it felt more like a return out of necessity. He was not sure he truly missed their companionship; though dulled, the spite and anger and jealousy were all still present.

At the same time, he immersed himself further into Marley’s all-encompassing military-industrial complex. Endearing himself to Magrath. Continuing his training. Helping where he could. As if to fulfill some sick, vicarious fantasy where he was a Warrior, as well, only left behind with Pieck and Zeke. The schmoozing felt insincere, dirty, yet he continued, to what end? He was worse than Reiner—a fucking ass-kisser with no goal in sight. Subconsciously aware his constant exposure to Marleyan army affairs only exacerbated and prolonged the pain of his failure.

“Why still be involved?”

He frowned at your question—a large part of him assumed you would support him, regardless. At least support him based on the fact it was somehow comforting for him, a twisted form of self-actualization. He narrowed his eyes as you continued.

“Maybe it’s better this way. You—”

You cut yourself off, hesitant. He urged you to say your piece, an edge in his voice.

“If you’re not a Warrior, you can live a long life.” With me, the implicit addendum. He ignored it, quiet long enough that you felt emboldened to continue.

“Sometimes this war, it feels so pointless.”

Faced with futility. Your extrapolated silver lining. Something repressed urged him to give in, to agree. Whether flaccid will or a desire to live with you, he could not be sure. You had always felt so nice.

Though he could not, could never, bring himself to despise you, he convinced himself to despise the words you spoke.

“What are you, a fucking pacifist now?”

You shrunk away, the vitriol in his voice, a disarming blow. To serve Eldians was his life’s purpose, and you were meant to support him indefinitely, it being in your nature. You began to speak, but he ignored it. Anger flaring. The more he thought on it, the easier you became to hate. All the years he had known you, you were nothing but a backgrounded entity. His very antithesis. Your affinity for pacifism was no surprise to him—it was very much like you to sit to the side and wish for things to happen instead of taking it upon yourself to actualize them. You moved through life without purpose, a passive body with no real substance. It was a wonder he had ever liked you at all.

“You know it should have been me. I should have been the one to go to Paradis, not Reiner.”

The hurt in your eyes urged him forward, though, in hindsight, he wondered if it was your own hurt, or hurt for him, which shone in your gaze. A sadness, pity, that he could not let go of his apparent past transgression, could not overcome his own self-hatred. Were there truly many differences between you?

He lashed out once more, another jab. A sadistic self-projection.

“How can you live a life so devoid of purpose and meaning? Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I was meant to be a Warrior for humanity, so that’s what I’ll do. And I don’t care how I get there.”

He flinched, less at the words and more at the way some form of the truth so willingly poured from his mouth. Quiet, eerily pervasive. A surge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Like bile. Your tears stung his throat.

“Never would humanity’s true savior be so selfish.”

You stood and turned at the heel and strode off, quickly wiping at your eyes. It was his turn to be winded by your words.

—

He slammed his fist against your front door, rapid and repeated like a heartrate. Your father answered and saw the raw desperation in his eyes and led him to your room. He opened the door and collapsed before he reached you. Spoken through choked sobs—the pain, cotton forced down his throat:

“Marcel is dead.”

Your arms were around him as if your last shared moment, at this point years ago, was not one of bitter vitriol. He, eviscerated by guilt and all but gutted on the floor before you. Your unrelenting sympathy, so willing to forgive his malignity—to think you had nothing but love to give in return for his spite. You held him unflinchingly as he disintegrated in your arms. Unafraid to shoulder the weight of his tangible unraveling. He thought of that moment years ago, alone in his room, bleeding out, a result of his own rage, and realized true pain was nothing like it. To be so utterly excavated by grief and pain that your own form has no choice but to erode into itself. His screams caught in your shirt. He bit down on the fabric, tasting blood.

He lied in your bed that night and felt nothing. Your touch, once so verily craved, was unaffecting. Still, you ran your hands along his sides and caressed the shapely variations of his form, and you pressed your lips to his neck and back, and he allowed you to straddle him and kiss his face and chest and arms and endeavor to extract his pain through your ghostly contact. He knew you felt nice, even if he himself could not tell. Your comfort reached him and dissolved on contact, yet he still indulged and met your touch with his own. Nevertheless unfeeling.

—

From you, he had never seen true anger. Though, when he told you he was to support Pieck in Paradis, he saw it—it was quiet, nothing like his violent, external fulminations. Instead, your stare held unprecedented intensity, some amalgam of rage and fear that made him instinctively flinch; and, for once, it did not seem like selfless emotion. He sadistically reveled in the way you finally felt fear for someone other than him.

He was leaving Marley with some naïve intention of returning, to be with you upon doing so. Yet, you both knew your shared life was a moot point after his inheritance of the Jaw Titan—he had betrayed you, and in some way, his own selfish wishes. He had not matured at all, forever and always a slave to his desires. To die for Marley, you informed him, and no matter how many times he countered with his ambition to save the Eldians and salvage the remnants of his past failures, he invariably, though subconsciously, acquiesced to your position. His ultimate objective: to die for a cause.

Your anger, short-lived, ephemeral, even. It gave way to such harrowing sorrow. He wondered, as he held you, if you finally allowed yourself to cry selfishly, to cry for the death of your own desires.

You kissed him, desperately. Long and sweetly brackish from tears. He laid you down his bed, the one in which years ago he lied as well, craving your embrace in the darkness, and touched fingertips to bare skin. His despairing memorization of your body. Your breathy murmurs, tearful; yourself, a numinous beauty he sought to worship. He could not elude his adoration for you, and as you made love that night, a shared intimacy so imbued with and pervaded by heartache, he knew he would die regretful. His pain and yours, fatefully pre-written. He had always been destined for stagnation, abjection, sorrow, loss—driven by some cruel divinity and jejune, self-sacrificial desire to fulfill his own doomed fate. The cruelty of fatalism.

“Come back to me,” you had whispered.

—

In his last moments, he thought of that night. He did not deserve a final thought so pleasant. He instead thought of you presently, home in Liberio, waiting for his promised return. Is this how Marcel felt, as he breathed his last breath? Did he think of his little brother to which he promised return? He all but laughed at the ironic cyclicality of life. Falco would inherit his thoughts, and his brother’s thoughts, and one day see the reality of anguish and broken promises and futile desire, perhaps on the evening of his own violent death.

