#if they don’t like the final piece I’ll spin in my grave | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

folkloreguk · 3 years

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French Class [6]

A/N: You guys might want to whack out your love song playlist for this one…I cried writing this BYE I'm posting this from my grave!!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), fwb, f2l?, college!au, fuckboy!bias, nerd!reader, ANGST, smut

words: ~ 3.8 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez, @runaway-fics, @mainexiii, @awfullytiredbuthealing, @erikyoong, @etherealuv, @staysuki, @justcuz-ican, @yeostars, @hyuckthangs, @teenloves, @mexious18-blog, @sunghoonied, @mailobjaeyoon

couldn’t tag: @chorizoek

You: can I come over? I kind of need u

H/N: you need me huh…you’re lucky I’m home alone

It always starts differently. Some other question, or a subtle message of telling him you’re bored, or a flat-out confession of being horny. The ending is always the same. You, naked in his bed. You just had to get there, and things were easy when you were already on his dorm’s doorstep.

The moment he had opened the door, you had fistfuls of his hair between your fingers and attacked his mouth in a feverish kiss. He made a noise between a laugh and surprise but reacted quickly. His lips parted right away, letting you in, and you tasted mint from the chewing gum he liked so much.

“Let me- at least- close the door,” he mumbled. “Jeez, what’s gotten into you today?”

You stepped aside and mirrored his grin. He was acting surprised, but the way he instantly locked your lips after he had shut the door told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. You ran your hands down his torso and along the side of his thighs. His happy hum only poured oil into the fire, and you saw no reason as to why you should have kept your clothes on any longer. In minutes, in the middle of heated kisses and clumsy chuckles, your clothes were discarded, and you were left in your underwear. You stumbled into his bedroom in a tangle of arms and legs and heads barely pulling apart.

“Will you tell me about the date you had today or are we skipping over that part?” he asked, as he pushed you down by the shoulders onto his bed. You groaned a little, not even knowing where to start.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked. Only a few nights ago you had consoled him after his failed date, now the roles were reversed.

“That’s one way to put it,” you said. He was climbing on top of you now, and the weight of him between your thighs still did the same things to you it had done the first time. There was one of his random playlists playing quietly from the speakers, but you were both too occupied to even consider switching the music off. You weren’t in the mood for a chat, not when he was biting and sucking bruises into your chest, pushing aside your bra just enough. But you knew he wasn’t going to let it go this easily.

“Tell me about it or I won’t take one more piece of clothing off your body,” he threatened. You shot him an are-you-serious-look while he only blinked at you innocently, like he was awaiting your response.

“Fine,” you groaned. “But hurry, now.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, before unclasping your bra and throwing it to the other side of the room. “Go ahead, I expect a story.”

You had rolled your eyes at him, but when he sucked on your nipple all of a sudden, and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud ever so perfectly, your eyes moved to the back of your head involuntarily. And, before he could complain, you started to retell today’s events.

“Alright. First of all, he acted all gentleman-y. Pulling back my chair at the restaurant, letting me have a look at the menu first, letting me order first, asking me if I was okay with our seats because they were in the sunshine, or whether he should have requested we get a different in the shade table, blah, blah, blah.”

With the lewd noises he was making, kissing your chest and fumbling with your breasts, you almost wondered whether he was paying attention to you at all.

“I’m waiting for the plot twist,” he chuckled. “If he had been this great, you wouldn’t be in my bed right now, would you?” He was now on his way to your lower regions. Your breaths came out shaky when he gripped your hips with familiar fingertips and placed a few kisses there, right above the material of your underwear. Nonetheless, you had to continue your story.

“Oh, it’s coming,” you said. “Because I suspect, the only reason he was acting that way was to compensate. For the fact that he was an hour late.”

He stifled a laugh, and you slapped his head playfully. “It’s not funny! I stood outside that restaurant on a busy street like an idiot for an hour. During exam season!”

“I wonder, if studying is so special to you- ,” he said. He tugged on your underwear, and you barely cared about his words when you were already imagining his mouth on your pussy. “Why aren’t you at home right now, doing just that?”

“Too frustrated,” you groaned, spreading your legs, practically inviting him in. “You don’t get it. That was only the beginning of the date. It gets worse.”

“Oh, damn,” he laughed, and you were going to slap him again. Harder, this time. But his tongue kitten-licked over your clit and you didn’t dare interrupt him further.

“First of all, he turned out to be boring. An economics major. And look, I’m not generalizing, I’ve met some cool economics majors. But when I said I never really understood the whole thing with inflation and deflation, I wasn’t asking for him to explain it to me. I know what it means, I just meant to say money is the root of all evil,” you said, little moans slipping inbetween your sentences. He laughed whilst sipping on your clit. You couldn’t be mad at his laughing anymore. In fact, at the sound of his chuckles, your own lips curled into a smile, too. God, he was so good with his tongue.

“But turns out he loved money. Like it was the sole reason he was doing anything. When he showed me his gold watch I almost yawned,” you continued.

“Dating a rich guy can have its upsides too, though,” he said, but you knew he was joking. He was running the tips of his fingers over your core, and you whimpered at how badly you wanted him to put them inside of you. You loved watching him, loved feeling his hair tickle the side of your thighs and having his free hand laying on top of your hipbone. The familiarity of it all, his little habits, made your heart heavy, so full of emotion, all of a sudden. But you had to snap out of it.

“Not this guy. He kept saying these lowkey sexist things I won’t repeat now. It’ll only make me mad again. He was one of those who thought money would buy him a girlfriend. And I was really trying to see the good in him…only there was none,” you said.

“Alright, I’m starting to understand why you needed some cheering up,” he said. “Good thing you’re at the right place. I know just the thing.”

At this, he slid his digits into you. You hummed and dropped your head into the plush pillow. Slowly, you exhaled, happy you finally got to relax after being so upset. But of course, he had to interrupt. Again.

“Did I say you could stop? Was that the end of the story?” he said. How did he expect you to form a coherent sentence? He fingered you gently, but the slowness of it all only drove you crazier. You felt every tiny sensation, every new bit of you he touched.

“No,” you sulked. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Go on, then,” he encouraged you, grinning because he was proud of your reaction he had caused.

“Fuck- okay. He was super shitty to the waiter. I’m talking about criticizing everything. This man had the audacity to complain about the food. I’m not a food critic, but I swear the food was amazing, there was nothing to fault at all,” you said, and then whined when he switched from licking your clit to sucking it between his teeth. You knew he was doing this on purpose. To make speaking harder for you.

“Oh my god, H/N. Wait, let me finish this. Not only was he horrible to the waiter in person, but he also made fun of the waiter’s appearance behind his back. And all along he expected me to find him funny. I used to think he had a sense of humor but not after today. Blech.”

“At least you got a free dinner?” he said, and without awaiting your answer, went back to work. Your head was spinning in pleasure, and you could only laugh sarcastically at his suggestion.

“Yeah. And after that train wreck of a date, he really thought he’d get to stick his tongue down my throat,” you said.

“Did he at least ask permission?” asked the boy between your legs.

“Mhm…but I told him I don’t do that on the first date,” you said. “Safe to say there won’t be another date, though.”

He looked up now, laughing more than before. You grinned, mainly because the sight of him was so cute. He folded his hands on your belly and put his face down onto your skin to giggle. In no way could you be upset or urge him to keep giving you head. In fact, you had forgotten about all of that for a while, as he seemed to enjoy your misfortune a little too wildly. You should have been hungry, eager to have the half-naked boy inside of you. Yet, you laughed at the way his breaths tickled your stomach and when he finally made eye contact, it was a wholly different sort of hunger which overcame you. Instead of the heat he usually made you feel, it was a comfortable warmth that was in your chest. It reminded you of a bonfire or of drinking your favorite hot drink on a cool autumn day.

“I want to watch you come,” he said, casually. “Were you close?”

You were so lost in his trustworthy, dreamy eyes, you almost forgot to reply. Quickly, you nodded and hummed.

“I would have already come, had you not pestered me to tell you all the details of my date,” you said. The way his cheeks beamed when he smiled made you feel as if your insides were turning into mush.

“I’m sorry. I’m your friend, aren’t I allowed to ask how your day went?” he asked.

“Of course you are,” you said. The word ‘friend’ echoed off every wall in your head until you wished you could have deleted it from the dictionary.

“I’ll make sure it feels extra good now,” he said, kissing your stomach. You shivered as you watched his gentle lips move lower, to your hips and the insides of your thighs. The touch felt like butterfly wings on your skin, and the tardiness of it made you impatient. When his tongue came in contact with your clit again, you sucked in a breath of surprise.

He tried to start slowly, but then you gripped his hair tightly, and carefully pushed him further. It was something you did often, a way to tell him you wanted more without having to use words. After all this time, he understood perfectly. Your clit was between his lips and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pleasure. It felt incredible, creating a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach. His fingers grazed over your slit until you were whimpering and shifting your hips, trying to make him hurry.

One of his digits slid into you easily, curling against your sweet spot, and it hit you only now how much you had missed him between your legs since he had stopped a few minutes ago. It made you feel as though you were suddenly overwhelmed with all of him, but you were willing to let the heat crash over you if it meant you could be close to him.

“Am I making it up to you now?” he asked as he pulled away merely for a breath. “I’ll turn your day into a good one after all.”

In a different tone his words would have sounded like the exact thing one would have expected to hear from a fuckboy in the bedroom. He could have boasted and bragged endlessly about how great he was with his tongue and fingers – he would have been right – but he didn’t mean it like that. You could tell from the uprightness and the authenticity in his voice that he really was doing his best because he wanted to make you feel better and turn your day around. Because you were special to him. Or so you desperately hoped.

Your legs wrapped around his shoulders as if you were trapping him between your thighs. But he was right there, and he would gladly stay for so much longer, and to say it puzzled you was an understatement. The boy who belonged to everybody, who was known by all of the campus, was treating you like you were royalty, and not the other way around. You moaned, his name inevitably falling from your lips. He added another finger and the slightest stretch made you lose your mind for a split second.

“That guy could have never made you feel this good, could he?” he suddenly asked. Your initial response was a helpless whine. You had been so close, and his talking had interrupted the otherworldly bliss for a moment.

“No, never,” you then whimpered shortly. ‘No’ was such a tiny word. It could barely encapsule what you truly meant to say. Which was that it would have never even gotten that far. That other guys couldn’t even have you at all. They didn’t get their turn to try and beat him. Not as of lately, at least. That you didn’t so much as dare to think about sleeping with other guys. That even before you had gone on the date, you had known it wouldn’t lead to anything. No guy could let you develop an interest on him in the same way the boy between your legs had done it. No other would be able to kidnap your brain like that. H/N was always there. Even when it was only you and your sex toys, you would automatically pretend it was him getting you off. You were so far gone that it was embarrassing how long it had taken you to admit it to yourself. But it was a colossal thing to confess to him, and you would never do that. Rejection would hurt a billion times more than whatever it was you two had now.

Your heart was racing as you closed your eyes. You had been so lost in thought, it was wondrous you hadn’t fallen yet. But you were right on the edge, making your breaths come out like puffs and a string of moans and swears sound from your lips. He too had stopped talking, concentrating on the task at hand, and judging by the way your back arched he was doing one hell of a good job.

“Oh my god- “ you whimpered. “I’m so close, H/N.”

This time he didn’t reply, which was for the best. Only a few seconds passed until you started to quiver and whine beneath him. You were going to outer space behind your eyelids as your high rushed through you. Your fingers curled and tightened in his locks while your legs clenched around his head. He was quick to pull your thighs apart again, still not being finished. For long seconds you swam in pleasure, with nothing on your mind but bursting stars. He was heaven, knowing precisely how far he could take it until you were too sensitive to take any more.

When you were at that point, he finally pulled away and looked up at your crumpled form. There was a lazy smile playing in the corner of your lips and your vision was hazy after having had your eyes closed for a while. He climbed up your body until his chest was against yours so he could really look at you.

“I get all of this without ever having been on a single date with you? I’m so lucky,” he said. You only smiled at him, at a loss for words. What were you to say? The two of you were clearly past the awkward dating stage already.

“I’m lucky you let me come over all the time,” you said. “I would have expected the campus fuckboy to be busier. To not have an empty spot in his bed every night.”

“Ah, shut up,” he said. “I’d rather have you here than a girl I don’t know at all. Look, I’m really tired so I don’t know how this will go…but can I?” He was on his knees, a tent visible in his boxers. With a questioning look, he was tugging them down his legs now.

“Of course,” you said. As you watched him roll on a condom, your ears perked up. Did that song have to come on shuffle just now? The coziest, most romantic love song you adored so much? You knew if you looked him in the eyes you’d be done for. But there wasn’t anywhere else to look when he settled between your legs and held up his weight with his forearms. His eyes were deep enough for you to get lost within a second. Distracting yourself was impossible. The one last thing you could do was to reach between the two of you and guide his length into you.

The song’s chorus came on, you looked at him once again, and suddenly you were all his. You didn’t need to tell him so. He thrust gently, almost carefully, like he had never done it with you. Your heart hammered against your ribcage so vivaciously, you wondered whether it had turned autonomous and was now trying to jump out of your body, onto his skin and through it, so it could nestle next to his own heart.

Neither of you spoke. Yet, there had never been so much chemistry, such a heavy amount of uncommunicated emotions between the two of you. You were ready to hang on his every word, should he decide to speak up. In your head rampaged a billion sentiments you needed him to know, but there was no option to express them adequately. Perhaps there were simply no words in the English language to declare your feelings for him.

Small whimpers and moans left your lips only for him to hear. Sometimes he moved a little quicker, gifting you with the most perfect sounds he could make. And to know you were the cause for it sent you into overdrive. His mouth was right above yours. If you lifted your head slightly, you could have kissed his sweet, sweet lips. But you were so afraid. What would he think? You had never kissed him during sex. Not softly, like you wanted it so terribly.

Even worse, you craved so much more than that. You wanted to pull him in, envelope his mouth in your own, crawl over the edge of his lips and reside in his chest for safety. Because that’s what he was. Comfort. Reassurance. Home. How foolish you had been, pretending this little fling would lead to nothing more. You really had told yourself this would work. No feelings. Just fun. You couldn’t deny having fun with him. He was the best company you had ever known, and he had become your most precious friend quickly. It was as if you had only been waiting for the silly, flirty boy to sit across from you in the library and make weak advances towards you.

The love song tuned out slowly, replaced by something more sensual and sinful. In accordance with the new background noise, he gripped your hips a little meaner and went faster. You barely noticed how his breathing had sped up as he was getting closer to his orgasm. A trance had overcome you, transfixing you on his godlike features and how much it hurt to know you couldn’t call him yours. In your head you were made for each other. They always said to date your best friend, didn’t they? You could try to turn back time, go back to your first meeting place, at the party. See if things would turn out different. But you knew they wouldn’t. As much as your fear tried to suppress it – you would take the same path again, stumbling head-first into his arms and letting him into your life like a crashing wave of laughter and heart-crushing conversations.

Now you reflected in despair, how he had taken your heart in a storm, without having to try too hard. And worst of all, you were okay with it. Your heart was secure with him, you thought. The feelings yearned to be spoken out loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“You feel so good,” he said. “Always, so fucking good.”

He snapped his hips against yours, burying his cock deep inside of you and all you could muster was a hum of agreement. This is what you got for keeping him at arms-length from the beginning. Wasn’t it you who had challenged him to be friends and only that? Perhaps you would be okay, so long as no one else called him theirs either. You could go on like this, letting him use you for sexual relief and making him laugh when he needed it. Gladly, you would take the pain of not being allowed to love him with your whole being if it meant you could see him whenever you wanted. Exposing those silly emotions would wreck your friendship and you wouldn’t let it happen.

He grunted and only then, when he lowered his head into the crook of your neck and moaned your name, you realized he was reaching his high. Softly, you cradled his head in your hands, as if it was the last time you could hold him like this. When he put his forehead against yours, he had his eyes closed and his chest was moving steadier than before.

“You’re the best,” he whispered. “Stay the night?”

Should you have gone home, and missed him all night? Would you have regretted saying no while you curled up in bed with no Cheshire-cat-grin-boy to hold? Or were you to remain in his bed, and pray you would survive the torture of not speaking your mind? His skin radiated the most wonderful warmth and you wanted to trace his lips with your eyes until you fell asleep. That’s how quickly it was decided.

“Okay,” you answered.

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ecoamerica · 27 days

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glowingbadger · 3 years

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Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.

#hubert von vestra #hubert x reader #fire emblem #feh #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem fic #x reader

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artofflorescence · 2 years

Text

another AU idea because I don’t have self-control

THE IDEA THAT’S BEEN ITCHING AT MY HEAD: (because I desperately want a healer AU but not the quirk kind)

+ poorly explained supernatural elements about entirely made up Midoriya family lore

no tw

.....................................................................................

Izuku knows what the Midoriya name means.

It could mean green.

If he were to get into detail, he would say it came with its own lineage.

A history of small disasters.

Tiny catastrophes.

The Midoriyas are a long line of people that are intimately acquainted with what it means to lose.

To give what you don’t have.

Mom tells him that Midoriyas pay for life in tears. That’s why they’re always crying. If they stop, the world might fall in on top of them. The penance they pay waters the Earth, she says.

We are the legacy of a thousand little tragedies, she whispers in his ear, clutching his tiny body close. She whispers, One day, you must cry without me. You must not stop feeling. A Midoriya is not a Midoriya if they cannot feel, as she carries Izuku to her mother’s grave, lighting incense.

If you love the way I love, I am sorry, she tells him. You will feel happiness. I hope you can forgive me. It won’t stay.

Yes, Midoriyas are a series of losses. A series of getting back up even when laying back down is so much better. A series of moments in temporary bliss.

Midoriyas are transient. Temporary. Fleeting. Growth only in name. Always…cut short. (Do you remember a Midoriya who died of old age?)

When Izuku is diagnosed as quirkless, he finally understands what he’s crying over. The little line of tragedies he’s birthed from, converged at a shatter point inside of him.

He’s not just a Midoriya.

He’s the legacy of two brothers, spinning to the ends of time, over two hundred years in the making.

And he’s also…Izuku. A small boy in a cold world.

Izuku comes home, bruised and dirty that first day after being diagnosed quirkless, his mother falls to her knees in front of him to cry silently. Some unnameable sorrow buried in her eyes, and heaven forbid a Midoriya be anything except a grief-bound soul.

Oh, honey, she cries out, I’m so sorry. And he smiles, tiny and breaking, and says It was always bound to happen.

She knows exactly what kind of Midoriya her little Izuku is as soon as he gives away the first aid kid she tucks into his backpack, or empties it out for another stranger over himself.

She knows exactly what kind of tragedy he’s fated for as soon as he asks for bandages for strangers over himself.

My darling child, do not give too much of yourself away. You cannot save others if you die too.

…..

WHO ARE YOU? they ask every time.

Izuku smiles and tells them, ever so gently, No one at all.

There’s a healer that walks these streets, they’ll say, He’s a stupid kid with a heart already in pieces.

No one knows his name, but they know the grief in his eyes well.

There’s a healer that walks these streets.

He is kind. He is gentle.

If you hurt him, he won’t say a word. He is forgiving.

He’s fleeting, quick on his feet, a passing season of spring and split-second dream.

There’s a healer that walks these streets.

He’s the only one they’ve got.

(So he stays. What is a hero if there is no one left to save?

If no one else will...he will.)

…

NOTES:

- would either be quirkless AU or empath quirk AU (or a quirk that senses intentions?)

- actual medicine, like a doctor, not healing quirk

- lowkey a fan of the underground clinic trope

- I don’t think he would be considered a vigilante, so it’s not that type of story. But I think he would make heroes curious, because all the info points to him being young and helping a bunch of people

- I headcannon Izuku as having extremely high emotional intelligence

- playing with the idea of Izuku with an empathy disorder, like hyper-empathy of some kind (like the fantastical type, such as seen in Lauren from the book Parable of the Sower) so it could be empathy and still quirkless AU??

- I’ll probably add more later but these are the current thoughts

part 2 is up

#bnha #midoriya izuku #izuku angst #izuku is a ray of sunshine #ao3 writer #au #healer au #healer izuku #artofflorescence

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

Photo

Words: 3,823 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of suicide, gore, sexuality, fear and anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N heads outside of the walls for a distraction after the distressing day before. She returns in the evening to learn some concerning news.

Your name: submit What is this?

You woke early from fitful sleep plagued with the same old nightmares. It was still dark out and you knew no more sleep would come, so you decided to be productive again. Meat was always scarce, and after the news of Denise the day before, you needed a distraction. Not to mention having to relive old traumas… After quickly dressing, you stepped out on the porch into the cool morning air. Normally you would have asked Daryl if he wanted to join you, but the house across the street was still dark and you hoped that, for once, he was getting some sleep. Though with the events of the previous day, you really doubted it.

You grabbed your bow and headed for the gates. Sasha was on duty and she pulled it open for you with a kind but sad smile as you went out.

You spent all day outside the walls, engrossed in hunting, and it was after dark when you returned, hauling the rabbits with you over your shoulder. Tobin, a longtime Alexandria resident was on gate duty and you thanked him with a nod as you came in. He seemed particularly stoic but you attributed it to the prior day’s events. Denise was beloved by most of the people in town, especially since she had taken over after Pete’s demise… You made your way toward Aaron’s house and saw that the garage light was on and the door was open. You went in, expecting to find Daryl there tinkering on his bike, but the garage was empty and Daryl’s bike was distinctly missing. He must have parked it outside his place. You knocked on the door into the house and Eric answered it with Judith in his arms. You greeted them both with a smile but Eric’s face was grave and he was white as a sheet.

You throat tightened and your stomach dropped when you registered his expression. “What’s the matter?”

He gulped and stepped back to let you inside. “Have you been out all day?” he asked you.

“Yeah. Since before the sun was up,” you said, gesturing to the rabbits over your shoulder. Your heart started racing. “Eric—what’s going on?”

He shook his head and opened him mouth to speak but no sound came out. Turning on his heel he walked further inside and set Judith down on a blanket on the floor before he faced you again. “It’s—It’s bad,” he said seriously. “Carol left.”

Your brow contracted. “Left? What do you mean she left? Why? For how long?” Your thoughts immediately turned to Daryl. He and Carol were very close. You were sure he was worried, angry. He’d probably try to go after her.

“She left a note. I—I don’t think she’s coming back,” Eric said softly.

You paused for a moment. “Did Daryl go after her?”

“Rick and Morgan did. Daryl was already gone when they headed out.”

You stomach lurched and your head spun. “Gone—Gone where?”

Eric just stared at you.

Your breathing was speeding up. “Gone where?”

He averted his eyes and shrugged. “Best guess is back to where… it happened. To try and track them.”

You felt like you had been punched. “No. No, no, no,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Eric. “I—no. He can’t.” You tried to heave in a breath but your lungs felt tight. “I need to sit down,” you gasped, practically collapsing into a nearby chair as your knees felt like they were giving out.

“Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita went after him this morning,” he said quickly. Your eyes shot up to his face.

“Okay…” You waited expectantly for more details.

“But—they left early and none of them are back yet.” He looked mortified that he had to be the one to unload all this information on you.

You hung your head into your hands. “Oh my God. No… Fuck! Shit!” You stood up abruptly, the brace of rabbits forgotten and paced the length of the kitchen. “Okay. Okay. So, I’ll get some of the others and—and we’ll go look for them. Right? I’ll go find them and we’ll bring them back,” you said, more to yourself than Eric.

He winced, his expression regretful, anxious. “There’s… there’s something else.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Isn’t that enough?!”

He grimaced. “Rick came back after he and Morgan went out. They think Carol had a run in with some of the Saviors not too far from here. Morgan stayed out to follow her trail. They think she might be hurt but they don’t know. But when Rick came back—Maggie is sick. Very sick.”

“Sick how?”

“She—she thinks something with the baby. She was in a lot of pain… Rick loaded everyone up to get her to Dr. Carson at The Hilltop.”

You mind was whirring. “Okay. Okay…” You sat there, trying to process all this, wringing your hands. “Goddammit!” you said, taking your head in your hands again. “What the hell?!” You looked up at Eric desperately. “Who all went to Hilltop?”

“Pretty much everyone. Aaron went. And they took Eugene to get treated too since he was awake. I volunteered to stay here and watch Judith.”

You stood up and paced the length of the room. “Goddammit, what the hell is Daryl thinking!? I told him! I told him not to—” You broke off, gritting your teeth. Your hands clenched into fists. You turned over your conversation with Daryl the night before. You realized he had never said he wouldn’t go after The Saviors who had killed Denise. You now realized he’d been very specific about which words he spoke.

Eric shrugged vaguely. “I know. But—he’s…”

You sighed and shut your eyes, pinched the bridge of your nose hard in an attempt to ground yourself with something. “I know.” You looked back at Eric desperately again. “What do we do?”

He shrugged, at a loss for words now. “I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

Your jaw clenched. “Wait.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

And you waited. And you waited. And you waited. You weren’t good at waiting, even in the best of times. You refused to sleep. You refused to eat. You stood watch at the top of the gate and stared into the darkness which became dawn which became mid-morning. Still there was no sign of anyone. Everything was too quiet. You felt more and more nauseous by the minute, your stomach turning with anxiety.

Finally, a vehicle came into view in the distance. You raised the scope of your rifle to your eye. The RV. It was the RV. You continued to watch as it approached and you could see that it was Rick driving. You finally lowered the scope and the nauseous feeling in your stomach changed to a hard pit.

He stopped at the gate and raised a hand to signal that it was alright to open the gate. You climbed down and yanked it open, letting him drive through. The back of the RV had barely cleared the gate when he shut off the engine. You rushed to await whatever was to come, but you had a feeling like pins and needles prickling up your spine and a heavy weight on your chest. It was hard to draw air.

The door opened and people began to step out. But their faces… they weren’t themselves anymore. They were changed.

You knew that look; that wide-eyed, hundred-yard stare, the terror in their eyes. You had seen it on yourself, on your brother, on many others after they tangled with Negan. You knew what it meant. And there seemed to be a lot of people missing. Your people missing. You forced in a breath and just watched as they stepped out. Who was there and who was missing? Rick came around from the other side, and if possible, he looked worse than all of them.

“Rick…” you said, rushing over. He hardly seemed to hear you. “Rick!” You grasped his shoulders and his blue eyes, frantic and wide landed on your face.

“Judith?” he rasped, in a fog.

“She’s fine. She’s with Eric. Rick,” your voice broke off. You glanced at everyone who was pouring out of the RV, trying to take attendance.

“You were right,” he said, nodding almost imperceptibly. Tears were welling up in his eyes. “You were right. You were…” he trailed off.

Your eyes landed on Michonne and Rosita as they stepped out of the RV. “Daryl?” you demanded. You squeezed Rick’s shoulders to bring him back to you. “Daryl?!?” you urged.

He looked away down at his boots. His answer came in a whisper you almost couldn’t hear. He couldn’t look at you while he said it. “They have him.”

The breath was ripped from your lungs and your hands slipped from Rick’s shoulders. You staggered backwards, reeling. Suddenly Carl was there and he grasped your arm firmly. When you took in his expression, you were amazed that he looked better than anyone else. Of course he did. He’d grown up in this screwed up world during his formative years—he’d been at the prison when it fell, he’d had to put down his own mother… You, on the other hand, were spinning.

“He’ll be okay,” Carl said. “Daryl’s strong. He’ll fight.”

You shook your head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Suddenly Aaron was beside you. You’d never seen him look worse. He was as white as a sheet and shaking. His eyes were wide, red, and puffy.

“Oh my God,” you launched yourself at him, grabbing him into a tight hug and unable to stop the tears from pouring down your face. “Oh my God.” He hugged you back weakly. You pulled back and looked at him, clasping his face in your hands. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” you said, doing your best to reassure him.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey! Stop it. Stop. Everything—everything is going to be f—fine,” you said, pulling yourself back together while he was going to pieces. “You’re okay. Eric is okay.” You released your hold on your dear friend and nodded. “Go see Eric. Go home.” Aaron gave you another fearful and concerned look but you simply wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks and nodded. “I’m fine. Go home.”

You spun around again to look at the rest of the ragged group and started mentally going through the list of people who had gone out. “Maggie?!” you demanded suddenly.

“She’s at Hilltop,” Carl said. “Sasha stayed there, too.”

Your brow drew down low over your eyes. Something about that statement struck you as odd. “And Glenn?”

Now Carl looked away, and you could see light glistening in his eyes.

“No. No… Oh my God. No.” You put a hand out and had to lean on the RV, at risk of collapsing from the lightheadedness that flooded your brain.

Carl looked at you with a mixture of devastated and angry tears in his eyes. Your hand flew to cover your mouth and tears broke loose and streamed down your face again. You again glanced at the people wandering away toward Rick’s house. Michonne. Eugene. Rosita. Your eyes shot back to Carl, a sense of apprehension almost overwhelming you. “A—Abraham?”

Again, Carl shook his head.

He turned away from you, leaving you spinning, and grasped his dad’s arm. “Dad. Come on. Let’s go see Judith.”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I’ll go.”

Rick stared at you. “I—I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t asking,” you countered.

“I’ll go myself. I—”

“You’ve got kids. You’ve got a baby. Hell, you’ve got a whole town to look after now, Sheriff Grimes. And you need to get ready because they are coming. They’ll expect you to be here. You’re the leader. Just—I’ll go.” Rick watched the muscle in your jaw twitch. “You know I have to go.”

Rick heaved a sigh. He knew you’d go regardless of whether or not he wanted you to. He knew you did have to go. This was you and this was Daryl. “How?” he asked you. “How are you gonna get him back?”

“Don’t worry about that. That’s my job. I know more about Negan and that place than anyone. I will get him out. I promise you. I will get Daryl out.”

Rick let out a long slow exhale, with an edge to it like a growl. “I don’t suppose I have any real choice in the matter anyway,” he said.

“You don’t.”

Rick sighed again, rubbing a hand over the heavy stubble on his face.

“Rick, listen to me. They are going to come and the first thing they are going to do is take all your weapons and all your ammo. That inventory Olivia keeps of the armory? Burn it. And take some of the guns and ammo, just enough so they won’t suspect anything, and hide them outside the walls. Outside. If you hide them in here, they will find them. And when they do, someone else will die.”

Rick gulped and nodded. He felt like an icy hand had seized his heart in his chest. “Alright.”

“And there’s one more thing… Negan and his assholes—they cannot know that we are connected. Do you understand? You need to make sure that no one ever mentions me, okay? Like I don’t exist.”

Rick gave you a questioning look but nodded.

You gulped at the constriction in your throat. “I’ll tell you everything at some point but right now I need to go. I don’t want Daryl there a minute longer than he has to be. You understand everything?”

Rick nodded gravely. “Yeah. I’ve got it.” He hesitated. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You turned on your heel and went home to prepare.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were concealed in the woods outside the nearest Savior outpost. It had taken you far longer to get there than you had hoped and you’d had to go pretty dark to find it… You killed more Saviors, but not all of them. Some you had kept alive for a little while, until they had given up their information on the location of the satellite outposts and lookouts. You glanced down at your jeans and t-shirt. They were filthy but still a bit too well kept. You wiped the walker blood on the blade of your knife on your shirt and then took the edge of it to your clothes, placing a rip here and poking a hole there. You looked at your arms. They were scratched and bruised from fighting your way through the woods, through walkers, through soldiers of The Saviors to get here. Good. You wanted it to look like you were having a shit time. You heaved in one last breath; your heart pounded. You were terrified, but the thought of Daryl being held by them sent an urgent shot of fearlessness through you. It had already been too long. You didn’t allow yourself to run through the what ifs… You gritted your teeth and stepped out of the woods, approaching the front of the outpost with your hands up.

The two guards in front saw you immediately. “Freeze! Don’t move!” Automatic weapons pointed at you.

You obeyed. They approached.

“Holy shit,” one of the men said as they got closer. He exchanged a look with the other.

“Son of a bitch,” the second man said matter-of-factly. “You gave us quite the run around, little lady. Negan had whole crews out looking for you.”

Your chest was heaving with nervous breaths. “I—I know. I made a mistake,” you muttered. You didn’t have to try to sound scared. You were. There was a quiver in your voice, but you knew it would work to your advantage. You wanted them to see you as helpless, scared.

“A big one,” the first man agreed. “Search her,” he said, nodding to his associate. He trained his gun on the center of your chest.

The second man frisked you, lingering a little too long with his hands on your body. He removed your knife from the sheath at your hip and clicked his tongue. “Damn. Too bad we can’t have some fun with her first,” he said, hungry eyes wandering over your body and back up to your face.

Revulsion twisted your stomach.

“Too bad,” the other agreed. “But you know what Negan said. She goes straight to him. What do you want? Why are you here?” he pressed.

“I—I want to come back,” you said quietly. “I can’t stay out here…”

This drew chuckles from them. “Negan was right,” one said to the other. “He called it.” He pressed the muzzle of his gun into your back. “Walk slow. Toward the building.”

“I’ll call it in. Damn, is he gonna be surprised. Might even throw us a bonus for bringing her in.” He raised his radio to his lips. “This is Rich at satellite outpost Beta-2. Repeat, this is Rich at outpost Beta-2. Anyone copy?” There was a brief burst of static before another voice responded through the speaker.

“I copy Rich. This is D at Sanctuary. What do you need? Over.”

“We’ve recovered a wanted individual who fled Sanctuary. How would you like us to proceed? Please advise. Over.”

There was another pause. The other man grabbed your wrists roughly and zip-tied them together behind your back, cruelly tight.

“Who do you have?” came the voice again.

“We’ve got Y/N.” He said it with relish and his eyes flew to your face again, a small smirk on his face.

The pause this time was even longer and your stomach turned. What if this wasn’t going to play out as you thought it would? What if he just decided to kill you? Then Daryl may never get out… Finally, the voice responded again. “Negan wants her brought here to Sanctuary immediately. Secure her and get her here now.”

It was done. You were going back.

You were thrown roughly into the back seat of a truck and once you were in, they zip-tied your ankles together too. The whole ride, the man in the passenger seat stared at you while he spun your knife with the point stuck down into the center console. Your heart never slowed from its sprinting in your chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the familiar building coming into view and the truck stopped at the double doors. The man in the passenger seat cut the zip-tie around your ankles and soon you were roughly pulled out of the back of the truck by the elbow. You were pushed toward the double doors and forced inside. The sounds, the smell of the place brought memories flooding back to you and you began to feel lightheaded as you were herded up the stairs. You were met at the top by two of Negan’s apparent lieutenants, Simon and Dwight.

Simon was glaring at you and his nostrils flared. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in, Dwight.” He let out a low whistle. “What can I do for you, Y/N? Oh, and may I just say that you look like shit.”

You gulped at the lump in your throat. “I want to talk to Negan,” you said quietly. You glanced at Dwight beside Simon and that’s when you noticed that most of the left side of his face and ear were horrifically scarred—burned. When you had been at Sanctuary, Dwight and his wife and her sister were workers with you and your brother. You had gathered from what Daryl said that Dwight had escaped and ended up going back. Now he had moved up to being one of Negan’s right-hand men.

You let out a gasp as Simon backhanded you across the face hard. You tasted blood from a split in your bottom lip. “Of course, you want to see the big man,” he growled, stepping right up into your face. “You’ll see him when we say you can see him.” Simon grabbed you roughly by the elbow and dismissed the two men who had brought you in from the outpost. “Let me escort you to your accommodations, Y/N. I reckon you’ll find them familiar.” Soon you were in front of a metal door with a ‘#1’ painted on it; the cell you’d been held in when you’d first been brought to The Sanctuary with your group. Simon’s grip on your arm was like a vice. He smirked as he yanked the door open and shoved you inside, into the blackness. “Enjoy,” he snarked. “I’ll be sure to have fresh towels and the room service menu sent right up.”