—

Through his love, he also immortalized you—forcing you to live on as some perpetually degraded image and, eventually, simply an ephemeral feeling of comfort in those who would inherit his memories. He figured you would hate the thought. Part of him wished he could loose you from this eternal cycle, freeing you from his memory and thus the endless lineage of memory you would come to inhabit. Or maybe he wished for this selfishly, wanting you to be experienced by no other.

—

You would hate his last words, spoken at Reiner out of abject spite, selfish, though they were more of an assurance than anything. A closure for his younger self, whose apparent failures haunted him until this moment.

—

He wished you had not asked him to return; he wished he had not believed he would.

—

He was surprised by his own fear. As he allowed himself to be eaten, he only thought of dying. It would be too painful to think of anything else. Yet, you somehow slipped through, one final time.

—

hey, my first request! thank you @casualityrantfun for your porco suggestion! fleshing out porco’s history was honestly so much fun; exploring side characters’ arcs may be my new favorite thing. also, i’m sorry that this probably isn’t exactly what you wanted; you asked for fluff but i can’t seem to write anything that isn’t tinged with some kind of melancholia.

anyway, thank you all so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed the piece! i kind of fell in love with porco while i wrote this, so expect some more writing for him lol. feedback and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

also also, merry christmas to those who celebrate it! and regardless, i hope everyone has a great holiday weekend! xoxo <3

taglist: @flam3bird

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #porco galliard #galliard #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard x you #porco x reader #galliard x reader #porco galliard imagine #writing!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Northern Exposure | Sam

❄ PART 2 OF THE MINI-SERIES ❄

Part 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); face riding/oral, violence, creepiness on part of our boys, predatory behaviour, Bucky’s an asshole, they’re all too lonely and too desperate, mistaken identity.

This is dark! fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, A Bad Time x Reader

Series Synopsis: You’re a nature photographer stationed up north but the arctic isolation comes to an unexpected and unpleasant end.

Note: Special announcement later today and as usual, update are consistently inconsistent for my other series but I promise, I’m always working on something.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The three men, the heroes who were truly villains, kept you tied up as they tied a rope to an old rickety pallet and pulled you on it like a large sled. You shivered as the hills of snow left you dizzy and when you rolled off, you were thrown back on by Bucky who treated you like the spy he’d mistaken you for.

The second time you fell off, they didn’t notice right away. You managed to get your feet under you but before you could hop too far, the snow crunched and you were scooped up again. This time Bucky threatened to break your nose and Steve talked him down as Sam tried to coax you that all would be better if you didn’t try that again.

The sun rose and they continued on. The sky never paled more than a dim grey and the restless night gathered behind your forehead. A splitting headache fed by the biting cold. When the plains began to darken again and the moonlight rose to reflect off the snow, you stilled.

It took a moment to sight the bunker. The doorway was shoveled out and even if it were spring, the roof would look no more than a lump in the ground. You’d been up this way weeks ago, a snow fox and its kits had been skittering around. You groaned at the realisation of your mistake.

You were lifted by Sam and Steve grabbed your chin as you dragged towards the door. He looked you over and shared a look with Sam, “we need to warm her up,” your teeth chattered as if to reiterate his words, “we should’ve let her walk.”

“Just get inside,” Bucky scowled and stomped down the hidden stairs.

You nearly fell down as you hopped to the top step at Sam’s nudge. He caught you and descended at your side, your bodies flush in the tight space. The door opened and Bucky pushed the door in. Steve entered behind you and locked it as the lights flickered on and a generator began to whir.

As Sam guided you to a chair, Bucky elbowed past him and shoved you into the seat gruffly. He was jabbed by the other man and Steve snapped at both of them with his fingers. The blond opened a cupboard in the underground shelter and pulled out a vacuum sealed pouch.

“She should eat, it’ll warm her up,” he moved the kettle onto the gas burner, “and change her clothes. They’re wet from the snow.”

“I still don’t know why you had to bring her back--”

“Why’s it always shoot this and shoot that?” Sam scoffed, “I thought they got all that shit out of your head.”

“It’s our job,” Bucky snarled.

“Our job isn’t to kill civilians,” Steve shoved the pouch in the small microwave above the gas stove and turned.

“And when was it our job to babysit? Or whatever it is you two are planning,” Bucky crossed his arms.

Steve brushed past him and knelt to look you in the face, “Coffee or tea?”

“What?” you blinked and looked between him and the two other men, Sam watched you with a subtle grin as he unzipped his parka.

“We have some hot chocolate but it’s military issued and tastes awful,” he explained, “so?”

You frowned and met his gaze, “tea?” you answered weakly.

“Alright, and…” his hands went to the zip tie on your wrists, “if I untie you, you won’t try anything, okay?”

“Is that really a question?” you asked.

He pursed his lips and tilted his head, “fair enough but it’s your choice.”

You considered and poked your tongue against your teeth, “you can untie me.”

Steve grabbed the plastic tie and snapped it easily. He did the same to the one around your ankles and handed them to Bucky as he stood. He went back to the kitchenette as the microwave beeped. Sam came closer and rested his hand on the chair.

“You want me to get her changed, I got something she can borrow,” he said as he slipped his hand onto your shoulder. You flinched and he squeezed as Bucky tossed the ties and rolled his eyes.

“Get her clothes, I’m sure she can manage to get them on herself,” Steve felt the kettle but didn’t seem to feel the heat as you heard the water begin to roil.

Sam sighed but backed up. He disappeared into another room and Bucky hung his jacket with the others. He dropped down onto the bench by the door and unlaced his boots gruffly. He shook his head as he kicked them off.

“So, what’s your name, not Ursa?” Sam reappeared and plopped a pile of clothes in your lap.

You looked up at him and swallowed. He was so interested it made you want to vomit. His suggestion might have saved your life but it also promised you little more than imprisonment. You weren’t stupid and the way he hovered assured you of his intent. You gave him your name and stood cautiously.

“Where can I change?” you asked softly.

“Just in there,” Steve said when Sam didn’t answer and pointed to the same door.

You nodded and stepped around the other man. Bucky yawned loudly and kicked his feet out. You left them and closed the door. There were no windows and the only other door led to a closet.