“Simon—” you started, but you were cut off when he slammed the heavy door in your face, leaving you now in complete darkness.

Fuck. Was this what Negan had said to do with you? You had a hunch it wasn’t… Simon was a prick. He was volatile. You were willing to bet that he had taken it on himself to teach you a little lesson before taking you to see Negan. The zip ties on your wrists were cutting into you and it was nearly impossible to get comfortable with your arms pinned behind your back the way they were. You shifted your position on the floor and tried to alleviate some of the pressure.

You had no idea how long you sat there in the darkness, but it was at least several hours before you heard voices and boot steps on the other side of the door. You pressed your back into the wall and managed to stagger up to your feet. When the door cracked open, the light coming in even from just the dim overhead lights in the hall seemed blinding and you winced. At first all you could see were silhouettes in front of you.

But as they came into focus and your eyes adjusted you saw that it was Simon and Dwight, this time followed by the man himself, Negan… complete with leather jacket and his signature baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #supernaturalfreewill

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little-diable · 3 years

Text

Trust - Aaron Hotchner

I’ve been watching too much Criminal Minds lately, so I had to go ahead and write something for Hotch. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: the reader gets involved in a case that pulls her deeper into her dark past, now she’s a suspect, involved in the murder of her ex-boyfriend, will the team still trust her? Will Aaron fight for his one true love?

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, abusive ex-boyfriend, violence, unprotected sex

Pairing: Aaron Hotchnerxfem!reader

Word count: 4k

“The best way to finding out if you can trust somebody is to trust them” Ernest Hemingway

She was late. Not once had she been late to any meeting ever before. He instantly missed the by now all too familiar scent of her perfume that would linger in the air as (y/n) would enter the conference room, he missed the sound of her fingertips nervously drumming against the wooden table as he’d present another case. This wasn’t like her.

“Anybody heard of (y/l/n)?” Aaron tried to keep his voice calm, eyes nonchalantly wandering around the room, making eye contact with every team member. Just as Spencer opened his mouth to reply she stepped into the room, hair slightly tangled in knots, hands tightly holding onto her bag, one didn’t need to be a profiler to tell that something was going on with her. “I’m sorry, I slept in.”

He almost didn’t recognize her voice, hoarse as if she had been screaming for hours, quieter then it had ever been, she felt ashamed, but he didn’t know why.

Aaron had to stop himself from asking what was going on with her, forcing his mind to focus on the case, the dead body that had been found in the early morning hours, though something caught his eye. Some purple spots were lingering on her throat, (y/n) had seemingly tried to cover them up, though the makeup didn’t manage to hide it all.

Bruises? Hickeys? A weird feeling began to spread through him, he had no business in digging deeper, should leave it, he could trust her. But his mind couldn’t help but begin to spin imaginary scenarios, would she cheat on him, even before they’d make their relationship official?

“Aaron?” Her soft voice ripped him out of his cruel thoughts, dark eyes meeting hers, she tried to reach for his hand, though he flinched away, reaching for his cup before she could touch him. The crease between her eyebrows got more prominent, she had to blink a few times, bile crawled up her throat, she felt awful.

It had been a rough night, she didn’t catch any sleep, was currently running on her twelfth cup of coffee. (Y/n) was officially worse than Reid.

“Joseph McQueen had been found stabbed to death around 6am this morning,” Garcia kept on talking though (y/n)‘s mind was no longer focused on her, he was dead? Shudders ran down her spine, skin littered with goosebumps, palms sweaty. He couldn’t be dead, not when she had last seen him a few hours ago.

The further her mind faded away the more suspicious Aaron grew, eyes wandering back to the dark spots on her throat. “(Y/l/n),” her eyes met his, pupils visibly dilated, she was hiding something, ”Morgan and Rossi you’ll drive to the crime scene.” He should have pulled her back, should have asked her what’s going on with her and the bruises on her skin, though he kept silent, too scared to face the truth.

Aaron couldn’t lose another woman he loved.

Even Morgan and Rossi seemed to notice that she was awfully quiet, not uttering a word as they drove through the busy streets, making their way towards a house she had been in one too many times before. “You okay sweets?” Morgan’s eyes met (y/n)’s through the rearview mirror, she quickly averted hers, scared that he could feel her pain, that nagging feeling that reminded her of all the things she had been going through.

She couldn’t look at the body, would break into tears before she’d be able to stop herself. Deep down she felt relieved, finally it was done, he no longer could hurt her, could no longer keep her awake at night. Not once had she thought that he’d end up like this, (y/n) knew that there had been quite a few people on his bad side, he hadn’t been a gentle character, not a man you’d willingly mess with.

(Y/n) did the one thing that instantly came to mind, searching for the file, the one thing he had been holding onto the night prior, playing another mindgame with her.

“Joseph, give it to me and I’ll be gone.” (Y/n) clicked her tongue, arms akimbo, cheeks burning from the heat that flooded through her. “Where would be the fun in that baby?”

Disgust flooded through her, how she ever could have willingly spent some time with him seemed inexplicable to her. “Give me my file.” The yellowish file was the only thing she could hold onto, the last piece of sanity she clang to, like a life insurance that would help her in times of need.

“No, I don’t think I will.” He stepped closer to the fireplace, about to throw her file into the fire as a shot echoed through the night. Her gun fell out of her grasp, wide eyes stared at the gunshot in his upper arm, “you fucking whore.”

A dark picture frame caught her attention, she tilted her head from left to right, praying that nobody was watching her. If she’d be careful enough she’d manage to get rid of any traces she had left behind, hiding everything that would tell her family, the team, about her dark past.

“(Y/n)?” Morgan stepped into the bedroom, not noticing the picture she was holding onto just yet, “anything worth telling?” She only shook her head, swallowing down another sob.

Before she followed Morgan out of the room she slipped the picture into her pocket, keeping it safe and hidden from curious eyes. Though with every step she took it seemed to burn itself into the fabric of her jacket, adding to the weight she carried on her shoulders, reminding her of her weakness.

The day had been long, with exhausted steps she walked up to her apartment as Aaron was sitting in his office, hand clutching his phone. “We found agent (y/l/n)‘s DNA on the body, the bullet in his arm got traced back to her gun.” The words rang in his ears, body not moving an inch. Had she killed him? Was the woman he loved more than any woman he had ever loved before a killer?

What was she hiding? What wasn’t she telling him?

Three strong, urgent knocks echoed through her apartment, Aaron was standing in front of her door, with Emily by his side. She stared at them for a moment, cleared her throat and reached for her coat, “I’m coming.”

A shuddered breath left her chapped lips, tears blurred her vision, she should have confessed right there and then, should have told her friend and lover what was going on. Though her words died on her tongue, another deep secret she’d probably take to grave with herself.

She stayed silent. Didn’t say a word. The only sound that could be heard were her sobs, the cries that bled from her lips. With every pained cry his heart kept on clenching further, he was sure that he’d get a cardiac arrest every moment now. He hated to feel like this, in this very second she was a suspect, nothing more, nothing less, though Aaron couldn’t treat her like any other criminal, after all she was still the woman that held his heart in her hands.

“I think it’s time we finally tell the team.” Her lips moved up his throat, she was straddling his thighs, dressed in an old shirt of his. “Are you sure? It would certainly complicate things.” His hands wandered up her legs, moving around her to knead the flesh of her behind. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to, Aaron. I love you and I’ll do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

(Y/n) always had wondered how the suspects would feel as they were waiting for the agents to step into the interrogation room. Now, as she was one of them, a suspect apparently involved in a murder, she wished to never know this feeling.

Who would interrogate her? Aaron? Morgan? Maybe even Spencer?

The team must hate her, she was sure of it. (Y/n) couldn’t help but curse herself for not letting them in on her past any sooner, all of this could have been avoided if she had managed to overcome her fear of rejection. But now it was too late and she was the one to pay for her sins.

“You look awful sweets.” Morgan’s calming voice left her heart racing, wide pupils stared at him, “I feel awful.” He studied her, trying to find any explanation to the question that kept the team on their toes, but his mind was blank, could only picture her as the murderer of Joseph McQueen.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered the words, as if he was scared that the tape would record something he didn’t want to share. Morgan was out of the room before she could reply, leaving her confused and lonely once again.

Hours seemed to pass by, she’d fall asleep any moment now, body exhausted from the past 48 hours.

“How did you know him?” Aaron’s voice sounded rougher than it ever had been before, dripping with disappointment and anger. She didn’t answer, eyes staring at her hands, trying to stop her tears from streaming down her cheeks. “(Y/n)!” He growled her name, hands pounding against the table, her heartbeat picked up its pace once again, body flinching away from the man she loved.

“What aren’t you telling me? Why aren’t you saying anything? Did you kill him? Did you do it?” He was freaking out, not able to think rationally, another woman had played with his feelings, another person he had let into his life had fucked with him once again. “No I didn’t.” Now it was his turn to stay silent, chest heaving, jugular vein pulsing underneath the thin skin of his throat. “How did you get those bruises?”

“You shot me, you bitch.” He kicked against her knee, watching her crash to the floor with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Let go of me Joseph.” Her voice trembled, she was buried underneath him, body pressed against the scratchy rug, feet kicking.

He had his hands wrapped around her throat, choking all air out of her lungs, “I should have ended your pathetic excuse of a life years ago.” Her ex boyfriend panted his words, wondering if he should truly go through with it, killing the FBI agent.

She could only think about Aaron, his soft touch, the voice she fell in love with years ago. He didn’t know where she was, didn’t know anything about Joseph and their past relationship. There were too many things she wanted to tell him, too many secrets she’d need to let him in on, she couldn’t die, not yet.

Aaron longed to pat her tears dry, wanting to pull her out of the room, telling her that everything would be alright. But he couldn’t trust her any longer, couldn’t trust the one woman that had kept him safe for years. She had been his friend long before they had shared a bed, had been by his side for as long as he could remember, though she was fairly younger. A part of his life he didn’t want to erase.

“(Y/n), you know how this works. I need you to cooperate.” She shook her head no, fingernails pierced into her palms, leaving wounds that would stay for days. They already hated her, she didn’t want to burden them with her past any further. A disappointed, tired sigh left Aaron, chair scraping against the floor as he rose from it, storming out of the room, she was a lost cause.

“This doesn’t add up, why won’t she tell us? Doesn’t she trust us?” Spencer paced the room, eyes switching between his teammates and (y/n)‘s file, looking for the missing piece of the puzzle. “Do we still don’t know where they met or how they knew each other?” The sound of Aaron’s quiet, broken voice coaxed a cry out of Garcia, she trembled, barely able to properly do her work. “No, I have nothing, she certainly knows how to hide things.”

Sunrays danced on her cheeks, her lips were pulled into a thin line, sunglasses hiding the black eye Joseph had put onto her face a night ago. She should have called for help, should have told the team as she was laying in the hospital, for the fourth time that month. But who was she kidding, those were her own problems to deal with, her own sorrows, nothing her team should waste their time on.

The day was long over, though none of them were thinking about going home. (Y/n) kept on uncomfortably shifting in her chair, thinking about her next move. She didn’t need a lawyer, after all she wasn’t the one who killed him, wasn’t involved in the murder. Would she need to resign? Leave the people she loved behind because a mistake she had made in the past?

“Morgan and Dave, go back to his house, see if you can find anything that connects the two.” While the agents combed through the house once again she was sitting across from Strauss, staring at the elderly woman, listening to the words she knew by heart. “I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen next, do I (y/l/n)?”

Morgan’s heart raced, gloved fingers searched through every bookshelf, every drawer he could pull open, desperate to find anything that would help them with her case, not giving up on their friend just yet. He didn’t understand why she kept quiet, didn’t understand who she was trying to protect.

“Derek, look here.” Rossi was staring at a yellowish paper, a file that had been hidden beneath a few books, clearly stating her name. The further they read through the paper the more confused they got, medical records were listed on the file, telling them all about past injuries. It took them minutes to understand what the paper was about.

“What do we have on her?” Strauss's shrill voice left the team growling, reminding them of the ticking clock, they didn’t have much time left to explain what was going on. She was the only suspect, the only name on their list so far. “Nothing, she won’t talk.”

“Garcia,” Spencer combed a hand through his hair, rethinking his chain of thoughts, “pull up any medical file we have of her, check for any hospital visits in the past years.” Her fingernails left a clicking noise on the keyboard, eyes widening as she read through (y/n)‘s medical bills. “Why didn’t she tell us?”

“He abused her.” Morgan stumbled into the room, Dave hot on his heels, mind trying to process what they had just learned about (y/n), the secret she had kept hidden. She was ashamed, too scared to let them in, too scared that they’d leave her behind.

(Y/n) was slowly going crazy, feet whipping to the sound of her exhausted breaths, eyes closed, she’d pass out soon, her body won’t be able to keep this level of stress up any longer. The door got pushed open, she didn’t need to open her eyes to tell that Aaron was the one who stepped into the small room, she’d recognise his tread everywhere. “You should have told me, (y/n).”

No words left her, trying to drown out his voice, he was pitying her, staring at her with hurt clearly visible in his eyes. “We found this in his house.” It was her file. The one thing she had tried to rip away from Joseph, the one thing that had protected her from him. “Tell me, (y/n), what happened?”

It was late in the afternoon as she entered her apartment complex, tired from a long case. Though just as she wanted to unlock her door she noticed that the lock was broken open, somebody had entered her apartment. (Y/n) reached for her gun, slowly stepping into her home, checking every room, trying to prepare herself for the worst.

The apartment was empty, she was alone. Maybe she was too paranoid, mind coming up with cruel scenarios, things she had seen in numerous cases. But something caught her attention, her safe was open, she was sure that she had locked it before she had left for work. Panic flooded through her, it was gone. The one thing she had clang to, the one thing that had kept her protected.

Without thinking twice she stormed out of her four walls, running towards her SUV, she’d kill him, would rip him to shreds.

She didn’t care about speed limits, didn’t care about anything but her file, she needed to get her hands on it, before he could destroy it. “Fucking open your door Joseph.”

She hadn’t seen him in years, had managed to cut him out of her life, in hopes of never having to see him again. “I was waiting for you baby.” (Y/n) should have shot him right there and then, ending his pathetic excuse of a life. “Joseph, give it to me and I’ll be gone.” He pulled her inside, locking the door.

(Y/n) clicked her tongue, arms akimbo, cheeks burning from the heat that flooded through her. “Where would be the fun in that baby?” Disgust flooded through her, how she ever could have willingly spent some time with him seemed inexplicable to her.

“Give me my file.” The yellowish file was the only thing she could hold onto, the last piece of sanity she clang to, like a life insurance that would help her in times of need. “No, I don’t think I will.”

He stepped closer to the fireplace, about to push her file into the fire as a shot echoed through the night. Her gun fell out of her grasp, wide eyes stared at the wound in his upper arm, “you fucking whore.”

A scream rippled out of her, with one final push he rolled of her body, trying to reach for her once again. But she was faster, grasping her bag as she was running out of the house, file long forgotten.

Tears dripped down onto the back of her hand, before he could stop himself Aaron pulled her into his arms, chin placed on top of her head. “I’m sorry for ever doubting you.” (Y/n) clang to him, hands fisting the fabric of his white shirt, tears leaving wet patches on the crook of his neck, “I am sorry for not telling you.” He combed a hand through her messy hair, pulling her even closer, hearts slowly beating in sync.

“Can we go home now?” She mumbled against his skin, knees giving out, not able to keep her supported any longer. Aaron picked her up, carefully carrying her out of the room, she was fast asleep by now. “I’ll drive her home.” (Y/n) was his only priority, he trusted his team, knew they’d be able to work without the two of them for a while, worrying about her just as much as Aaron did.

He let her sleep for hours, working on his files as he kept on watching her, heart clenched at the thought of (y/n) getting hurt, Aaron couldn’t help but feel guilty, he should have listened, should have known that she’d never go against him. “I’m sorry.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, thumb tracing her cheek, waking (y/n) from her deep slumber.

She met him halfway, lips pressed against Aaron’s warm ones, hands reaching for his neck, pulling him even closer. “I love you.” Her words filled him with an all too familiar warmth, a feeling only she could wake inside of him, she was the one for him, Aaron was sure of it. “I love you too, I’m sorry love, I,-” with another kiss she shut him up, pushing herself into his lap, straddling his thighs.

The kiss grew more passionate, hands tugging on one another’s clothes, hastily undressing themselves. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His confession made her smile, lips moving down his throat, sucking on the spots that would drive him crazy, “you won’t, make love to me Aaron, please.” He flipped them around, front pressed against hers, knee tugged against her pulsing clit, slowly grinding against the wet spot on her panties.

She shuddered in anticipation, body tingling from his touch, he’d always known how to take care of her, how to make love to her in the best way possible. Carefully he pulled her shirt over her head, exposing her naked chest to his dark eyes. His boxers grew tighter, hard length pushing against the thin fabric, desperate to be freed, to feel her wrapped around him.

Aaron Hotchner was like a thunderstorm, crashing down onto her with as much force as possible, his touch was like lightning, filling her with electricity, every sound he made represented a powerful thunder that rolled through the dark sky. She was caught in a storm, drenched by his love and admiration, hooked onto his every move.

“Let me make it up to you.” His lips left a wet trail down her upper body, hands cupping her naked breasts, teasing her hardening nubs, touching her like she longed to be touched. “Aaron, I need you.” Impatiently she pressed her core against his knee, moaning into the dark room. His chuckle vibrated against her skin, hands moving down to her soaked through panties, pushing the fabric down her legs, “I got you love.”

With his arms wrapped around her thighs his head disappeared between them, tongue pressed against her wet folds, moaning at the taste of her arousal. Her fingernails scraped his scalp, urging him on to go further, to properly touch her. “You’re always so ready for me.” The praises lightened a fire deep inside of her, moan after moan rolled off his tongue, back arched off the mattress, god, he was an expert at this.

He pumped two fingers in and out of her, eyes hooked onto her face, watching his love slowly fall apart in his grasp. “Feels so good, don’t stop Aaron.” Though he would stop any moment now, he wanted to feel her come undone around his length, splitting her in half as he was making love to her.

The room was spinning, head pounding, he was moving fast, ripping his boxers off his body, length slapping against his abdomen. (Y/n) tried to reach for him, wanting to touch his soft skin, but he had seen it coming, pushing her hand away before she could feel him. They had already lost too much time, he didn’t want to waste another second, needed to bury himself deep inside of her.

No words could ever describe the sensation of Aaron perfectly filling her, length thrusting in and out of her as she gave her body to the man she loved. She could feel his every vein, every inch of his size, body reacting to the man that was hovering above her. His hands explored her body, touching her as if it was their first time together, cherishing every spot, every place of her gorgeous self.

Aaron could read her every expression, he was a profiler after all, though his profession didn’t play a big role in this. He loved her, knew her like the back of his hand, probably knew her better than she’d ever know herself. Wordlessly he picked up his pace, skin slapping against hers, length glistening with her arousal.

“I’m close.” His name bled from her lips, fingernails scratching down his shoulders, walls tightening around him. He connected their lips, tongues battling as her orgasm rumbled through her, leaving her breathless and trembling. “Oh fuck Aaron.” Her head fell back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, face displaying an expression full of euphoria.

He followed soon after, heat spreading through her as he let go, collapsing on top of her sweaty body. “I should have trusted you.” It would take Aaron a long time to forgive himself, to let go of the guilty feeling nestling inside of his heart. But she had faith in him, had forgiven him for every doubt that had ever clouded his mind.

She trusted him with all her heart.

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engie-ivy · 3 years

Text

Yes, it's great that Sirius finally dared to ask Remus out. But... maybe next time don't do it in the midst of a Death Eater attack?

@wanderingbandurria here it is!

(I keep hurting Sirius in all my fics lately! What's wrong with me?!)

It's a date!

“We should have dinner.”

Sirius speaks without pausing the rapid succession of curses he’s firing. Remus gives him a quick look, but almost immediately has to turn his attention back to the darkness in front of them, as a beam of light flies right past his head. He fires a cure back, and three curses come soaring at him in return, only to be deflected by Sirius’ quickly casted Protego Charm.

Before more curses can come their way, Sirius and Remus duck behind a rock on their right.

“Sure,” Remus says. “Let’s tell the Death Eaters to wait here while we go on a food break. Hey, maybe they’d like to join, and we can all go to McDonalds together.”

Suddenly, a particularly nasty curse blows a piece of the rock away, just centimetres from Sirius’ head. Sirius doesn’t hesitate. Using the dust as a cover, he Stupifies the approaching Death Eaters with three well-aimed curses. Then he turns around to follow Remus, jumping and rolling over the floor into the shelter of a battered, but at least still standing, wall.

“I didn’t mean now,” he says, rolling his eyes. “After this.”

Remus peers past the wall, and smoothly disarms the Death Eater trying to attack them on his side.

“Sure,” he says. “Do you want to make a grocery list, or...?”

A beam of light hits the seam of Sirius’ robes and sets them on fire. He spins on his heels and first somehow manages to take out two Death Eaters with one curse, before pointing his wand to his robes to extinguish the flames.

Suddenly, Remus pushes him away so roughly that he trips and falls flat on his back. In front of him, the top of the wall has come crumbling down and large pieces of rock cover the spot he had just been standing.

Remus grabs his hand, pulls him up, and they sprint away again. This time, they end up crouching down behind a low wall that can hardly be called a wall.

“I meant,” Sirius says slowly. “We should have dinner, at a restaurant, together, just the two of us.”

Remus’ eyes widen in surprise and he opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment a flash of green light flies right past his head.

Sirius’ mouth tightens in anger and he jumps to his feet, sending of a rapid succession of curses. Not without effect, judged from the grunts coming from the Death Eaters hidden in the darkness. He feels something scrape his cheek and turns in the direction it came from, but Remus jerks him down just in time before three curses at the same time fly towards where Sirius’ head had been just second ago. Blood is dripping from a deep gash in Sirius’ cheek.

“Padfoot,” Remus says disbelievingly. “Are you asking me out? Now?”

Sirius shrugs. “Seems as good a time as any.”

A shrill, familiar voice echoes through the darkness. “Where are you, you filthy blood traitor? I’m gonna make you regret the day you shamed our family, you foul disgrace!”

Sirius and Remus send a red beam into the direction of the voice almost automatically, which is followed by a loud shriek.

Remus raises an eyebrow at Sirius.

“Alright, maybe not as good a time as any,” Sirius reluctantly admits. “But still, the question stands.”

Sirius’ eye catches two stone pillars, that look like better hiding places than the almost falling apart wall. He motions for Remus to follow him and once again they sprint through the night, dodging curses here and there.

“Since when...” Remus jumps to one side of the pillar to avoid a curse and then quickly jumps back again to avoid another. “Do you even want to date me?”

Sirius casts a Protego on his left and Remus’ right, so they can first focus on the Death Eaters at the other side.

“Couple of months maybe,” Sirius replies. “I found out I rather fancy you, and as much as I enjoy being friends with you, I was hoping it could be something more.”

Remus gapes at him, but even more surprising is the sudden force that blows them both backwards, landing flat on their backs a few metres away from the pillars. From their new position though, they are able to spot a ditch in the ground, and staying low, they manage to crawl in that direction and roll themselves in the ditch.

They take a minute to catch their breaths. Sirius’ face is bruised and Remus has sprained his wrist.

Suddenly, a glowing white deer appears in front of them.

“Padfoot, Moony.” James’ voice sounds grave. “The Prewetts had to give up their position. The Death Eaters who were fighting them are almost certainly on their way to reinforce the group attacking you.”

Remus curses under his breath.

“You have to get out of there as fast as you can,” Prongs’ voice urges, before the deer disappears again.

“Shite!” Sirius looks over his shoulder to where he knows the Death Eaters must be approaching.

“What do we do?” Remus asks anxiously.

“We have to get that piece of parchment to Dumbledore.” Sirius gestures at the folded parchment tucked away in the pocket of Remus’ robes. “Whatever information it contains, he said it may be essential for Lily’s, James’, and Harry’s safety.”

“I know that much,” Remus says. “But how? The anti-apparition zone stretches out for at least another half a kilometre, if not more. We won’t make it like this, but they’re too many to stop and face in a standstill, with even more on their way! And if we turn around and run, one of their curses will surely hit us in the back.”

“I might have an idea,” Sirius says thoughtfully. “You run to the end of the anti-apparition zone, while I hold off the Death Eaters and cover your back-”

“Sirius.”

“No, hear me out. I’ll stall them only as long as to give you a good head start. Then, I’ll turn into Padfoot and follow. Padfoot’s smaller, darker, closer to the ground, and therefore much more difficult to hit, and let’s not forget much faster! I’ll have a much better chance.”

“Alright,” Remus says reluctantly. “But don’t be a stubborn idiot, Sirius! I know you. I know how you get carried away. Don’t think you can take down all Death Eaters on your own. Stall them for a bit, and then follow!”

“I will, I will. Just get ready to run.” Sirius is already turning to climb out of the ditch.

“Wait.” Remus grabs Sirius’ arm and turns him back to face him. “Tuesday night. That Italian place with those almond cookies I like so much. Pick me up at seven, and wear your leather jacket.”

Sirius blinks and then breaks out in a grin. “It’s a date!”

Sirius loves duelling. There’s a reason he was the best duller at Hogwarts. It’s addictive to him, the constant alternation between evading, shielding and deflecting, and attacking. He loves the adrenaline rush when an enemy’s curse just barely misses him and the thrill when he hits his target.

The knowledge that each Death Eater he takes out is one less to hurt Remus spurs him on even more, and he soon gets lost in the sensation.

Suddenly, he hears a chuckle on his left, and sees a hooded figure standing right next to him. It’s more instinct than anything else that makes him Stupify the figure before it can hurt him.

He blinks. Right next to him? How did he let that happen? When did they get so close? How long has he been duelling?

He turns, meaning to change into Padfoot mid-turn, but before he can transform, something hits him between his shoulder blades. A sharp pain spreads through his body and the world around him goes black.

Sirius slowly blinks his eyes open and groans at the throbbing pain throughout his entire body.

Suddenly, James’ face is occupying his entire field of view.

“Padfoot? Padfoot, are you there? Padfoot, can you see me? Can you hear me?”

Sirius turns his head away. “Yes Prongs, and I can smell you too! Merlin, what’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

But James just responds by wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug.

Sirius hugs back as good as he can. “Close call, huh?” He mutters.

“Much too close,” James confirms as he releases him again. He looks a bit shaky. “Mad-Eye called us sentimental fools when we went back. We thought we were just bringing back your body, so we could at least give you a proper-” He shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. “Merlin, Padfoot.”

“Sorry,” Sirius winches.

A silence falls, before Sirius asks “What day is it?”

“Friday,” James replies, and Sirius groans.

Downstairs, the front door opens, and Lily’s voice drifts up.

“Hi, Moony. James is with him right now, but I just finished cooking some dinner. Would you like some?”

“No, thank you, Lily,” is Remus’ flat reply. “I’ll be going right upstairs.”

“Remus, what’s the last time you’ve eaten anything? Or slept, for that matter.”

“He’s been taking it very hard,” James whispers.

“Yeah,” Sirius replies. “We were supposed to have Italian.”

James frowns at him. “I honestly don’t think he’s been so upset because he missed out on pizza night.”

Before Sirius can reply, however, the door opens and Remus is standing there. His mouth is slightly parted and his eyes widen as his gaze fixes on Sirius, who’s staring back at him.

“I’m sorry I missed our date,” Sirius says in a raspy voice, and he wants to ask for another chance, but the words die in his throat as Remus strides forward, cups Sirius’ face in his hands and just kisses him.

Sirius doesn’t particularly mind this turn of events, and participates as best he can, his hands clutching Remus’ sweater as he loses himself in the feel of Remus’ lips insistent against his own.

“So,” James says with a raised eyebrow after they’ve pulled apart. “That’s... new. Are you two together?”

“Not yet,” Remus says, without taking his eyes off Sirius. “But as soon as Padfoot is well enough to walk, he’s going to make up for being a stubborn idiot by taking me to a fancy restaurant for a candlelit dinner, and he’ll better have asked me to be his boyfriend before dessert.”

Sirius’ face breaks out in a grin. “It’s a date!”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar angst

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miracle-sham · 3 years

Text

Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 1: Hurt No Comfort} |

| It all went wrong so quickly. Marinette thought she could trust Jason, that he'd never betray her. And Jason thought the same. But with a truth-serum turned poison seeping through their veins, neither had thought to look for the purple feathers. |

| Word Count: 1,706. |

———

| A/N: I'll try and keep this short and sweet but it's nice to dip back into writing for Maribat, I really missed it whilst I was gone. Also I've now got a author's channel in MGI where I sometimes put title sneak peaks, snippets, and random au ramblings, so y'know feel free to pop into the channel and have a gander if you'd fancy! And one last thing, keen eyes may have noticed I've added a Spotify Playlist Link, it contains all the songs I listened to when working on this oneshot, if you're curious! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics or a specific Au, then feel free to send me a dm and or ask! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Marinette staggers back, clutching at her bloodied side as the world spins for a moment and everything blurs. Breath catches in her throat as a sharp pang of betrayal pierces her heart, tears springing to the corners of her eyes unbidden. Whimpering, she barely manages to cry out, “J–Jason?”

Heartbreak coating his name like the truth serum-poison making its way through her system at this very moment.

She makes an awful choking noise and collapses to her knees, scrunching her face up and wheezing. Barely is she able to keep her eyes open, fixated on staring at someone she thought she could trust.

Smirking lazily, Jason saunters up to her, crouches and then grabs her face by the chin, forcing her to tilt her head up to continue staring at him in the eyes. “Aw, did you really fucking think I cared about you this entire time?”

Marinette swallows thickly—unable to conjure up a response to him. Black spots start to form in the corner of her vision like watching a spattering of embers burning away on a piece of paper.

He tilts his head to the side and snorts, “really? Nothing to say, no heartfelt "I trusted you!" or "you're lying!". Not even a "I know the real you is still in there?", how fucking pathetic.”

There's a small part of her brain that starts flashing red lights and wailing alarms—warning her that she's in danger, that she's hurt, that she's stopped breathing. She can't breathe, can't move, can't say anything or she'll spill all her remaining secrets.

Jason sighs and drops her chin. “And here I fucking thought your shitty-ass reaction to me betraying you would be more fun.”

Grimacing, she waits a heartbeat after he lets go before mustering all her strength to slam her skull into his—if I'm going down, you're coming with me for this, Marinette mentally vows.

There's a horrendous thwacking sound as the impact lands, and Marinette feels as though her brain has turned into a blender that just had its blades snap mid blend.

Jason, on the other hand, flings himself backwards and curses up a storm. He pulls out one of his guns and with dizzying vision, manages to shoot a bullet that just clips the uninjured side of her ribs. “That's what you fucking get for that you bitch!”

Marinette doubles over as the pain seems to ricochet through her; vision blacking out completely. She struggles for breath, her hearing cutting off not a second later. Objectively, she's aware she's not alone. But as her senses shut down one by one, leaving her helplessly trapped in her own mind, she can't help but wonder why her heart aches with loneliness. I'm sorry, she silently apologises to no one and everyone.

Distantly, she thinks she's swaying—or collapsing again maybe. But it's hard to tell, it's disorientating trying to focus on the world with dying senses.

Marinette is lost. Every little movement, every little thought—it's agony, a struggle to keep going, keep holding on. Once more, she silently pleas for forgiveness from the kwami.

She stops.

Stops breathing. Heart stops beating. Stops fighting. It all stops.

At least this way, she thinks to herself, I can't spill any secrets from the truth serum-poison if I carry them to the grave instead…

She sinks into the darkness, clinging to her final thought in numb relief as she does so. Everything fades away.

———

Jason groans as the knife Marinette is wielding digs deeper between his ribs.

She doesn't move back immediately, so he grits his teeth and roundhouse kicks at her—the heavy thump of collision makes his wound burn like acid has just been poured on it.

He's a few seconds too slow pulling his leg back, as Marinette slices the knife through his calf.

“Fuck!” He bites out, throwing himself further out of her range and breathing. “Marinette!”

With the gall to smile faux-innocently, she plays with the knife in her hand, slipping it between her fingers and swirling it about. “Yes, Jason?”

“The fuck are you doing!?” He growls, shifting his position when she doesn't move to apply pressure to the calf wound.

She shrugs, seemingly unbothered, “what? Did you really think this wouldn't happen one day? That I wouldn't get sick of you. Show you just how much you've hurt me the entire time we've known each other?”

Jason spits blood from his mouth at the warehouse floor in front of her. “I don't believe whatever shit you're being made to spew, but I sure as fucking hell know that you'd never do something as fucked up as this.”

“Oh, that's cute! You still believe in me. What's next, are you going to beg me to come to my senses? Are you going to cry my name and hope it changes my mind? Are you going to declare that the "real" me is still there inside and that you're going to save me?” Marinette giggles, high-pitched and yet hollow sounding.

Jason flinches at the sound, breathing stuttering as the poison from her knife starts to really seep in. Shit, he thinks to himself, truth serum-poison. If I'm not careful I'm gonna say shit that should stay secret.

A flash of silver catches the edge of his vision. And it's all the warning he gets. He immediately ducks and rolls, cursing under his breath as his wounds are aggravated. The air by his hair swooshes as the blade just narrowly misses.

Marinette giggles taper off into a hiss of fury. Her hair slips out of her pigtails from the constant movement, and multiple strands fall in front of her face. She huffs, ineffectively blowing them out of the way. “Did you really think I ever loved you?”

“Yes!” The words are choked out of his mouth before he can even think, the truth serum-poison kicking in hard and fast. Jason wheezes and the taste of iron lingers like malice in his throat. Fuck, he thinks desperately, I'm running out of time and Marinette isn't snapping out of whatever the fuck's been done to her.

He stumbles into another roll, as the blade comes swinging at him again. His vision blurts violently, and the next thing Jason knows—is that his view has suddenly tipped upside down and that there's a throbbing ache radiating from the back of his shoulders and head.

“Huh, you really do have a thick skull. Normally that'd be enough to knock anyone else out. Well, I guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way.” Marinette rambles, pulling out a rag.

Jason grunts as he pushes himself only to be slammed back into the concrete warehouse floor, rag pressed firmly over his mouth and nose.

He thrashes and refuses to inhale. Marinette scowls and kicks him sharply into the ribs, causing him to gasp through gritted teeth. But it's enough to affect him.

His vision teeters then flickers to black, he can feel his movements slowing—becoming more and more sluggish until he's as still as he was in that fucking coffin he's had to crawl out of once before. At least, he barely manages to cling to the final thought, I can't spill any secrets if I carry them to the grave once more.

And then it all fades away.

———

Lila steeples her finger and smirks. She's sitting in her plain white office for the Agreste, three monitors set up before her on the desk. The middle screen shows her emails and a few tabs up on fashion for work-related reasons. The outer two screens, however, show the feed to two identical cells—two by four by five metres with cement floors and grey brick walls, no windows and a single plain black metal door. No furniture either, not even beds or toilets, just chains attached to the wall opposite the door. And in the chains is what has Lila so very happy indeed; Marinette and Jason, one in each cell and both stuck in the chains with no hope for escape.

A steady pool of blood has already formed beneath the both of them, thanks to the wonderful work of her Sentimonster duplicates of the two.