You removed your hat, the gloves hastily shoved on above your restraints, your coat, and wet boots. Next you peeled off your jeans and the fleece leggings beneath. You kept looking up at the door as you pulled on the dry clothing; a loose tee, looser sweatpants, and large socks. The hoodie’s zip was broken and the sleeves were too long. Even so, it was warm.

You hesitated and only went to the door when a bang shook it, “your food’s ready,” Steve called through.

You opened the door and stepped out. He stayed close and you felt his heat as he held out a bowl of chunky stew and a steaming mug. You took it and he pointed you to the metal TV tray set up by the armchair. You sat and blew on the tea before you sipped. You didn’t know what else to do.

You ate quietly between Steve’s shy glances, Sam’s constant leer, and Bucky’s blatant indifference. You felt queasy but didn’t know what to do. You could run for the door and then what? Freeze to death on the tundra?

“You could… you could take me back still,” you said, “promise I won’t say anything.”

“We should just get rid of her,” Bucky huffed and finally looked at you, “this place is bad enough without--”

“Man, how about we get rid of you?” Sam puffed, “All you do is complain.”

“Look,” Steve pulled up a wooden chair from beside the matching table, “we can’t do that, it’s too risky.” He sat and gripped his knees, “It’s against protocol to just ignore security risks. It isn’t about you wanting or not wanting to say anything, it’s about what someone could make you say if they found you, just like Bucky here did.”

“They wouldn’t know--”

“The photos--”

“Burn them,” you said, “please, I didn’t do anything.”

“You sure this isn’t her, Wilson? You are a bit slow?” Bucky spat.

“Shut up, jackass,” Sam retorted, “hey, honey,” he came closer, “we don’t wanna hurt you.”

“And what you do want?” you stirred the bowl, “I don’t want that either.”

He arched a brow and smirked at Steve. Steve fidgeted and Bucky groaned.

“We’ll be nice,” Sam said.

“Cap,” you ignored him and watched Steve, “you’re a good guy, don’t do this. Up here, it’s hard, the isolation, I know, but you don’t want this. Maybe you should head back south and get your head on straight.”

Steve’s jaw squared as he considered you. He inhaled and his tongue peeked out between his lips. He looked at Sam and sighed. He shook his head.

“You can’t manipulate me,” he stood and moved the chair back, “Sam’s right, it won’t hurt. In fact, looks like you’ve been here long enough that we’re doing you a favour.”

“No--”

“Should we flip for it?” Sam asked, “who gets the first night since idiot’s a no go.”

Bucky sneered and stood. The other two watched him as he stormed past them and slammed the door behind him as he fled to the other room. Your last hope was gone. You thought even if he was mean, that Bucky might stop them and hopefully not just to tie loose ends up with a bullet.

“Heads,” Steve said as he kept his hand on the back of the wooden chair, his shoulders tense as he hung his head.

Sam fished around in his pockets then searched in his parka and finally found a coin in one of the drawers. He held it up and went to stand on the other side of the table. He flipped it and let fall between him and Steve on the wood. The latter sniffed and nodded dully.

“Let her finish eating first,” Steve said, “I’ll deal with Buck, he’s just… standoffish. You know how he can be. He’ll come around.”

“Even if he doesn’t, more for us,” Sam winked and Steve shoved himself away from the table.

You caught his eye as he headed for the bedroom door and when it closed behind him, your heart sank. You scooped up a mouthful of stew and slurped it up. The only man left strode around the room and sat on the low couch. He spread his legs wide and stretched his arms over the back, his gaze intent on you.

You ate slowly even though each bite made your stomach growl and built your appetite. You drank the tea carefully and relished the last dregs. He could hear how empty the glass was and when he stood, you sat back and drew your feet up onto the seat to hug your legs. He cleared the table and folded it.

He stalked around the room like an animal around its prey. You touched your cheeks and sunk down.

“Are you really going to do this?” you asked at last.

“I only want to treat you nice,” he said as he came closer, he reached out and tickled the back of your hand, “it was Bucky who hurt you, not me.”

“You could’ve left me--”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“But you don’t have to do this,” you argued.

“Why is it so bad? Aren’t you lonely? You have to be,” he slipped his fingers under your hand and drew your arm away from your legs, “all the way up here, alone.”

“That’s not--” you trembled and he tugged until you were out of the chair, “I don’t know you.”

“But you’ve heard of me? And Steve. Even Bucky,” he purred and put your hand on his chest. He wrapped his arm around you and swayed as if he was dancing with you. He took your other hand and twined his fingers through yours, “Come on, baby, I just want to make you feel good.”

You batted away the glossy tears with your lashes as you were trapped in his embrace, “why?”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead as he turned you, “because I gave Bucky your coordinates,” he backed you up slowly, “because I knew you weren’t her but knew I wanted you.”

“No…” you breathed as your legs met the low seat of the couch, “you were following me?”

“I just… stumbled upon you and…” his voice trailed off as he focused on your lips and his eyes turned smoky, “baby, you know you need it too.”

“No,” you gasped and pushed against him.

He crushed his lips into yours and leaned on you until you were forced back onto the couch. He angled you across it, his arm beneath you as he moved his hips slowly. You felt his excitement through his jeans as his breath stuttered in your mouth.

You turned your head away as his other hand skirted along the hem of the loose tee. He slid his fingers under the open hoodie and the cotton shirt. A shiver went up your spine as his hand crawled up your stomach.

“Please,” you whispered as you stared at the carpet.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, “am I hurting you?”

Your eyes were wet but you fluttered away the tears, “no,” you mumbled, “but…”

Your voice dissolved as he cupped your chest and ground his crotch against you harder. He grabbed your chin and turned your head back, his hot breath slipped through your lips before his tongue and he hummed. He kissed you hungrily and pulled his hand back to grab your shirt. He shoved it up your torso and his fingertips danced over your skin.

He parted from your lips and sat up. He tugged at the hoodie and lifted you. He pushed his legs around you and pushed the sleeves down your arms. He untangled you from the sweater and yanked on the tee until you raised your arms. He pulled that off too and flung it.

He drew you further into his lap and laid back on the couch. His fingers hooked under the elastic of the sweats and he pulled until you were forced to raise your pelvis. You shook as you got to your knees and looked down at him.

“You can stop…”

“I don’t want to,” he said and tugged, “up.’

You stood and your pants were ripped to your ankles as he kept hold of them. You lifted one foot then the other as he pulled off your socks and the sweats. They fell to the floor with the rest and he grasped your calves.

“Sit,” he patted the top of his chest with one hand.

You stared down at him and gulped. He slipped down on the couch and his eyes lingered between your legs. He squeezed the back of your leg.

“Sit,” he repeated darkly.

You bent and gripped the arm of the couch. You put a knee beside his head and then the other. He grabbed your hips and guided you down until you felt his breath on your cunt. You held yourself up and he pulled you down entirely.

“I bet you taste so good,” his voice was muffled as his breath tickled you, “I bet…”

His tongue made you wince and squeak. His fingertips poked at your hips as he gripped them tighter and he lapped at you from below. You tried to lift yourself but his hold on you was unbreakable. He purred and began to rock your pelvis over him. You felt your core react to him and you quivered as you let out a shattered moan.

He flicked his tongue more eagerly and your chest swelled as a lump rose in your throat. You held your breath as you tried to hide how he affected you. Your thighs tensed around his head and soon it was you moving your hips, not him.

Your mind was a haze as your voice flew out of you and you clung to the arm of the couch. You rode his face without thinking as the stunning sensation drove you on. He delighted in the taste of you and his hand ran up and he scratched down your back.

Your shallow pants turned to frantic mewls and you gritted your teeth as you came violently. You didn’t want it but you couldn’t fight. The months alone, the endless cold, the pure desolation, it all spilled over and burned deep inside of you. He didn’t stop until you were weak and your legs trembled and stilled.

He tilted his head back and licked his lips, “that’s it, baby, wasn’t that nice?”

You looked down at him as he watched from between your legs. You pushed off of him and his hands fell from your back. You climbed off of him and huddled on the far end of the couch as he sat up. He wiped his mouth and stood. You were humiliated at how easily he had you.

You hung your head and when you heard him come close again, he was naked. Your mouth fell open as his dick bobbed before him and you looked away shyly. He grabbed your elbow and pulled until you let him move you again. He led you down onto your stomach across the couch and dragged his fingers over your shoulders, down your back, and along the curve of your ass.

“All those layers, I knew there was something sweet hiding beneath,” he pushed apart your legs and felt your cunt.

He put his knee between yours then brought his other down as he climbed up behind you. He slid back and bent over you as he pushed his dick down between your legs. You tried to close them then tried to wriggle away. His hands settled on your hips and he leaned his weight on you entirely.

“Come on,” he lifted your ass slightly and rescinded a hand, he angled his tip along your cunt, “that’s it.”

He pushed into you, just an inch and you clawed the arm of the couch. You groaned as he sank deeper and pulled you back onto him. He spread his thighs over yours and placed his hands on the cushion around you. He eased out of you and slammed back in, the sound deafening in the underground room.

“Shit,” he moaned, “that’s good.”

You buried your face on the couch and crossed your arms over your head. He thrust again and you whined. He did it a third time and each tilt of his hips was followed by a pause as he basked in the feel of you.

His flesh clapped against yours and the sound made you both sick and excited. Your mind felt trapped in your body as he used you, fucking you faster as he felt your natural response. The wet noises fed his lust and soon the whole couch shook.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he snarled as he pushed down between your shoulder blades with one hand and the other lifted your hip as he lifted himself on his knees, “take it.”

His hand snaked up under your neck and he gripped your chin and forced your head up. Your back curved as he pounded you mercilessly. Your eyes rolled back and your tongue threatened to loll out. You moaned and his motion turned fractured and frantic. He jerked into you harshly and jolted your body with each crash of his hips.

“Ah, baby, I’m cumming,” he rasped and quaked as he burst inside of you.

He slowed down and stopped entirely. He straddled you still and when his breath steadied, he wiggled his hips until you squirmed. He chuckled and rubbed your back. He gasped as he pulled out of you and the cum spilled down the crease of your leg. He groped your ass and kneaded it with a growl.

“Get up,” he ordered as he stroked his softening dick, “put your hands on the couch.”

You got up, barely, numb and shaking, and turned to bend and press your palms to the cushion. He caught your hips before your legs could collapse under you.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, baby,” he cooed, “don’t you feel so good?”

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imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs · 3 years

Text

Qrowin Week 2021: 6/21-Childhood Friends AU

Two little snowbirds sitting in a row

They met in the garden at one of her father’s lavish parties. She’d gone outside because little girls didn’t like being told to sit still and not talk nor do anything fun, so she decided she didn’t care if the dress daddy bought her got messy, she’d go outside and spend time in the hedge maze.

They’d gotten it installed, in the shape of the Schnee family crest no less, because the Marigolds had one in the shape of their family crest and daddy could be silly about when people had things he didn’t.

The white roses that grew from the foliage walls, fragrant and delicate, were always calming to her, especially on a cool and cloudless night like this when the moonlight was at its brightest.

For Winter, to get lost in its lush corridors and marble statuary, it’s hidden gardens and fountains would be enough to get the annoyance of her father’s party out of her mind.

Most of that went out of her head when she found a grungy boy in a cape stuffing his face with what looked like a rabbit.

He stared at her, like an animal in a vehicle’s headlights, bits of his meal hanging from his mouth.

He couldn’t be older than her, gaunt with gunsmoke-colored hair stuck up at odd angles and eyes like carbuncles.

The clothes he wore were grubby and layered and obviously used long before he’d begun wearing them, especially that tattered cape.

For a moment, neither spoke, merely staring at one another in the moonlight.

Finally, Winter broke the silence.

“That’s disgusting.”

The boy dropped the rabbit from his mouth.

“Sorry if I’m not fancy enough for you, Miss Uppity.”

Winter felt her cheeks heat with indignation.

“How dare you!”

The boy threw back his head and laughed, a sound that reminded Winter of a pair of birds she’d once heard fighting in the yard.

“Is that all it takes to get under that pale skin!” he laughed, a sound which soon died in his throat when his stomach made a loud groan.

Winter huffed as he reached for the dead rabbit.

“Wait here and don’t touch that,” she said, turning on her heel.

She returned with two plates piled high with hors d'oeuvres.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” she said, handing him one, “so I got you one of everything.”

The boy said nothing, just shoveling food into his mouth in a way that probably promoted choking.