Lila can't help but monologue in her glee, “It's so excellently simple really. Even if one escapes, there's no way they'll help the other escape now. Now they've experienced the pain of betrayal and torture inflicted by the other!”

Footsteps approach the door to her office; all it takes is a quick click and click of the mouse and her two outer screen feeds flip to showing more work-related tabs and emails.

The door opens to reveal Adrien, slightly dishevelled—hair and shirt ruffled, eyes red with dark bags beneath them, and shiny tear streaks down his cheeks—he stands in the threshold, shaking. “Did you know?”

Lila smiles in fake confusion. “Know what?”

Adrien swallows, gaze flickering to her screens. “Marinette's dead. So is Jason.”

Lila tilts her head to the side to make it look as though she's thinking. “The Wayne boy that was close to her, right? Oh dear.”

His tired gaze turns back to Lila as he continues. “They think both of them were kidnapped and tortured separately. Police have found traces of an altered truth-serum among the bloodstains and…” He chokes for a second, grief plain as day across his face. “and they found pieces of fingers, ears, slices of skin, and all.”

“Oh, oh, that's horrible!” Lila gasps, covering her mouth with her hands to hide the victorious curl forming on her lips. “Have they found out who was cruel enough to do that to them yet?”

Adrien shakes his head silently.

“Hopefully, the culprit will be found soon. But if you need any support, I'll always be here for you, Adrien!” Lila gravely announces, bobbing her head slightly as she spoke.

He narrows his eyes at her, shakes his head, and then stalks away from her office.

She scowls as soon as his back turns and gets up to shut her door. “Well,” She says to herself as she flips back to the cell feed, “at least that means I'll have plenty of time to pull the secrets from you two without the police thinking to look for you alive.”

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any asks or comments with any questions you have regarding this oneshot, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #DC x MLB #MLB x DC #Jasonette #Jasonette July #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July 2021 #Jasonette July Saturday Challenge #Jasonette July Hurt No Comfort #Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture #YSPEWF #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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beelsnack · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! Boys and the Cute Date They Would Take MC On

Lucifer: “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

When Lucifer had mentioned that an orchestra was going to be performing, they had been so excited to go that they nearly vibrated out of existence. But now that they were here, that excitement had morphed into a heavy lump of anxiety hanging out somewhere between their heart and stomach.

Lucifer glanced down at the human with a raised eyebrow. “And what in the Three Realms would make you think that?”

For a moment, they were quiet, looking around at the crowd of demons dressed to the nines. Elegant silk evening gowns and smart tuxedos abound. Their black slacks and dress shirt made them feel so under-dressed that they might as well have shown up naked.

Lucifer, sharp as ever, pulled them closer and leaned down the speak in their ear. “You needn’t feel intimidated, my dear.”

“I don’t feel intimidated, I feel stupid.”

“That isn’t any better.”

They sighed, casting another look around the hall. Golden mantle pieces, an elegantly-winding staircase, chandeliers absolutely dripping with crystals...everything made them feel incredibly insignificant.

“Should I have gotten more dressed up?”

Lucifer chuckled. “So that’s what has you worried?”

He lead them away from the entrance into the hall proper. “All of these demons are dressed the way they are because they must work at being beautiful. You, my dear,” he stopped in front of them, reaching down to carefully hold the peacock pendent hanging from their neck - the only piece of jewelry they wore. “Are the only one who is naturally radiant enough to wear my symbol. These peasants could turn themselves into pure gold and they would only shine half as bright as you do.”

They could feel their face grow hot enough to catch fire. They opened and closed their mouth like a fish, intent on refuting Lucifer’s compliment, but he gave them no option. With a deep laugh that they felt travel up their spine, he offered his arm to them in a move straight out of a Victorian romance novel.

“Now then, shall we go? You’ll love this orchestra, I promise.”

Mammon: “I can’t believe there’s street fairs in the Devildom!”

It was surprisingly similar to something you would see up in the Human Realm. Strings of fairy lights lit up the cobblestone street that was lined with all kinds of stalls. Food stalls selling a variety of things that probably shouldn’t be deep fried but are anyway, games of chance, craftsman selling their wares - “Don’t buy anything from that one, all of their crap is cursed and they charge a fee for removal.”

“Come on,” Mammon clicked his tongue as the two of them wandered throughout the fair. “Did’ja think the Devildom was all doomed souls and torture chambers?”

“...Yes?”

The demon paused before shrugging. “Ya know, that’s fair. But we have an image to keep, don’t we? Can’t have the little humans knowin’ about our bitchin’ carnivals.”

“I’ll take the secret to my grave.”

Somewhere a little down the street, they could hear the spinning of a roulette wheel, and Mammon immediately perked up.

“Aw yeah, now we’re talking! Come on, human, you get to see the Great Mammon in all of his glory!”

A thin spike of fear ran through their body as Mammon grabbed their wrist and tugged them through the crowd. “Didn’t Lucifer ban you from gambling? Like, forever?”

“Whatever, what he don’t know won’t hurt ‘im,” they finally reached the roulette booth. “As long as I don’t lose and you don’t squeal, we don’t have anything to worry about!”

“Mammon, there’s a big, gaping hole in your logic there - “

“Have a little faith, human!” Mammon grinned and he slapped some Grimm down on the counter. The glint in his eyes was damn near predatory, and it sent a different kind of shiver down their spine.

The demon behind the counter chuckled gleefully as they spun the wheel. The crowd surrounding them hooted and hollered and shoved each other to be able to watch the wheel, but Mammon looked surprisingly calm. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes trained on the pointer at the top of the wheel.

If they hadn’t been standing right next to him, they wouldn’t have noticed him rhythmically tapping against the sleeve of his jacket.

It was almost imperceptible, but the clicking of the wheel appeared to be following the beat that Mammon was tapping, slowing as the pauses between beats got longer. Eventually, both Mammon and the wheel stopped...

Right on the number he had bet on.

The crowd groaned as Mammon collected his winnings, some hissing at him as they dispersed. The Avatar of Greed looked truly in his element as he flipped a Grimm in the air. “Told ya.”

“You were...using magic?” the human looked back and forth between the wheel and Mammon. “You manipulated the wheel.”

“Aw, man, I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.” he sighed, pocketing his earnings. “Can’t ya just pretend I have incredible luck?”

“I will if you buy me food.”

“Deal.”

Leviathan: Going to the arcade on a Wednesday at noon was definitely one of Levi’s best ideas.

“Why does your aim suck so bad?”

“Oh, you are SO lucky this game doesn’t have friendly fire, Levi.”

“You couldn’t hit me even if it did.”

They were standing close enough that it wasn’t difficult for them to learn over and bump him with their shoulder. His grip on the orange plastic gun slipped and the virtual bullet went flying off into cyberspace. By the time he managed to correct himself, the zombie he had been aiming for was in the process of devouring the character on screen.

“Hey, what gives?!”

“Oops, sorry. My aim really sucks, you know.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

Despite their dirty tactics, Levi still wiped the floor with them, cackling gleefully as their scores tallied up on the screen. "Beat that, normie!"

They pouted and blew a raspberry at him. "Jerk. I want a rematch!"

"You're on!"

Satan: If they hadn’t been in the Devildom for so long, they probably would have been scared out of their mind.

That being said, they had been in the Devildom for a while, and seeing an intricately detailed panorama of a demon cat devouring a person alive was only a little unsettling at this point.

“Wow, that must have taken a while,” they got up closer to the exhibit. “It’s like I can hear the screams of agony.”

“Apparently the artist spent a century just on the expression,” Satan came up behind them, slipping his hand into theirs. “It shows, doesn’t it?”

The Devildom Art Museum was having a special exhibition on Demonic cats, and of course Satan had managed to snag tickets for the two of them. They didn’t particularly want to know how he had managed that.

“So, where to next?” they asked.

“The next room has a collection of cursed cat collars.” Satan nodded his head towards the door. “Apparently there’s one that causes whoever puts the collar on their cat to choke to death.”

“Okay, but if there are any there that harm the cats we’re firebombing the place.”

Asmodeus: “See, I told you this place was cute!”

He hadn’t been lying. The little cafe was tucked into a little side street, and the outside seating provided one of the best views of the lake that they had seen aside from being inside the castle grounds. The moons were just beginning to appear as they sky transitioned from the dark lavender color that served as the Devildom’s “day time” into full darkness, and the reflection from the lake made everything sparkle like diamonds.

“How did you even find this place, Asmo?” they asked as they were seated by the host. “This is pretty hidden.”

“Didn’t you know, darling?” Asmo laughed, reaching across the table to weave their hands together. “Some of the most beautiful things can be found in the strangest of places.”

“That’s pretty, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“I slept with the owner’s son.”

They couldn’t hold back the definitely-not-cute snort. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I never pass up an opportunity to fuck someone who can cook.” he said sagely. “I want to be fed before I have to do my walk of shame.”

“Don’t you have to have shame for that?”

“Hush,” Asmo giggled. “Here, they have a human-safe section.”

Beelzebub: “I don’t know, Beel, this place, seems awful expensive.”

The conversion rate between human currency and Grimm sometimes threw them off a little bit, but anytime you say three zeroes it was never a good sign.

“Does it?” Beel glanced up from the menu to look at them quizzically before peeking down at the prices again. “Ah, I guess it would. You don’t have to worry, I’ll pay for it.”

“That’s not - “

The server arrived, cutting off their protest. From the sheen of sweat on their brow, the human took it that the staff knew Beelzebub and his famous appetite. Even just the appetizer was enough to feed a whole family. When the waiter finally turned to them, he had to flip over to a new page in his pad. He looked rather relieved when they simply ordered water and fried bat wings (which they had discovered early on tasted a lot like chicken wings and it was therefore their go to.)

When the server dashed off to place their massive order, Beel turned back to the human. “What were you saying?”

“I don’t...” they sighed. “I won’t be able to pay you back.”

“Why would you have to?”

They blinked, tilting their head. “Huh?”

“I don’t mind paying. Plus, I get a discount here.”

The human glanced around the fancy dining area. “This doesn’t look like the place to give out discounts.”

“A lot of places give me and my brothers discounts. Well, Mammon lost a few of his, I think.” Beel shrugged. “I think it’s because we’re considered nobility? I usually leave the discount as a tip though.”

That explained the grin the host had on their face when they sat them.

They smiled up at him. “You’re so sweet, Beel.”

Belphegor: Nights in the Devildom were surprisingly peaceful.

Once you got past the ideas of torture chambers and crypts, the nights were just like ones up in the Human Realm. Quiet, lazy, and on clear nights, you could see the stars.

“Do you know what that one is?”

The human followed where Belphegor was pointing. “Hm...Orion?”

“Ding.” Belphie laughed. “I knew you would be good at this.”

In typical Belphie fashion, he had texted them out of the blue and told them to meet him in the courtyard at midnight. They thought about just ignoring him and going to sleep, but now they were curious. Which was probably the demon’s plan.

When they arrived, Belphie was laying down on a blanket he had spread out on the grass.

“Took you long enough,” he yawned. “I almost fell asleep waiting for you.”

“It’s only 12:02!”

“Bold of you to assume I can’t fall asleep in two minutes. Are you going to sit down or what?”

And that was how the two of them ended up cuddled next to each other and stargazing.

Belphie knew a surprising amount about constellations.He was able to point out which star was named what, and knew most of the myths that the constellations were named after. Unsurprisingly, listening to him talk was very soothing, and they could feel their eyelids drooping.

“If you want to sleep, you can.” he finally murmured, sounding close to drifting off himself. “We can keep each other warm.”

“...I don’t think Lucifer would appreciate finding us passed out on the lawn.”

“All the more reason to do it.”

#i just needed some fluff okay #this is self indulgent #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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moonlit-han · 3 years

Text

part v: true north

genre: college au, neighbor au; fluff, humor, slow burn pairing: 3racha x femme reader in poly relationship part word count: 9.2k part warnings: 18+ content, suggestive, explicit language, mild angst, alcohol consumption request: no a/n: this in no way reflects the actions of stray kids’ bang chan, seo changbin, or han jisung. it is a work of fiction. !! important !!: if you are under 18 years of age, you may not read this series. the author requests that readers be mindful that there is 18+ content in this piece and read only if age appropriate. thank you. and, remember to always get continued and enthusiastic consent as you practice safe sexual habits.

~ read other parts first! ~

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

“So,” Jisung said evenly, “when exactly were you going to tell me that you’re seeing Y/N?”

Facing him on the sofa, one leg tucked under the other, Chan let out a surprised huff of air. “I- Why do you care? I thought you were in an open relationship?”

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t tell each other when we’re dating someone new!” Jisung retorted, trying to keep his voice even.

Chan’s eyes widened. “I just assumed she would’ve told you…”

“She didn’t,” Jisung said flatly.

Silence descended for a full three minutes, the tension growing by the second, as both young men refused to speak. Jisung struggled to keep his features fairly neutral, even as he seethed, because, as much as he admired Chan and loved their friendship, his friend was a real bastard when he wanted to be.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Jisung.” Chan’s tone was flippant as he continued to stare at the ceiling. “Take it up with Y/N.”

“What?” Jisung demanded incredulously. He couldn’t believe Chan could be so… So cold.

“I said—“

“I know what you said,” Jisung interrupted, “but I can’t believe you’d betray our friendship like this!”

“Betray our friendship?” Chan ran a hand through his hair. “What the hell, Jisung? It’s not like we’ve told each other about relationships in the past?”

Jisung scoffed. “What relationships, Chan? You haven’t had time to so much as have a quick fuck, let alone an actual relationship.”

“Thanks, Jisung. That’s real nice.”

“It’s not like I’m wrong!” Jisung shot to his feet and pushed the coffee table further into the room with his boot, unable to sit still anymore.

“That doesn’t mean you can insult me.” Chan countered, also rising, arms crossed.

“Likewise, Chan,” Jisung spat, gesticulating wildly. “And just by not telling me, you’ve insulted our friendship.”

“Great!” Chan exclaimed, keeping his distance at the other end of the couch. “I’ve gone and insulted our friendship. Why is this my fault all of a sudden? What about Y/N? Aren’t you going to acknowledge that some of this is on her?”

Jisung spluttered. “Yeah, fine. It is. But you’re my best friend and you should’ve told me, especially since you seem to think you and she are this great power couple or something!”

“I do not!”

“Then why’d you give her that necklace, huh?”

“Jisung,” Chan said placatingly, holding his hands out like he’d calm a wild animal, “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I do care about Y/N.”

Jisung fought not to roll his eyes.

“I really like her,” Chan continued. “She’s just— I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like I’ve been spinning out of focus, away from my center. And then she just appears in my life one day, and suddenly I know where I am again.” He paused to take a breath, as if steeling himself. “Being with her feels amazing.”

Jisung finally did lose control of his expression, sneering as he rolled his eyes.

“Come on, that’s not what I meant,” Chan said flatly. “I’m talking about her personality, her laugh, her mind, everything, Jisung. You know what it’s like, I know you do.” Jisung’s lips pressed together in a tight line, but he remained silent as Chan sat down on the sofa again. “She’s so easy to be around, to spend time with. I honestly feel I’ve been waiting for something all my life and now I’ve found it—I’ve found her.”

Jisung sighed and acquiesced to perching on the arm of his sofa, if not fully sitting again. “Fine. I know what you mean about being drawn to her.” Chan looked like he was about to crow. “But still, you could’ve said something, man.”

“I wanted to, but didn’t know how!” Chan blurted. “And I thought… Since I gave her the necklace and she wore it… But she didn’t tell you?”

“Nope, she hasn’t said a thing, besides saying that she was going on dates. Which were casual. So she didn’t need to tell me anything else.” Jisung tried not to smirk. “You might want to check how serious she thinks it is with you,” he said in mock warning.

Chan seemed to deflate like a balloon losing air, but rose to his feet again nevertheless. Jisung just watched, his heart pounding. “Whatever, Jisung,” Chan mumbled as he stopped halfway across the room, then let himself out. “Bye.”

Jisung didn’t move from where he’d collapsed on the couch for a long time, thinking about everything that had just happened. Sure, he probably shouldn’t have said something so inflammatory to Chan, but that didn’t excuse the facts of the situation. But then again…

Over the past hour, it was as if every feeling of inadequacy, every insecurity had clawed their way out of the deep, mental grave Jisung had worked so hard to dig for them. Knowing that Chan—his best friend, the man he looked up to as a musician and as a person—was seeing you in some capacity made him doubt his own worth. How could he compare to the paradigm that was Bang Chan? Well, maybe not a paradigm, but he was certainly admirable. Jisung still couldn't believe he was dating someone so wonderful as you, so Chan dating you felt too much like him winning some competition of which Jisung hadn’t even known he was a part. Just the thought made him feel like vines were slithering under his skin, constricting him from within. He wondered if Changbin knew, since he lived with Chan, and what he thought if he did.

Jisung couldn’t help thinking that you wearing Chan’s necklace when neither he nor Changbin had given you anything like that felt like Chan was staking his claim. He knew it sounded ridiculous, like Chan was some wolf unable to control his instincts, but you were wearing jewelry that Jisung had seen around his friend’s neck for the past three years, without fail, which he knew meant the world to Chan. So, did that mean that you meant the world to Chan? That you were Chan’s more than his and Changbin’s, even though they were both actually dating you and Chan was, as far as he knew, simply seeing you casually? You hadn’t told him about seeing Chan, so it couldn’t be that serious, right? But that necklace… Seeing it on your neck made your tie with Chan seem more, well, real than his own.

Chan’s insistence that you were the one for him didn’t soothe Jisung’s anxiety, either. And, the fact that Jisung suspected he felt something similar made it all more complicated. He sighed and held his head in his hands, rubbing his temples as his elbows dug into his knees slightly more painfully than he would have liked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep or do something mindless, to not worry about his relationships or anything else. With a whining groan, Jisung stood and made his way to his bedroom. Maybe some alone time and a nap would help.