“You’re welcome,” Winter said, sitting down and spearing a piece of salmon on a toothpick to eat.

The boy coughed, pounding his chest.

“You shouldn’t eat so fast,” Winter said, “you’ll get sick.”

“Well, some of us don’t know when our next meal is gonna be,” he said.

His words brought back to Winter the memory of her father sending her to bed with no supper when he found she’d invited a faunus over to play, with threats of no breakfast if she didn’t break it off with the girl tomorrow.

“You might be surprised,” Winter said.

The boy said something through a mouthful of hummace.

“What was that?” Winter asked.

The boy swallowed.

“I’m Qrow,” he said.

Winter smiled.

“I’m Winter.”

One named Winter

She saw him on days when it wasn’t raining or snowing after that. The family he lived with (his “Tribe” as he called them) were camped out in the woods behind their house, the ones nobody would let daddy cut down.

At night, he told her, they danced and played instruments and drank until the early hours of the morning.

Winter never really cared for people who drank (her mother’s growing dependence on liquor was a factor in this) but Qrow never really showed up smelling like wine, so she supposed associating with him was no trouble.

It was also refreshing that he never stood on ceremony.

He never rolled his eyes at her when she spoke of wanting to learn fencing or told her how things were supposed to be when she complained about how someone (usually daddy) was being unfair.

He also taught her new games that were much more fun than anything that the boys and girls daddy introduced her knew.

Kick the can, stickball, and he played hide and seek and tag with her. And he’d tell her all about the places he’d been. Mistral, Vacuo, Menagerie, his tribe had traveled all over Remnant.

And while he could be crass, she still remembered seeing the way he rescued a baby bird from a stray cat and returning it to its nest with the tenderest care.

Or how when she complained of how her father was so bossy and so dumb, that he listened. Didn’t judge, didn’t criticize, just listen.

And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.

One named Qrow

She wasn’t what he expected.

Sure, she told him annoying things like “don’t slouch, eat slower, no burping, don’t pull up the flowers—no! I don’t need them, put them back!”

But she never called him weak. She never said he should practice more like his sister did.

Winter gave him food, and listened to his stories and ideas, and never asked if he wanted to fight. Sometimes, they would even just sit together.

She even taught him how to read; starting with big letters scratched in the dirt with a stick, before lending him books that they could read together.

Mr. Bruin is a Shoe-in was the first he read all by himself. And he was so happy when she let him keep it afterwards.

And she never told him to stop being so dumb, like his sister did.

And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.

Fly away, Winter!

Their shouts bring the servants running. All they saw was Winter on her knees, face in her hands as she wept piteously.

If only they’d come a few minutes earlier, then they could have seen the argument in all it’s glory. Voices rough from the volume and occasionally cracking, tears streaming down their faces, they weren’t that little boy and girl anymore.

He’d grown lanky and lean, she taller and with longer hair.

But they didn’t care right then.

She’d told him she was joining the military.

He said his tribe would be moving and asked if she wanted to join them instead of some stupid army.

She said it was a noble profession.

He said only for assholes.

She defended her position.

He reiterated his opinion.

She shouted at him, asking why couldn’t he be happy for her.

He shouted at her what would be wrong with going with him.

She said something about duty.

He told her to shut up, that he didn’t want to hear duty again in his whole life.

She told him that if he was going to act like a filthy little boy, then he could go off and sulk like one.

He said he wished he’d never met her and hoped she enjoyed killing people.

Arguments like that, they learned, ended with no winners.

Fly away, Qrow!

That was the end of the time Qrow considered himself happy. Life seemed to plan for him a long drawn out death, bracketed with disappointments and tragedy’s.

Transformation

The death of friends.

The death of family.

The horrors of war.

Secrets and betrayal.

Abandonment.

And the drink

So, so much to drink.

It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make him feel more human. But it kept the nightmares at bay. It kept him as a predictable disappointment rather than an out-of-the-blue-never-seen-that-kind-of-train-wreck-before disappointment.

But the worst part of the drink, thought, was that no matter how many shots he took, no matter how many chasers. Black liquor, brown liquor, red wine, white wine, it didn’t matter. Melancholy brought back visions of that girl from that time he had been happy.

Come back, Winter!

First impressions had never come easy to Qrow. So really, it should be no surprise that impression number 15 the horrible sequel nobody wanted or needed.

But really, denying common sense by chucking an empty whisky bottle at James Ironwood’s head was not only pointless, it was utterly puerile. He was drunk. He was upset that his latest search for intel on Salem had turned up next to nothing, he was itching for a fight and if that pompous wannabe hero wanted to take it up with him, that was fine.

Except he hadn’t expected the woman by his side to turn out to be someone familiar. Someone he hadn’t seen since he was a dumb, romantic, fifteen-year-old kid.

Someone whose reappearance upset his stomach enough that he emptied it onto the general’s uniform and shoes. With enough force to make his eyes water.

The woman in the Atlesian uniform said she would take care of him and asked another girl, another white haired girl, where their room was.

As they walked towards Beacon, he thought he heard her say “Qrow Branwen, what has the world done to you?”

Come back, Qrow!

Qrow awoke to a cold rag on his forehead.

“Lie still,” she said, “I think you got a hold of some rockgut.”

“More like rockgut got a hold of me.”

Qrow’s attempt at humor was met with a scowl.

“Gee, you got frosty.”

“And you became an alcoholic,” she said, wringing out the cloth into a nearby basin.

Qrow looked away from her and to the wall, as if a better retort than her’s existed there.

“It eases the pain,” he said.

“No it doesn’t,” Winter said. She threw the rag into the basin, causing the water to splash.

“Qrow, my mother is an alcoholic. It doesn’t fix anything! It just makes you want more of what’s essentially fermented grass!”

“You don’t think I know that!” Qrow snapped. Tears pricked at his eyes and his heart sank when he saw the hurt in her eyes from his tone, something he hadn’t seen there since their last meeting.

“There are nights when no matter how much I drink, I still can’t forget the loss of all the people around me and how--”

He paused and swallowed.

“How everyone is just one day going to leave me!”

Tears were starting to fall as all the regrets he’d kept at bay with drink and fighting and everythng else he could find came rushing back into him and coiling around his lungs.

“I’m bad luck, Winter,” he said, “I lost my sister, my tribe, I lost the people I care about, and every day, it’s missions, missions, and missions to find an enemy I don’t even know exists.”

His shoulders were shaking and he remembered his sister, back when they were little, telling him how ‘boys don’t cry.’

God, Winter must think he’s so pathetic.

Instead, she took him by the shoulders and gently brought him into her embrace.

“It’s alright,” she said, “just let it out. Get it all out.”

Not knowing what else to do, Qrow gripped the back of her uniform and sobbed into her shoulder, years’ worth of pain and loneliness deep inside him rising to the surface and finally escaping. And the pressure went with it.

At some point, they ended up lying together on the bed (wait, were they in a bunk bed?), still in each other’s arms.

“We all have regrets,” Winter said, “things we said. Things we wish we could take back.”

Her hand tightens on his shirt and his hand closes around it.

“But, if you really want to know, if I could do it over...”

Please say it, he wanted to think, but every time he had thoughts like that, life saw fit to swat him down again.

“I would go with you. Even if after the first day, I went back home, I think I would go with you.”

Qrow felt his heart swell and suddenly, he didn’t feel so sick anymore.

“And... if you wanted to start over... I would like that too.”

“I still have Mr. Bruin,” Qrow said.

He didn’t know why he said that. She never asked about the book, never said “Qrow, what kind of literature do you normally read?”

Whatever the reason, Winter looked up at him, shocked.

“Still? I thought you would’ve thrown that away.”

Qrow looked down at her, eyes glassy.

“I tried a few times. But I just couldn’t get rid of something that reminded me of you. It’s missing the page where Mr. Bruin loses his boot, but I tried to keep it safe.”

Winter’s hand rises to his cheek and Qrow leans into it, the human contact easing the hole in his soul he’s tried to fill with booze.

“I’m sorry I didn’t turn out as someone you could be proud of.”

“The fact that you kept that book tells me everything I need to know.”

Later that night, Winter’s sister and Qrow’s niece would get the shock of their lives when they enetered their room and saw the two of them sleeping on Weiss’s bed together.

#My Writing #RWBY #qrowin week 2021 #qrowinfest #qrowin #qrowinweek #Childhood friend AU #AU #Qrow Branwen #Winter Schnee

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wreckofawriter · 4 years

Text

Heartbeat Part 2

(Final Part) <Part 1>

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 3,580

Warnings: Angsty at the beginning, umm mentions of suicide and depression, swearing

Summary: An idea given to me by @mcluuvin666 Thank you so much! Reader moves on from Sirius and he realizes he made a mistake

A/n: This took me forever to write, I hope you guys like it!

You used to tell yourself you didn’t cry, that it was weak. But that was never true. The truth was you had cried far more in your life than you would ever admit. You had cried when your parents yelled at you or when your father hit you or your mother cursed you. You had cried when you fell from the tree in your backyard and when you slipped off your bike when you were nine. You had cried when you failed your first exam in the second year and recently you cried for no reason at all other than you simply needed to. You never let anyone see it but you cried a lot. But you had never cried like this before

You lay in that classroom for what could have been an hour or could have been a year. Loud sobs clawing from your throat like a feral beast that had finally been released. You felt your head pound as you pressed your forehead to the floor. After some amount of time had passed your throat no longer allowed any sound but whimpers from you. You could still feel tears slide down your face dripping off your nose and pooling on its curves. Your face felt hot, too hot like it was boiling, flesh burning.

Your mouth tasted bitter. You felt so frail. So incredibly weak. When you finally managed to get to your feet it was dark out, the moon nearly full, stars so bright they seemed only inches away.

You made it outside easily, no one was around to stop you if there was you doubt they would have succeeded. You stepped out onto the dewy grass where you once lay with Sirius. Where he had kissed you, where you had said you loved him and where he hadn't responded.

You should have felt stupid, so fucking stupid, but you didn’t. You didn't feel anything, anger, misery, hatred, despair and so many other bottles of feelings had been released. And now they were gone. And you felt numb. Your heart had slowed to its normal pace as you continued across the grass appearing silver in the moonlight.

You walked until your feet met with wood, you traveled out to the dock, the sound of crickets and small frogs filling you.

You stopped at the end of the dock. You contemplated taking another step, letting your body become a part of the darkness before you.

And then you did.

Your body hit the water and you were plunged into a cold you had never felt before. Your robes soaked instantly and you began to sink. You slowly parted your eyelids, you looked upwards at the celestial being above you quivering under the lense of wetness. You could see the moon, but your eyes didn't stay on the small planet for long. They traveled to the brightest star in the sky. Sirius. It blinked back at you slowly moving further and further away as your lungs began to burn. Your hair began to float in front of your face, your robes reaching towards the light as you were dragged backward by an unseeable force.

Then your eyes slipped shut and the fire inside you built, the burn strengthening. You could still see the bright star in your eyelids.

You felt the numbness suddenly disappear and for the first time in your entire life you were alone and you actually felt alive.

Your feet began to kick, black dress shoes moving in a flutter. You pushed yourself upwards, arms pumping as your eyes popped back open, your chest burnt, you would make it you knew you would, because you were still alive, and you would stay that way.

When you broke the surface of the water you immediately drew in a harsh breath forcing water further down your lungs as you began to cough. You managed to the shore collapsing in a heap of coughs. Until your lungs cleared and you were finally allowed to breathe normally again.

You're sitting staring out at the lake, ripples lingering from your plunge. The moon and stars reflected back at you making you feel as if you were trapped between two godly works of art and you could only stare, your heart thumped loudly you felt amazing, amused, and absolutely alive. Because you were alive. And you weren't about to let so asshole with mommy issues change that.

You felt a smile creep onto your lips as you stood. Your robes weighed what must have been thousands of pounds but you didn't care. You let out a light bubble of laughter chin tilting upwards as you breathed in deeply the scent of midnight dew and pond water filling you as your hair clung to your face. You extended your arms, spreading them like an eagle.

"I'm alive." You whispered up in the sky. And you were.

You awoke the next morning feeling as if you had dropped 50 pounds. Standing wasn't a struggle, your eyelids didn't drag downward, your heartbeat was lively and awake. You simply felt good.