↠↞

You kissed Jisung goodbye as he and Chan headed next door, and Changbin tried not to look too forlorn at not being able to kiss Jisung, too. He didn’t much like how there were starting to be more and more secrets between the four of you. When you came back into the kitchen from retrieving your cardigan from exactly where you thought it was—not in the laundry as Chan had assumed—Changbin was washing the mixing bowls you’d used, trying not to splash water all over your kitchen and himself (again). You joined him next to the sink, drying whatever he handed you and putting it away.

Once the last fork had been washed and returned to live among its pointy brethren, the two of you made your way into through the living room where the tins of cookies still sat on the coffee table.

“How mad do you think Jisung would be if I ate all the chocolate chip cookies?” Changbin asked, grinning as he reached for a tin.

“Very,” you replied, knowing your boyfriend wouldn’t really eat the cookies Jisung had already claimed for himself. “But you should still give me one of those.”

Changbin opened the tin and gave you two before heading toward the bedroom.

Kicking off your shoes, you flopped onto the bed next to Changbin, slinging an arm around his shoulders to run your fingers through his hair. He rested his hand on your thigh, gently massaging your muscles—it was nothing erotic, just comforting. The dull light of the winter afternoon filtered through your curtains, catching the two silver rings Changbin had started wearing.

“So,” Changbin began, “how was your week? I’m sorry I’ve been so busy and haven’t been able to talk to you as much.” He leaned over and kissed your cheek, making you smile softly.

“No, no, no! Babe, don’t worry about it! Eh, my week was okay,” you shrugged, now twisting a lock of hair at the base of Changbin’s neck between two fingers. “I got cleared for graduation, so that’s something. But I still have way too much to do before spring break.” You sighed, letting your head sink further into your nest of pillows as you turned to Changbin. “Weren’t you in the studio a bunch this week?”

A sly look crept over Changbin’s countenance as he said, “As a matter of fact…”

You waited a beat for him to continue and when he didn’t you prompted: “Yes?”

“I was in the studio this week—most nights, actually.” Changbin made to rise. “Here, I’ll be right back.”

Before Changbin could return to the bedroom, you snatched one of the cookies he’d left on the bedside table; after all, why should you eat one of your own and have one cookie fewer for later when you could just steal one of your boyfriend’s? It was so delicious that you thought that whoever had written the recipe for these cookies was a genius and deserved a medal. As Changbin walked back into the room, you tried not to look too guilty as you licked the crumbs from your lips. He looked from you to the bedside table and back again.

“Y/N, I— Are you eating one of my cookies?” Changbin said in mock outrage, coming over to your side of the bed and standing over you.

You just stared up at the ceiling, feigning innocence. Changbin leaned down and caught your lips with his, kissing you so thoroughly that you were left breathless. When he straightened, you noticed that your pocket felt one cookie lighter. Sure enough, he’d stolen one of your cookies while he’d been kissing you.

“You little shit!” you cried, quickly sitting up and playfully jabbing Changbin in the stomach, causing him to let out a huff of air.

“Well, you stole one of mine, so it’s only fair,” he said loftily, popping the cookie into his mouth. All you could do was shake your head.

“Close your eyes, love,” Changbin said, and you made a noise of confusion. “Just wait a minute and you’ll know.”

You heard some strangely slithery noises, then felt something come to rest on your bed that was not your boyfriend. Once he’d climbed back up onto the bed and laid down beside you, he gently pulled your hands down from your eyes. “It’s a gift, love.”

The first thing you saw was your old boombox at the end of your bed, an extension chord trailing from it and across the room. In front of you on the bed was a small, rectangular package that looked very familiar….

“Did you…? Is that what I think it is?” you asked, hoping your guess was correct.

“How about you open it, love,” Changbin said, smiling.

You held the gift in your hand, then tore the brown paper from it to reveal a cassette tape.

For Y/N, the most beautiful and wonderful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. Enjoy, love ♡

“A mixtape,” you breathed, turning it over in your hands. “So this is what you were working on this week, babe?”

“Mhmmm,” Changbin hummed, nuzzling your neck. “I hope you love it.”

“I know I will, babe. Let’s listen to it now!” you said excitedly, and leaned forward to slip the cassette into the slot on the boombox, then pressed Play. Changbin held out his arms and you leaned against him, sinking into his chest. As always, Changbin arms were strong and warm around you as the mixtape began to play.

The first song was slow and mellow, setting the mood for the rest of the mixtape and how Changbin felt about you. You’d always known that he had a romantic nature and he’d demonstrated that many times, but the way he described his feelings for you in the lyrics he’d written… You couldn’t help the tears that began to tumble down your cheeks. As you listened to the mixtape in silence, breaking it only with laughs or sighs of deep emotion, you were stunned by the depth of emotion.

“Oh Changbin,” you murmured, turning in his arms to caress his cheek, “you have no idea how much this means to me.” Your hands twined behind Changbin’s neck as you brought your lips to his, lingering at the corner of his mouth before you kissed along his jaw up to his ear. “I feel just the same,” you whispered, and Changbin’s quick intake of breath felt like the fluttering of a bird’s wings against your chest.

“Love, oh love,” Changbin breathed as he drew you down onto the pillows, his body covering yours like a shield. “I’d hoped you did.”

Just then, raised voices came from Jisung’s apartment. You and Changbin looked at each other, wide-eyed. It was unusual for both Jisung and Chan to argue, let alone yell, so something must truly be wrong.

“Should we check on them?” you asked, coming out of your music-induced haze. “That doesn’t sound good…”

“I think they’ll be okay,” Changbin replied, sighing and staring up at the ceiling. He had a feeling he knew what the argument was about, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Not yet, at least. He hoped nothing would happen to 3racha because of the conflict, but he didn’t recall Jisung mentioning anything to him.

“Are you sure?” you prodded, hoping it had nothing to do with you.

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll hear about it at some point.” Changbin tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Shall we get back to kissing, then?”

You laughed and nodded, craning your neck to catch Changbin’s lips with yours.

The next morning—Sunday morning—Changbin awoke slowly and simply laid there, admiring you the way the sunlight seemed to shimmer over your hair like quicksilver. He was struck by how lucky he was to be with you, to know you, to-

“Mmmmm, ‘morning, baby,” you mumbled, rolling over to snuggle into Changbin’s chest—his bare skin was warm and soft, the perfect counterpoint to the cool air of the room. He kissed your hair, wrapping an arm around and shifting so you could fit yourself against the curve of his body.

After a few minutes of gently stroking your back, following the same lines he’d frantically raked nails down the night before, Changbin murmured, “Y/N, love . . . pancakes.” You giggled softly at your boyfriend’s seemingly one-track mind—he’d been exclaiming his joy of making pancakes even before you’d gone to bed.

“Y/N….” Changbin repeated, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck and sending little shivers down your spine. You threw a leg over his, bringing your bodies even closer and noting that pancakes were not the only things Changbin desired. Still not answering, you scrunched your nose against his chest and began to leave little kisses along the lines of his muscles.

“Mmmm?”

“Love, Jisung’s going to be here soon and we should make pancakes so we can all have breakfast.”

You moved your hand from just under your breastbone to between you and Changbin. He moaned as your fingers slid over him, and, suddenly, pancakes were all but forgotten. Changbin pressed himself into your hand as he hardened under your touch, and he began to kiss along your neck, nipping at the skin. You traced the very tip of him with a finger, then ran your hand up and down, still with the same lazy slowness. Changbin’s hands moved to grip your ass, squeezing and placing you on top of him as he rolled onto his back.

Now that you were pressed firmly to Changbin, the obvious hardness of him teased you to no end. His hands still on your ass, gently massaging, your boyfriend pulled you further up his body so that you were chest-to-chest and nearly nose-to-nose. Your lips met, soft and gentle, and you kissed languidly; Changbin swiped his tongue along the seam of your mouth, slipping inside to explore each and every hollow, plane, and crevice of your teeth, your tongue, your lips.

Propping yourself up a little, you sighed as the brush of your skin against his sent pleasurable shivers down your spine. “Baby, please,” you breathed against Changbin’s lips as you slid your body up and down over his, imitating the motion you craved, hungrily kissing him.

“I don’t have a condom on, love,” Changbin said, a laugh coloring his voice. “I—“

“I’m on the pill, Changbin, you know that. And I know that you’re incredibly healthy.” You nipped at his jaw, then begged again. “Please.”

“Y/N, love,” Changbin said not unkindly, “I’m not taking any risks, okay?” He reached out to your bedside table, hand scrabbling a little, then came up with the little foil square.

“You’re right—I just got carried away,” you said, conceding.

“It’s okay, love, really.”

Sighing, you sat back on Changbin’s thighs as he slid the condom on, then stroked him so sweetly and lovingly that he rose and swelled immediately—you may have licked your lips a little. Changbin’s moans at your ministrations were soft, like the sigh of the wind through a field of wheat.

You leaned forward to kiss Changbin and you groaned with pleasure as you joined together, your boyfriend letting you slowly adjust. Changbin’s hands came up to hold your breasts, thumbs flicking over them as you continued to kiss, and you rolled your hips, luxuriating in the sensation of him inside you.

It was utterly exquisite.

As you kissed and kissed, sharing breaths and moans of pleasure, you moved together like the ebb and flow of the sea. The little words of encouragement and affection you shared seemed to bare your innermost feelings through their simplicity. Everything was slow and easy, just enjoying the feel of each other—your body felt tight and utterly molten at the same time, your core turned white-hot with desire.

Shifting so Changbin could find that perfect spot, you kissed along his neck, tasting the fine sheen of sweat that had begun to form on his skin. The new angle drove, even pulled, Changbin into you, and his brows knit as little groans low in his throat escaped his lips. Your pleasure began to slide down your spine like the inexorable glide of a glacier, gathering more and more power with every inch.

And finally, the pulsing deep inside seeming to reverberate through your bones, and all you could do was cling to Changbin as you gasped and cried out. The sense of overwhelming bliss was so intense that you thought you would surely cry. Changbin did not slow in his pace, even as you came down from that wondrous high, until his hips stuttered and with a few quick thrusts that forced moaning whines from you, he, too, found his release.

He held you to him, the warmth of your bodies nearly melding you together as your body seemed to refuse to relinquish its hold around him. Once both of you had regained your breath, you once again became two separate people and helped clean each other off.

Cuddling among your nest of pillows, you contented yourself with tracing the planes of Changbin’s stomach as he lazily ran a finger up and down your bicep. Your foreheads nearly touched on the pillow, and when your eyes met from time to time, your smiles were luminous. As always, with Changbin, you felt absolutely serene.

With a jolt, you woke from a light doze next to Changbin and realized that if you didn’t get out of bed right at that moment, there was no way you’d ever get up. Maybe you’d tell Jisung to join the two of you in bed and make a lazy day of it… Just as you were reaching for your phone, though, Changbin slid out of bed and stood with his hands on his hips; you looked up guiltily at him.

“Pancakes,” was all Changbin said.

It was now a tradition for Jisung and Changbin to come over to your apartment on Sunday mornings for pancakes, tea, and more cuddling and soft kisses than you knew what to do with. As Changbin helped watch the pancakes, you could tell something was on his mind, but knew that he’d say something if it was that important. You pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder before finding a spoon with which to scrape the pancake batter down the sides of the bowl.

A moment later, Jisung ambled into the kitchen, hair still slightly disheveled from sleep, his arms entirely swallowed by the hoodie he was wearing. “Hey, babe,” he said, coming over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. “These smell delicious!” He kissed your cheek, and you hummed in reply, not needing words to express your happiness in seeing him or having his arms around you.

You took the spatula from Changbin and began turning the pancakes, trying your best not to fling them off the griddle. Jisung gave you a tight squeeze, let go of you, and moved two steps to the right to throw his arms around Changbin. “Hey, babe,” he said to him, too. Changbin turned in Jisung’s arms and smoothed his boyfriend’s hair before lightly kissing him.

He leaned against the counter, hands clasped together at the small of Jisung’s back so that Jisung could simply lean into him. You turned your head to see Jisung draped against Changbin’s bare chest so he could look up at the other young man, a syrupy grin on his face.

Your heart swelled with affection for both of them, and you had to brace yourself against the counter for a moment. It was genuinely easy to be with both of them in this new, wonderful relationship. There was so much trust built between you already—Jisung and Changbin’s three years of friendship lending an even firmer foundation to it all—and you knew, with as much certainty as you’d ever felt before, that the three of you were meant to be together.

Soon, the pancakes were done, the tea had brewed, and Changbin and Jisung were still kissing—although, they did pause for a moment to allow you to kiss both of their noses and say, “Time for breakfast, hot stuff.” You lead the way into the living room where you usually ate together, as Changbin went to finally put on a shirt.

↠↞

Changbin leaned back on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest, while Jisung leaned against his shoulder, lightly rubbing his pleasantly full stomach. On Changbin’s other side, your mug of tea was warmth enough for you at the moment.

“Um, I think we need to have a talk,” Changbin said quietly after awhile.

“Is everything- What am I saying, of course something’s up,” Jisung said, concerned—your brows furrowed.

Changbin ran a hand through his hair, then spoke. “First, I want to say that I’m in no way blaming anyone or making them bad or wrong. I just kind of want to know what’s going on.” He took a deep breath. “So, last weekend when I woke up, I ran into Chan in the hallway outside our rooms with a tray of breakfast. I knew he had to have somebody over, since he’d asked me to be somewhere else.” He looked at Jisung, who gave him a wink. “But of course I wasn’t going to ask who, right? But um, Y/N? I think I heard your voice coming out of Chan’s room, and then a lot of giggling. And, well, a really loud moan and Chan saying to be quiet because I was home.” Changbin’s gaze was so earnest and open, while Jisung’s was a bit… pained, perhaps.

You let out a sigh, having known this day would come at some point. “Shit, yeah… that was me,” you admitted, embarrassed despite the fact that both Changbin and Jisung had made you moan and beg and scream far louder than you’d done that morning. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that, Changbin. I had no idea you were home or anything.”

“It’s okay,” he said, resting a hand on your knee in reassurance.

Jisung made to speak, but you held up a hand. “Could I explain first? Yes, I’ve gone on a few dates with Chan. Yes, we’ve had sex. Once. I hadn’t told you yet because it wasn’t serious and we agreed—“

“But it’s Chan! He’s our best friend, babe,” Jisung blurted.

“And I just met him a couple months ago,” you replied evenly. “Just because he’s your friend doesn’t mean I was going to treat him any differently from any of the other people I’ve seen.”

“So, you’ve been seeing other people even besides Chan?” Changbin wanted to know.

“Not since the middle of December—I’ve got both hands full with you two,” you said, smiling and winking. “Things with Chan kind of snowballed, if that makes sense? After winter break, we came back and he wasn’t so weirdly flirty anymore. And you’ve got to admit, he’s attractive!”

“Y/N, just because someone’s attractive, doesn’t mea—“

“That’s not what I meant, Jisung. Not being flirted at every other day over break allowed me to see that he’s a perfectly lovely guy. It’s been fun.” You shrugged. It wasn’t as if you felt at all toward Chan like you did toward Jisung and Changbin. They were… The bond between all three of you was iron-clad and effervescent, the threads between you weaving together to form a rich tapestry of feelings, responsibilities, and priorities. “I didn’t start going on dates with him with the idea ‘Let me see how fast I can fall in love with this person’ running through my head. I- I thought I made it clear to him that things were just casual. I never promised anything, and he knew we were taking things really slow. I guess something slipped through the cracks.”

There was a beat of silence, then Jisung coughed nervously, looking down at his hands twisting in his lap. “So, you know how I talked with Chan yesterday?” he began, and you and Changbin nodded. “I asked—okay, fine, confronted—Chan about you two.”

“Oh, so that’s what the arguing was about!” Changbin said with exaggerated, only partially feigned surprise.

Jisung blanched. “Um, yeah, sorry. I saw you,” he turned to Y/N, “wearing his compass necklace and kind of lost my head.”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, grimacing. “Are you serious?”

Jisung cackled. “Yeah, sorry. You know how he— Well, I guess you don’t necessarily know, but sometimes he gets really solemn and serious, to the point that it’s almost funny. That’s how it was… Once I finally got it out of him.” Changbin put his head in his hands, knowing just what Jisung meant. “He’s head-over-heels for you, Y/N.”

“Well, shit," you grumbled, not having expected this. "And yet again, Bang Chan is cheesy as hell."

“Yeah… kind of,” Jisung sighed. “But this is different. I don’t think he knows the significance of what he did. I mean, do you even know the significance of what he did?”

“Jisung,” Changbin warned.

“No, you don’t understand. In the three years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Chan take that necklace off. Not even to go swimming. And now he’s given the thing to you!” Jisung threw up his hands, knowing that he probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this; but, he didn’t exactly care right now. “He thinks you’re the one for him, his compass. He was going on and on about how he’d felt like something was missing but now it’s like everything’s fallen into place because of you.”

“I don’t even have the thing anymore,” you felt the need to add quickly. “I slipped it back into his jacket before he left! Wearing it for a week was more than enough. I don’t like to wear chokers much, anyway.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows, not expecting you to have done that. “Really?”

“I mean, it was pretty and I thought it would be rude not to wear it.” Your statement curled up at the end like a question. “It’s not like it’s a binding promise or anything.”

“Oh, okay!” Jisung said with more excitement than was wholly appropriate. “But you might want to tell him that you’re not into him as much as he’s clearly into you.”

“I know, I know, Ji,” you said with a sigh. “I will.”

“Good. I’m glad we got that cleared up,” he said, nodding proudly. “I was worried that you’d somehow decided to break our trust by not telling us you were actually dating him.”

“What?” The word sounded like it had been punched from your gut. “I would never— I- Why would you think that?”

“I didn’t want to think that, but he made it seem like things were more serious than you say they are. I know he falls hard for people, and I trust you, Y/N—I didn’t want to think the worst.” Jisung curled his legs under himself as he settled back into the sofa.