When you arrived in the great hall for breakfast you were met with quite a few surprised faces. You could see Sirius staring at you from his corner of toxic masculinity. The surprise in his eyes made rage cycle through you. You were tempted to run and scream at him, but you didn’t. You took a deep breath reminding yourself that was exactly what he wanted and you refused to give in to his wants ever again. You ate breakfast while reading one of your favorite books you had dug out of your trunk that morning. Everything seemed so much easier after last night.

You surprised just about everyone in your herbology class by being quite kind to the Hufflepuff who sat next to you. You had even asked for some help baffling the light-haired girl. During Transfiguration, you had made a point to apologize to McGonagall for missing that morning’s detention. Her eyes had gone wide and she had looked a bit pale, asking if you were alright which you assured her you were.

On your way to lunch, you did something absolutely unliveable. A young Gryffindor had been cornered in a remote hallway you used as a shortcut. You had come across five second-year girls who were teasing the poor girl, snickers leaving their mouth. You had debated continuing walking but you let out a sharp sigh and took a few steps towards the girls grabbing the two who were currently taking charge by their hair.

They had shrieked as you yanked them backward. Once they had turned and met your face the color had drained from their own. A sweet smile graced your lips. You asked them if they knew who you were. Both nodded quickly.

“Good.” You continued to grin, “Then you should know I don’t bluff. Now I will ask you once. Leave this girl alone or next time I will rip the hair from your head.”

They had scattered after you released them, their friends already long gone. You walked towards the girl on the ground. She had on large horn-rimmed glasses which magnified her sky blue eyes. Her teeth held bright pink banded braces, her hair a dirty blonde.

“Let me guess, you’re a mud- muggleborn.” You said catching yourself quickly.

She nodded slowly, she looked terrified.

You laughed a bit and she jumped. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a changed woman, plus muggles write the best books.” You winked. “I’m y/n y/l/n.” You extended a hand.

“Rebecca Lastings.” She responded quietly, taking your offer as you helped pull her to her feet.

“Well, I’m starving. You wanna get lunch?” You asked as you helped gather her scattered books.

She smiled a bit, “Yeah sure.”

Lunch was... interesting. Turned out that Rebecca had an older sister named Laney Lastings - in your opinion a very catchy name - and when she saw her sister eating lunch with one of the most infamous Slytherins she was reasonably concerned.

When the Ravenclaw had marched up to you as you were shoveling chicken salad into your mouth you had once again done the shocking thing. You smiled and greeted the girl.

“What are you doing with my little sister.” She had hissed cutting you short.

You shrugged, “Eating.”

The blonde scoffed, “Becc lets go.” she snatched her sister’s arm but to her surprise Rebecca resisted.

“But she was just telling me about a book she read.” The younger girl spoke softly. By the look on the older’s face, you guessed she didn’t defy orders often. “It sounded very interesting.”

Laney looked up at you. You just shrugged. “What is going on?” she looked a bit shook up.

“Look I know what you think of me, hell what every single person in this room thinks of me but I’m a changed woman.” You explained, “I am honestly just talking to your sister, I have no intention of hurting her in any way shape or form.”

Laney’s eyes narrowed but Rebecca sat back down and took a bite of her peanut butter sandwich. “Come on y/l/n people don’t just change overnight.”

You shrugged again, “I did. Feel free to join us.” You motioned to the seat next to Laney’s sister and to your surprise she took it. And for the first time in your entire life, you had made actual friends.

You dreaded detention the next morning but to your surprise, it was rather pleasant. When you entered the large room it was already sanctioned into two groups. One contained three boys sitting in neighboring desks while the second held one dark-haired boy at the back of the room glaring at the former group.

You raised an eyebrow in confusion and sat a few desks away from both crowds. You then began to sort the paperwork you were told to, taking a walkman out and clipping in a favored artist.

About halfway through the hour, you were drawn from your work when a figure appeared before you. You looked up to see a pair of hazel eyes and curly hair hidden under a navy beanie. You removed your headphones letting them rest around your neck giving him a questioning look.

“Hey.” He managed, looking a bit unsure of himself.

“Hey?” You responded, glancing at the group he had left meeting to pair of eyes which quickly darted away.

“So umm, I know it's not really my place to say but I’m sorry,” Remus spoke, biting his lip.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked, still visibly confused.

He lowered his voice, “What Sirius did was really fucked up.” Suddenly the sanctions made sense, “And I just thought I would let you know that I’m sorry on his behalf.”

You let out a small laugh, “Please don’t Remus, you clean up enough of that boy's messes already, don’t put this on yourself. But thanks anyway.” You shrugged going to put back on your headphones.

“Laney told me about what you did for her little sister.” He spoke in a rush.

You stopped, “And?”

“She has been trying to get those girls to leave Becc alone for like three months, she started skipping classes and meals to avoid them, it was bad. But you stopped them with one conversation. That was really nice of you y/n.” Remus stated.

“It was whatever.” You answered with a shrug.

“It really wasn’t,” He protested, “But look we both wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to our study session tomorrow night. We get together three times a week, it’s me Laney and a few others, they’re all pretty chill and it would be great if you could come.”

A smile found your face, “Really?”

“Yeah, we meet in the library after dinner.” He was playing with his fingers now.

“Okay, sure. That sounds awesome.” You said.

“Great.” He grinned bouncing on the balls of his feet before turning and leaving.

“Hey, Remus.” You called just before he made it back to his seat. He whipped his head to look at you. “Thanks.”

In all honesty, being nice was completely exhausting, actually caring what others thought of you took its toll, especially after the well-crafted reputation you had built for yourself. You had also started paying attention in classes for the first time in a long time so you had mountains of homework and suddenly understood your peer’s desperation for good grades. You tried to convince yourself that a study group was a brilliant idea but your worries ate away at you.

What happened when most of the group hated you? Would they cuss you out? What if they refused you despite Remus’s invitation? There was so much room for failure. Godric making friends was difficult.

You busied yourself with the nightly homework in the common room, you had gotten used to the strange looks you received. A whistle drew yourself from your herbology sketch.

“Wow y/l/n, I did not expect you to turn into a loser when you found out.”

You rolled your eyes at the familiar voice, “Avery.” You drawled.

“What has gotten into you?” He asked, taking a seat next to you, “First you help out a mudblood, then you go and make friends with her filthy sister and now you're doing Herbology homework?”