“And what about you?” you demanded of Changbin.

“Me?” Changbin asked, his eyes wide. “I didn’t let myself make assumptions until I’d talked to you.”

Your heart hurt a little at their faith in you, that they didn’t want to believe that you’d go against your agreement, especially with their best friend. “You- You really believed me more than Chan?”

“Eh, it wasn’t between the two of you—not exactly,” Changbin responded. “Since he does fall in love or whatever with surprising depth and speed, and you're definitely sensible and cautious, it was more likely that he was the one misinterpreting things.”

You didn’t know what to say, and so simply leaned forward to gently kiss your boyfriends each in turn, leaving them smiling.

“You know, Jisung,” you said after a minute, “you and Changbin still need to tell Chan that you’re also dating.”

The two young men looked at each other, and you could almost see the words passing between them:

Shit, I didn’t tell him. Did you?

No, I thought you did. Shit.

You giggled.

“Um, yeah you’re probably right.” Jisung tried his best not to look too guilty as he looked away from Changbin. “That’s going to be such a fun conversation.”

“Hey, it’ll be okay, babe,” Changbin reassured Jisung, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Yeah, I guess.” Jisung leaned his head against Changbin’s shoulder, and a quiet moment stretched between you.

“So, we’ll tell him we’re dating if you tell him that you’re dating both of us. Deal?” Changbin said more understandingly than you thought you deserved.

“Deal,” you said, smiling a sideways grin.

“Deal,” Jisung agreed.

“Okay, not to totally break the mood or anything, but I have to pee,” you stated, standing up. “I’ll be right back, babies.”

A moment after you left the room, Jisung curled closer to Changbin. He absolutely did not want things to change between the three of you. Of that much he was certain, especially not when you’d just affirmed an even closer relationship than before. He didn’t want Chan’s relationship or whatever it was with you coming between what you already had with himself and Changbin. Jisung whispered, “I just didn’t want him to take her from us. Am I a bad person for wanting that?”

Changbin took a deep breath. “No,” he replied, “I don’t think so. I was thinking the same thing.”

“What should we do, then?”

“I don’t think we should do anything, Ji,” Changbin said simply. “It’s their relationship.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Love, it’s their relationship and they should figure it out. In terms of us, it’s clear she’s not going anywhere.” His tone was firm, as if Changbin couldn’t—wouldn’t—consider an alternative.

Jisung nodded and turned his face into Changbin’s shoulder to plant a kiss there, holding his lips against his friend and lover’s body. Just then, you came back into the room and sat squarely in Changbin’s lap with your legs over Jisung.

The two young men adjusted their positions slightly to accommodate you, the three of you falling into each other with such ease that one would have thought you’d been dating for years. You sighed and relaxed into Changbin’s chest, Jisung pulling you closer across Changbin’s lap as the two of you now nuzzled your boyfriend. The smell of your soap still clung to Changbin’s skin, and, despite having only been awake for three hours, you felt yourself drifting towards sleep in the comfortable embrace of your boyfriends. Jisung’s hand gently rubbed circles into your hip.

“You know,” Jisung said after a while, “I stopped seeing other people back in December when you said were jealous and had deeper feelings than you’d previously thought.”

“Where’s this coming from, Ji?” you mumbled, shifting a bit so that you sat nearly between him and Changbin. “You don’t have to reassure me or defend yourself or something.”

“It’s not that—I just wanted to tell you that because once we got together, I was so comfortable and into you that I didn’t feel like I wanted or needed to see anybody else.” Jisung leaned forward and somehow managed to wedge himself between you and Changbin, successfully resting his face against your breasts—this was not uncommon.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm” was his only answer as he closed his eyes.

“Not that I’d been dating other people at the same time as you,” Changbin added, kissing your hair, “but I care about you just as much as I know Jisung does. And that’s a considerable amount, love.”

You smiled softly, hardly daring to believe that you had two such caring and devoted, not to mention sexy, boyfriends who also cared just as much about each other. It was more than you’d ever expected or dreamed. As you sat there in the blissful place between sleep and wakefulness, you were overcome with the depth of your feelings for Jisung and Changbin. It didn’t scare you, no. And for that, you were glad.

A twinge of remorse flitted through you at the knowledge that your feelings were not nearly as strong for Chan, but you didn’t know him as well. Even when you’d known and been seeing Jisung and Changbin for the same amount of time, your feelings had still been stronger than what you felt for Chan. Plus, there wasn’t the same sense of being pulled inexorably toward both Jisung and Changbin like you were magnets. You couldn’t escape it even if you’d wanted to—and you most certainly didn’t.

All you could do was bring your lips to Changbin’s and kiss him over and over, until Jisung sensed what was happening and sat up to pull you against him instead. Jisung’s lips were soft and warm, like the most silken caramel you could imagine, and you were soon fully awake and kissing passionately as Changbin’s hand smoothed the muscles up and down your back. Jisung’s little moans at being so thoroughly happy and comfortable were the sweetest thing you’d ever heard.

When you raked your fingers through his hair, he became utterly lost to your touch, whining and running his hands over as much of you as he could. Changbin’s hand had moved from Jisung’s shoulders to his thigh, slowly moving higher and higher; he wouldn’t stray any further, but it was enough to make Jisung wriggle. You continued threading your fingers through his hair as Changbin smoothed his thumb along your cheekbone and you kissed along Jisung’s jaw until you encountered the slightly calloused but soft skin of Changbin’s palm. Your lips simply slid from one curving line to another as you leaned into Changbin’s touch.

Limbs, breaths, kisses utterly intermingled and where one person ended and the others began was nearly indistinguishable as the soft caresses between the three of you continued. As wave after wave of tenderness washed over you, the intensity of emotion you felt threatened to make you cry. You knew that what you felt came very, very close to love.

↠↞

Seated at the small table by the window of your usual cafe and sipping on a latte, you waited for Chan to arrive. Snow flurries danced along the street, whipped about by a surprisingly insistent wind. It had been a week and a half since Jisung had confronted him about seeing you, and, while you’d texted and called each other, this was the first time you’d seen Chan. The bell above the door of the cafe tinkled as he came through the door, shaking snow from his hair. Chan’s ears and cheeks were bright red from the cold, making him look ten years younger and extremely cute.

You stood as he approached and squished his cheeks a little between your hands while kissing his nose… to warm him up, of course. Chan laughed, and pulled you into a one-armed hug as he began to shrug off his jacket before taking a seat.

“So, what’s up, darling?” he said, leaning forward on the table to face you.

“Well, I wanted to talk about us,” you said frankly, wishing you could muster more tact and failing.

“Oh, okay.” Chan looked only marginally surprised, and waited for you to continue.

“Jisung told me that he talked to you that one day we all baked cookies together,” you began. “Do you- Do you really feel that way?”

Chan was silent for a moment. “What way?”

“Like I’m… Like I’m your compass?”

“Yeah, I do.” His voice was absolutely serious.

“Oh, Chan,” you breathed, putting your face in your hands. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Y/N…” Chan said, not understanding and reaching across the table for you.

“Chan, I’m really not sure what to say,” you murmured, looking back up at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to feel that strongly for me so soon.”

Chan’s hand paused just inches from your hand and he slowly drew it back to his side before speaking. “Is it that you don’t feel the same?”

“I—“ You paused. “Sorry, this is surprisingly hard. Chan, it’s not that I don’t like you or am not interested. I’m just not at the same level of feeling as you, that’s all. I don’t want you to think that I’m ready to be yours forever or something.”

Chan balked slightly, your words clearly hitting just a little too close to home. He looked down at the table, his throat bobbing once as he swallowed. “I understand. Is this why you didn’t tell Jisung we’d gone on a couple dates? Because it wasn’t as serious for you?”

“Yes,” you said simply, knowing you were treading on dangerous ground.

“Ah. Well, we can go slowly, Y/N. It’s okay.” Chan’s tone was resolute, as if he wanted to simply make everything better by stating that it would be.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to somehow shackle you when you could be with someone who’s on your same level emot—“

“I’d much rather be with you, darling,” Chan interrupted with a soft smile.

“O-okay,” you nodded. You sat there for a moment, just staring at your hands as fiddled with your thumb.

“Shall we have some tiramisu, then?” Chan asked with a wink, trying his best to break the somber mood.

You let out a huff of air that could have been a laugh. “Sure, Chan, that sounds good.”

↠↞

Changbin sighed happily as he leaned back on his couch, a glass of wine in one hand and Jisung’s hand in the other. They’d been watching a television show earlier, but now just sat together, reminiscing. Now that they’d realized and admitted their feelings for each other, and were dating, they both saw the myriad ways in which their mutual attraction had manifested over the years, unbeknownst to them. Mostly unbeknownst to them.

Jisung sat facing Changbin on the couch, one leg thrown over his lap and the other tucked under himself, tracing the lines of his boyfriend’s body. When he reached Changbin’s ear, he took his time following the spiraling shape until he then moved to his jaw.

“Bin, whatcha thinking about?” Jisung said, tilting his head to the side as he traced the faint scar on Changbin’s chin.

“The first time I realized how I felt about you,” Changbin replied, smiling lazily.

“Was that the day by the lake? With the duck?”

“How did you know?”

“Well, you know,” Jisung purred, “I thought you looked cute as hell that day, too.”

“I- Really? I could’ve sworn you had absolutely no interest. None. I still can’t believe this is real.” Changbin’s tone was wondering.

“Yeah, I did. And yeah, this is real,” Jisung reassured him, kissing his earlobe and making Changbin shiver. “I’ve definitely liked you since then. So much, babe, you have no idea.”

Changbin turned his face to Jisung and caught the other young man’s lips with his own, smiling at the slightly sweet taste of him. Jisung swiped his tongue along the seam of Changbin’s mouth and he moaned as they came together, searching every hollow and plane of each other’s mouths. Kiss after kiss, some lingering and some heated. Jisung’s hands were in Changbin’s hair as their passion consumed them, while Changbin took care to hold Jisung like he was the most precious thing he’d ever known.

They broke the kiss, gasping slightly, and Jisung brought Changbin’s hand to his lips, kissing the space behind his thumb before turning his boyfriend’s hand over to kiss the inside of his wrist. Changbin’s mouth quirked up in what might have been a smirk before the other side joined its opposite to create a softly radiant smile that made his eyes sparkle.

Just as Jisung was leaning in to kiss Changbin again—and maybe more, if he had anything to say about it—the door to the apartment clicked open and Chan’s voice floated down the hall.

“Changbin? You home, man?”

“Aw, come on,” Changbin groaned, and tried to think of a nice, freezing cold bath.

Jisung quickly scooted away down the couch from Changbin, running a hand through his hair before taking a sip from his own glass of wine. “We should really tell him,” he murmured just as Chan entered the living room.

“Oh, hey Jisung,” he said, smiling happily at having his two best friends there.

“Hey, Chan.”

“So, what were you two up to—wine?” The latter part of the question was said with only a small amount of surprise. Chan enjoyed a nice glass of Pino Grigio every now and then.

“We were just watching TV and drinking a little,” Jisung answered.

“Hey, Chan,” Changbin started, “could we talk with you about something? It’s important.”

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

“Well, I have no idea how else to say this— Um, yeah. We know we’re all friends, so this should be okay and all… And we know you’re accepting and understanding.” Changbin sounded more nervous than he’d been in a long time, even to his own ears. “So, yeah. We’re dating. Jisung and I are dating.” Jisung nodded in affirmation. “And we’re both dating Y/N. We’re all dating each other, actually.”

Chan stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, okay. I see it. I’d wondered if there was something more going on back at the beginning of the month. So, you two are happy? The three of you are happy?” He tried his best not to sound accusatory, despite having no reason to be; he just wanted the best for these three people he cared about so much.

“We are,” Jisung said, beaming and gently rubbing Changbin’s knee to help soothe him. “And I know Y/N is, too.”

Chan just nodded again and said, “Well, I’m glad that you two have found even more happiness. And I’m glad that you can make Y/N happy, too. Oh, and don’t worry—this doesn’t affect 3racha.” He smiled. “Look, I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll see you both later, yeah?”

“See you!” Changbin and Jisung chorused, then went back to cuddling as soon as Chan left the room.

Chan opened the door to his bedroom and sighed. He was happy for his best friends, he really was. They had something together that he didn’t have with either of them—not in a romantic way, but just as friends. And… He sighed again, leaning against the now closed door. And, he was happy that you had both of them in your life so thoroughly.

It was just that, well, he felt a little pushed to the side. After all, he was friends with Jisung and Changbin, and he was seeing you—albeit casually—but he still didn’t feel like everything had shifted properly into place. Maybe there was something missing with you. Maybe 3racha just needed to get in the studio again…

↠↞

It was the beginning of April, and the pollen had started to get to you. You let your head thump softly onto the desk in front of you, your pen slipping from your fingers to fall onto the what was soon becoming the bane of your existence: your final poetry project. It was maddening, trying to find just the right words and scansion, not to mention metaphors and allusions. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t eaten since noon, but your body felt like a withered corn husk. And, your mind would burst, if you weren’t careful; you couldn’t afford to let that happen, not three-quarters of the way through your last semester.

On the desk beside you, your phone buzzed and you checked it to see a text from Chan:

channie: hey darling <3 are we still on for tonight?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

You’d almost forgotten about your date with Chan, and now that he’d so kindly reminded you… Well, it would be rude to cancel now but you just didn’t have the energy.

You didn’t have the energy to be with Chan more often than not these days. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him—you were just busy. Really fucking busy. He was fun to kiss and cuddle and be intimate with, but you didn’t have the mental fortitude to actively be interested.

It was difficult to describe… You were certainly physically attracted to Chan, and found him engaging and fun to be around. But, there was something missing. Perhaps you’d been thrust into a time-loop where Chan was concerned—that would explain the way every single one of your dates felt the same these days. You didn’t feel like your, for lack of a better word, relationship was going anywhere, like your emotions and the time you spent together were static.

He was so deeply interested in and attracted to you that you sometimes wondered if you actually felt anything for him and if all of this was simply you reflecting his own desire back at him. But then you’d come to your senses and remember how much seeing his little dimple appear would make you grin and giggle to no end.

And now, you should really respond to Chan.

y/n: hey channie. um, i’m absolutely exhausted from this poetry project… could we maybe not do anything tonight? channie: sure baby! want me to just bring over some food and we can do or not do whatever you like! y/n: i- chan, i’m sorry. i meant: can we not get together tonight. i literally don't have the energy to deal with other people channie: aww sorry you’re feeling like that. sure, darling, whatever you need. maybe we can see each other tomorrow! y/n: wow your optimism knows no bounds…. [UNSENT]

Now you were even more tired and just wanted to curl up under the covers and never come out. That would solve all your problems, right? So, with the blanket snugly pulled over your head, you drifted off to sleep.

An hour later your phone buzzed again, waking you up, but it was Jisung this time. You weren’t quite sure how he knew you needed comforting, but he did and said he’d be over soon. You rolled over at the feeling of another body depressing the mattress, and let Jisung enfold you in his arms.

The next day, Chan did come over to find you sitting on your couch with a mug of tea in one hand and a scone in the other. (Jisung was going through a bit of a baking phase, and had insisted that you try one of his cranberry and orange scones). You hadn’t gotten out of bed until an hour before Chan was due to arrive, and your hair was still piled on top of your head in a messy topknot. Chan, on the other hand, looked far too awake and put-together, even in just jeans and a sweatshirt, for a Saturday morning.

“I brought us lunch,” he said, setting a bag down on the coffee table and flopping down beside you. “I hope you’re in the mood for sandwiches, because that’s all I had time to make.”

“It’s fine, Chan. I’ve got more scones than I know what to do with. Did Ji give you any?”

“No,” Chan said, shaking his head, “I think he must have given them all to you and Changbin. That little traitor.”

You stood briefly to turn in place and curl your feet back under you on the couch, much like a cat would, then took a sip of tea. Your heart pounded slightly faster than you would have liked. “I’m sure you’ll get scones at some point.”

“I’d better…” Chan began pulling four sandwiches from his bag, clearly having thought that Jisung and Changbin would stop by.

“You didn’t have to bring all of those,” you said, frowning. “They’re not coming over.”

“Hmm? Oh, no. I brought two for me and two for you—they’re not that big, so I’m almost certain that you’ll want two.”

“Pffftt, really?” you asked incredulously, then took a closer look at the food. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

The two of you sat and stared at the sandwiches for a moment, Chan clearly wanting to break into them, while you couldn’t care less. You stared out your window at the new growth on the trees.

“Don’t you want to eat?” Chan finally asked.

“Eh, not really. Like I said: scone.”

Chan seemed to think for a moment, then said, “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“Um, well… Damn it.” You sighed gustily, and set down your mug before turning to Chan on the couch. “Chan, I have no idea how else to say this…”

“It’s okay, I’ll listen, darling.”

You pursed your lips, biting your bottom lip. “Chan, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t try to feel things I don’t. I can’t try to sustain a relationship that feels like an obligation. I hate feeling like that because you don’t deserve to be with someone who can’t put one hundred percent into their relationship with you.” Chan’s face fell. “Things are just so busy for me right now, what with graduation coming in less than two months, all these projects and papers—everything. Plus, there’s Jisung and Changbin.

“I do like you Chan, and I do like spending time with you. And you’re wonderful in bed, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. I’ve just— If I’m going to be with you, too, then I want to devote the proper time to building that relationship, instead of catching bits and pieces when there’s time. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” Chan admitted resignedly. “I respect your feelings and choices, if you want to stop seeing each other. I’m sorry you feel like us being together has become an obligation. That must not feel good, yeah?” You shook your head, grateful for how understanding he was being. “If you only want to see each other randomly or just have it be like friends-with-benefits—whatever’s fine with me. I’d just love to keep seeing you somehow.”

You thought for a moment, sipping on your tea again. Not having any expectations for your relationship with Chan would certainly make things easier…

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed. “Maybe we can just see each other when we have time and if we decide to make-out or go to bed or whatever, then okay? More like just enjoying each other’s company rather than trying to date?” You looked to Chan, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you the entire conversation. “How does that sound?”