You glared at the boy, “Don’t call them that.”

He only smirked back, “I must say you look much prettier without the bags beneath your eyes and a little effort put in.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You spat resisting the urge to strangle him.

“There’s the y/n I know.” He smiled triumphantly, “But where has she been? People don’t change overnight.”

“Well, I did douchebag.” You hissed.

“No you didn't.” he sneered, “You're still the same stone-cold bitch, you’re just hiding it and let me tell you, I can’t wait for that mask to break.”

Your hand tightened around your quill, “Shut up.”

“I’ll be there to catch you when you fall y/l/n. I’m glad you’re wearing skirts again, you look hot.” He taunted his face so close to your own you could smell his cologne.

You were about to slap him but before you could a voice resonated through the air, “Avery back off her.”

You both looked up and you met the gaze of a Slytherin you swear you had never seen before. He had dark hair and darker eyes, his face was sharply cut, lips looking far too rounded on his visage.

“What do you have on it Dapperton?” Avery asked leaning away from you.

“Just back off.” His tone was harsh, a thick Scottish accent in his voice.

“Whatever.” Avery scoffed standing and shooting you one last glance before leaving the room.

“You okay?” The boy you now knew as Dapperton asked.

“Yeah, fine.” You managed.

“Cool, listen I was wondering if you could help me with my Arithmetic, I’ve heard you are pretty good at it.” He said.

“Sure. I’m y/-”

“I know who you are.’” He laughed, “I’m Lewis. Lewis Dapperton.”

“Okay, nice to meet you, Lewis.”

You had made three official friends.

You tried not to let Avery’s words bother you as the days passed. But it was hard. The study group had been a bit awkward but not all that bad, Lewis was actually a member much to your surprise. Nights became difficult again. The idea that maybe this was just a passing phase and that it was simply a few good days got to you. I mean people didn’t just change overnight.

But I did. You screamed at yourself. I swear I did.

It all came crashing into a dreadful climax two weeks after night it all started.

It had been two weeks of confusion that morphed to anger and soon into sadness and jealousy for Sirius Black. When he had seen you in the great hall the night after you had found out about the thirty points he had almost shit his pants. You were up? And you were smiling?! He was sure you were going to come over and rip his throat out at breakfast. But you didn’t You just sat at your isolated seat at the end of the Slytherin table and read, looking surprisingly relaxed.

You had left a bit early and Remus had dumped his pumpkin juice on him saying he was a complete objectifying asshole and part of the reason why women were not viewed equal to men. Leave it to the feminist to ruin a perfectly normal bet. He had made the mistake of saying that out loud and caused an uproar at the Gryffindor table.

He had seen you working in the few shared classes you had and had been quite surprised. How was it you were having a better day than him? He supposed karma bit harshly. When you saw you at lunch sitting with a young Gryffindor girl he had once again been completely boggled. And soon you were joined by a Ravenclaw as well. What universe was he in?

That night he had gotten into another heated argument with his best friends. One that ended in him sleeping in the common room, locked away from his bed.

He had dreamt of you. That night when you had stargazed. When you had kissed him. When you had told him you loved him. He dreamt of your lips on his, hands in his hair, the dew seeping through his robes and the chirp of crickets.

The next morning sucked. He sat alone during detention forced to watch as you happily hummed along to your music. Your hair was pulled back and it looked surprisingly nice. You were also wearing a skirt. When did you get so pretty? Remus talked to you and mentioned him. Sirius bit his tongue not wanting to cause a scene. Plus the glare James was giving him hurt on another level.

The week got worse and worse. Suddenly you had friends and had started hanging out with a far too handsome Slytherin. You also choose that week to look ridiculously gorgeous and suddenly his thoughts were full of you. He found himself missing your scent and the texture of your hair. The sound of your laughter was a drug he had been deprived of.

His dreams of you got worse. He dreamt that he had told you he loved you when you asked. He dreamed he hadn’t left you alone. He dreamed of laughing in detention with you, making out in broom closets, going to quidditch matches together, sleeping with you.

He woke each day more aggravated than the last. Why the fuck was he the one suffering? It wasn’t fair. Well, he supposed it was. Finally, he gathered his remailing pride and tossed it out a window before cornering you on the way back from herbology.

“Y/n please just give me a minute.” He begged as you began to walk away.

“Sirius I have wasted far too many of my minutes on you.” You spat glaring past the boy.

“Please.” He pleaded.

You sighed tapping your foot angrily, “You’ve got one minute.”

It was then Sirius realized he had absolutely no plan, “What’s up with you?”

“What?” You glowered refusing to meet his eye.

“I mean you’re all nice and shit and you’re actually hanging out with people. It’s weird.” He explained.

“So, me being nice is weird?” You clarified.

“Yeah! People don’t change overnight!” He rationalized.

“So I’ve been told.” You murmured, “Look if this is all just about me being nice then please save me time and leave me alone.”

Sirius groaned, “It’s not just that! How are you so, so I don’t know okay?”

You finally looked him in the eyes and he really wished you hadn’t. Your eyes were dark with anger, narrowed to slits, reminding him of a snake. “You wanna know why I’m so okay?” You asked and suddenly he didn’t. “Because I was really really not fucking okay.”

Sirius was visibly confused, “What?”

“I almost drowned myself that night Sirius.” You hissed.

His heart stopped. “What.”

“Yeah.” You snarled, “I walked straight off that dock, shoes and all, and I let myself sink halfway to the bottom before I decided I wanted to live.” You spoke gesturing towards the lake.

Sirius wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You wouldn’t have opposed.

“And when finally reached the shore I had an epiphany.” You spoke with false glamor. “I suddenly realized I wasn’t going to let cock suckers like you and my parents decided anything about me and the way I live my life.”

Sirius wanted to break into tears. He started at you. The face he had been dreaming of for weeks meer meters from him and suddenly realized how desperately in love with you he was.

“So guess what, I changed overnight because I would have died if I didn’t.” You spat before brushing past him without another word. Sirius grabbed your wrist as you passed.

You turned glaring at him.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He spoke his voice breaking halfway through the sentence.

“You know I can’t answer that.” You scoffed snatching your wrist from his hold and turning to leave.

Sirius watched as you left so full of regret he couldn’t think of anything but what-ifs. When you were out of sight he sat on the ground and began to cry.

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