“Anything you want, Y/N. Anything.” Chan gave you a sad little smile, then stood. “I’ll just leave the sandwiches and everything here. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, anyway. I- I just need to go be by myself, if that’s okay. Bye, Y/N.” With that, Chan hurried from your apartment, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head as he did so.

You sighed to yourself once the door clicked shut, and got up to make yourself another cup of tea. By the time the water had boiled and you were back on the couch, your thoughts had ordered themselves.

Sure, Chan thought of you as his compass, the thing—well, person—guiding him and keeping him on track; he thought of you as an anchor. But you had something similar. You had a far stronger compass forged from two beings who, no matter how far you strayed, would always point you toward each other, toward home. Jisung and Changbin were your true north.

#inkidz #stayhavennet #stayracha #0325net #ultkpop #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #bang chan #seo changbin #han jisung #3racha #.moonlight

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cloudywriter · 3 years

Text

camp staghorn - 3

alright, i had hoped for chapter 3 to be longer but then i decided to split it up for the sake of the flow. as i’ve been writing too things have naturally changed so i didn’t intend for this whole chapter to be in rowan’s view so now my summary isn’t exactly an excerpt but hope that’s okay. anyway enjoy!

masterlist, main masterlist, AO3

~~~

Rowan was quickly realizing the grave error he had made in aggravating this girl. He thought she might throw a bit of a fit after getting flour dumped on her head in front of the whole camp but she took it upon herself to retaliate that very day.

That was how Rowan ended up with his campers 30 minutes late to the bonfire. His shoes were soaked through with muddy creek water and sloshed with every step he took. Even his socks were drenched and it was the worst feeling in the world.

He had tried to jump up on the line a few times and let gravity pull the dinners back towards them but it didn’t seem to weigh enough. Thus, Rowan had to sacrifice his shoes in order to untie the bag directly from the zipline where it rested above the stream.

His campers were both amused by the feud but also put out by having to wait for their dinners and be late to the bonfire. Rowan just trudged along, silently fuming, following the orange flames that flickered through the trees in the distance. His shoes making a disgusting squish with every step he took.

When Rowan and his campers finally appeared, obviously late, Aelin turned around from her spot on a makeshift log bench and gave him a dazzling smile, clearly proud of her work. It took Rowan a bit by surprise with the light from the fire reflecting back in her blue eyes and illuminating her face, she looked beautiful. He had thought so even the day before but then she opened her big mouth and blatantly cheated during the mud race and her angelic appeal took on a different form.

Rowan just huffed and gave her a withering glare before perching himself on another log facing the opposite way. Maybe if she wasn’t such a piece of work they could’ve gotten along fine enough and been civil.

It was then that Fenrys came and plopped himself right beside Rowan. “Hey, man,” he greeted, energetic as usual despite the darkening sky. Fenrys was always sunshine come to life, happy but insufferable, unable to take anything seriously. Rowan was a little more tense in nature, a loner by heart, he only needed someone to make him come to life.

“Hey,” Rowan grunted. “What happened?” Fenrys inquired.

“Aelin happened,” he responded with a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Aelin? She’s still bothering you?”

“Yeah, she fucking tied our dinners to one of the ziplines and left a note covered in hearts.”

Fenrys was laughing his ass off, of course, always willing to capitalize off of Rowan’s misery. He tried to give Rowan a pat on the back but he shoved his hand away.

“C’mon man, you can’t let her win like this. Get her back,” Fenrys pressed.

Up until this point, Rowan hadn’t considered rectifying her actions. He was too caught up in the state of his shoes and getting his campers back to the bonfire to even think past his annoyance.

“Okay, I got a plan for you. You go to her camp’s cabin and loosen all their facets so when they turn on the sinks they fly off and water sprays everywhere.”

It was brilliant thinking Rowan had to admit but his plan had a few holes that Rowan voiced. “When am I supposed to do that? I don’t even know her cabin number.”

“Those are easy fixes, dude. Go to the map outside the dining hall, all the cabins are labeled with which camp numbers are where and you know she’s number 6,” Fenrys explained.

Rowan nodded along, surprised Fenrys was more observant than he was in this instance. “And you should go now. I’ll keep track of her and if she ever starts wondering over your way I’ll make a distraction,” Fenrys continued.

“What are you going to do that isn’t outright suspicious?” Fenrys wasn’t exactly subtle.

Fenrys shrugged, “I’ll just flirt with her. I mean, she’s hot anyway I was going to try to get her number one way or another. Plus, I’m practically irresistible.” Rowan wasn’t sure why he felt slightly irked by Fenrys’s strategy but he shoved the brief feeling aside.

“Get a move on before it’s too late,” Fenrys persisted, getting up to keep an eye on Aelin as he promised. Rowan did as told and slipped into the shadows, ready to execute his plan.

By the time Rowan made it outside cabin 3B it had been at least 15 minutes, he was a little embarrassed to admit he got a bit lost on the dimly lit forest trail. He opened the main door and screen door with a creak, internally cringing as he did so, though no one was around.

The cabin was much tidier than Rowan’s own. The girls' belongings were organized and the beds were neatly made. Rowan quickly located the bathroom and flipped on the lights, hoping that no suspicion would be drawn.

The bathroom counter had three sinks and various toiletries scattered around the counter. Rowan spotted a collection of hair and skin products and just knew they belonged to Aelin, he didn’t think any 12-year-old girls were using those.

He left the toiletries alone though, that wasn’t his mission. He had only loosened one of the facets when he heard muffled voices outside the cabin.

Rowan quickly shut off the lights and darted behind one of the shower curtains that shielded three showers in the back of the bathroom. The cabin’s door squeaked open and Rowan could make out Fenrys’s voice from the outside, pleading with Aelin.

“Aelin, c’mon, we could go back to my cabin for some fun, you know.” Rowan could sense the underlying panic in his teasing tone.

“Oh, go away you horn dog and take a hint,” he could hear the eye roll in Aelin’s voice too.

Footsteps sounded, striding towards the bathroom and Rowan tried to quiet his breathing. His heart was beating out of his chest, he really did not want to be found in the girls’ cabin. As innocent as what he was doing was it certainly looked suspicious. The lights flipped on and Rowan cringed, silently praying to whatever would listen.

Aelin hummed a little and a facet turned on. Judging by the lack of screams at least it wasn’t the sink Rowan had just tampered with. He dared a peek through the sliver of space between the curtain and the shower’s tile wall. Aelin was at a sink, washing her hands that seemed to be covered with chocolate and marshmallow residue, looks like he was missing s’mores.

Just as quickly as Aelin appeared, she left. Rowan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart finally calming in his chest. He was just so goddamn lucky she hadn’t started taking a shower or something, Rowan would’ve definitely combusted on the spot.

Rowan slipped out from behind the curtain after a few minutes of waiting, ensuring that the coast was truly clear. He quickly loosened the remaining facets and hurried back to the bonfire before any suspicion could arise.

+++

Rowan woke his camp early the next morning despite their protests. He played it off as wanting the premium breakfast selections before everyone else took them but truly he didn’t want to miss Aelin’s reaction to his little jest.

He expected it would happen in the morning when everyone was getting up and ready to start the day and he wanted front row seats.

As Rowan entered the dining hall he was immediately met with his failure of a lookout, Fenrys.

“I’m sorry, I swear, dude, I pulled out all the charm and she still just kept walking, complaining about her hands being sticky,” Fenrys tried to desperately explain. Rowan just shook his head and brushed it off, reassuring Fenrys there was no harm done. However, if Aelin had found him he probably would’ve had Fenrys’s head by now.

Rowan was disappointed by Aelin and her camp’s absence throughout breakfast but he realized it was still early and at least three camps were yet to appear. He tapped his fingers on the table and impatiently waited, thrumming with anticipation.

At last, he sighed and made his way outside to dispose of his food in the big trash can. As he was making the short trip back into the dining hall incessant stomping from behind had him turning around and he smiled like the Chesire Cat.

He could tell by her face that Aelin was positively seething. She was still dressed in her pajamas, a large t-shirt dwarfing her frame but it was soaked from her collar bones down. The ends of her hair were a deep golden blonde, wet and dripping with sink water.

She stopped face to face with him and shoved the detached facet into his chest with a force that should not have been humanly possible. Rowan almost stumbled back a step but kept with his facade, outwardly admiring his handy work.

“Fix it, you dick,” she hissed in his face, lacing her arms across her chest.

“What seems to be the problem, princess?”

“Oh, don’t play stupid right now and come screw it back on or I will drag you there by your ear.”

Rowan was weirdly turned on. With her face so close to his and the tension in the air was as taut as a freshly tuned guitar string, he was struggling to breathe properly. Aelin stirred him like no other, she was a walking wildfire, burning bright and utterly uncontained.

Rowan terminated his inner monologue and gestured for her to lead the way. Aelin huffed, spinning on her heel and marching the path back to her cabin.

Rowan actually had to work to keep pace with this girl and he was an athlete, constantly practicing or on a field for one sport or another. Aelin breezed through the forest trail never stumbling on rocks or stray roots even with her heavy steps that communicated her frustration clearly.

When they reached the cabin door, Aelin entered and let the door fall behind her despite knowing Rowan was only a couple of steps back. He huffed and pushed open the door once more. The cabin was empty, likely Aelin had sent the girls to get breakfast while she dealt with Rowan’s antics.

Aelin stood expectantly in the bathroom.

“Do you need to watch?” Rowan questioned.

“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t put it back on and twist the handles off while you’re at it,” Aelin explained coldly, her arms still crossed, her stance daring him to challenge her.

Rowan only gave her a bitter scoff and effortlessly screwed the facet back into place. “Look at that, good as new, now was that so hard?” He definitely enjoyed taunting her.

“Save it smartass, now I might not even get breakfast.”

Aelin stomped back to the countertop and squirted some toothpaste onto her brush, reaching out to turn on another sink. Rowan’s eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen.

“Wait, Ae-”

It was too late. The damage was done and once again Aelin was being showered as water sprayed through the crack in the loosened pipes.

“ROWAN!” She screeched but Rowan was already reaching over and twisting the handle back so the water would stop running.

“What the fuck! You did it to all of them!” Aelin’s face was flushed with anger and her eyes were blazing.

“I tried to warn you!” Rowan attempted to defend himself but Aelin didn’t look convinced. Rowan snatched a white towel off of the drying rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. That’s when Rowan recognized what he was doing, swaddling the soaked girl in a towel, breaching a new territory altogether. They made eye contact. Aelin’s face was relaxed and she regarded him with a soft, perplexed expression.

Rowan removed his hands from where they were holding the towel together and cleared his throat. “You probably want to change,” he suggested lamely.

“Uh, yeah.” With that, Aelin exited the bathroom and dug through her bag for a change of clothes while Rowan tightened the remaining sinks awkwardly, putting his prank to a rest.

Once Rowan had finished he slipped out of Aelin’s cabin while she continued to get ready. When he arrived back at the dining hall he noticed breakfast was quickly coming to a close and a kernel of guilt panged through him. His goal hadn’t been to starve her by forcing her to miss breakfast.

Rowan grabbed an apple and recognized a girl with long, deep brown hair and brown eyes sitting at a nearby table, a girl Rowan often saw accompanying Aelin. He approached her and cleared his throat to capture her attention, she shifted in her seat to face the noise.

“Can you, uh, give this to Aelin when she comes?” He asked, holding out the red apple.

“Yeah, sure,” the girl said kindly, taking the apple from his hand.

With that, Rowan went back outside to find wherever his campers had journeyed off to in their free time. Along with him followed an abundance of contradicting feelings.

~~~

i gave them a lil moment - aelin will stab him in the back again tho don’t worry.

send prompts!

taglist: @live-the-fangirl-life // @rowaelinismyotp // @gosuckadickghostman // @camilamartinezdunne //

#rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin au #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galanthynius #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #camp staghorn #fenrys moonbeam #elide lochan

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yourheartonfire · 4 years

Text

The highest position in the academy of warlocks and wizardry is not the headmaster, nor is it the wise sage. You are the librarian, tasked with protecting and regulating the vast and powerful knowledge contained in the many grimoires at your disposal. Describe how you claim a late fee on “The Tome of Curses and Blessings” one of the most dangerous and versatile magics. - Writing Prompt courtesy of @7246heb72hfft783 and @writing-prompt-s

Warg the Terrible slammed his spellbook shut and laughed maniacally as lightning split the reddened sky. Below his rocky perch, the armies of his enemies dashed themselves to pieces on each others' weapons as all descended into the chaos of his spell. Chaos from he would emerge the sole survivor, the victor, the ruler! He threw back his head to laugh again -

"Ahem," came a dry, small voice directly behind him.

Warg nearly fell off the promontory, so quickly did he spin around.

Standing behind him was a plump little person in glasses and colorful business casual, tattoos peeping out from the cuffs of their shirt.

"Forgive the intrusion," they said, in tones of cool disdain. "But I represent the Archives of the Whispered Colleges. And you, sir, have something that does not belong to you."

Lightning flashed and the cries of the soldiers below briefly rose to a scream.

"Librarian," Warg breathed out. His opponent inclined their head in acknowledgement. There was no spellbook in their hands, but Warg had no doubt they could summon one in a flash. "I... don't know what you're talking about," he said, resisting the urge to tug nervously at the jeweled and embellished collar of his majestic robes. "This must be some administrative mistake."

The Librarian pulled a thin pocket notebook from the air, flipped pointedly to a page. Warg tensed. "Did you not, upon the third day of the harvest moon waxing gibeous, present yourself at the reference desk with a student ID in the name of..." they fixed Warg with a piercing glare - "'Brock Stonemuscles'?"

Warg drew himself up. "That's a real ID. I've been taking a night class. In Elocution."

"And did you not then task the desk attendent to fetch you "The Tome of Blessings and Curses," one of the most potent and restricted books in the entire school?" the little nerd continued, in a voice that was quiet yet cut through the night like steel.

"You can't get me for that!" Warg pointed a shaking finger at the Librarian, hugging his spellbook closer to his chest with his other arm. "Any designated agent of the Library may choose to make an exception and release a book to a student in good standing. I checked out the book fair and square!"

"Yes." The Librarian narrowed their eyes. "The student aide who assisted you is being treated and may yet make a full recovery. The Library code has been officially updated to reflect that mindwipes, memory modifications, and other such tampering with staff will invalidate transactions. But you did find a loophole, Brock, and I haven't been able to touch you. Until today." They bared their teeth in a ferocious grin. Arcane energy crackled green around them. "Because today that book is overdue. And I am here to collect."

Warg swung the Tome up to a defensive position, gripping it with trembling hands. "You cannot defeat me, Librarian!" he shrieked. "Not when I hold such potent power in my hands!"

The Librarian held out their hand. "That will eleven dollars and twenty-eight cents."

"You'll never take - what?" Warg pulled up short mid-defiant speech.

"Eleven dollars and twenty-eight cents," the Librarian repeated, eyeing Warg over their spectacles.

"Oh. Ha ha. Eleven dollars. Ha ha ha ha." Warg fumbled for his wallet. Below, he could hear the screams of the dying turning into the grunts of the confused. He just needed to get his concentration back on the battle for another few minutes, just long enough to reinforce the spell a few final times. "Hang on, and I'll have you on your way... Um. I don't carry much cash. I've got a ten..." He pressed the bill into the Librarian's hand, kept digging. "And... here, a Starbucks gift card. It's got at least a couple bucks. They'll give you cash when it gets that low!"

"I would prefer exact change," the Librarian said forebodingly.

"Right. Okay." Warg hiked up his robe and dug into his pants pockets. Nickels, a handful of pennies, and yes - a quarter!

"Here! Take it!" Warg shoved the coins at the Librarian, who carefully picked over them. Warg shot a look over his shoulder. Yes, the armies of his enemies were definitely looking less possessed by their inner demons and more possessed by the need to find out what was going on. "If that's it? I'm sure you're very busy."

The Librarian solemnly handed back Warg a handful of coins. "Your late fee is paid, Brock Stonemuscles," they said gravely. "Now only one thing remains. Hand over the book."

"Oh come on!" Warg yelled. "I'm using it!"

The Librarian lowered their eyebrows. Flames crackled in their eyes and their voice seemed to reverberate straight through Warg's skull. "You cannot... renew a loan... when the book... is overdue!"

Warg howled and thrust "The Tome of Blessings and Curses" up to the broken sky. The shockwave of sheer magical power released dropped every soldier on the field below to their knees, screaming in madness. Even the Librarian staggered back a few feet.

"You cannot defeat me, Librarian!" he screamed as lightning rioted in the heavens above and fell winds whipped the dust around them both. "Your powers are for naught when I hold the most powerful weapon in your arsenal! No one shall defeat Warg the Terrible!"

The Librarian, covering their face with crossed arms, yelled something into howling maelstrom of magic. Warg, despite himself, leaned a little closer. "What?!" he yelled.

The Librarian looked up at Warg. Raised a fist. The three pennies he'd given them bristled between their knuckles. "I said," the Librarian hissed into a sudden silence, "that's not how books work, dummy."

The Librarian punched their hand up. Lightning crackled to their fist and then leapt to the copper coated pennies back in Warg's pocket. Warg screamed as electricity and magic coursed through him -

And then he was gone. His empty robe dropped to the ground, "The Tome of Blessings and Curses" thumping lightly down on top of it. Thunder rumbled one final time, and a gentle rain began to fall on the men and women slowly picking themselves up down below, looking around in confusion.

The Librarian bustled over in all haste to pluck the book from the ground, tucking it safely beneath their blazer away from the damp. "I don't have to be holding the book when I know what's inside it," they said to the remains of Warg, patting the book as if to sooth it.

A flicker of rain and the Librarian was gone with their prize, leaving only a crumpled 10 dollar bill and a few coins left on the ground to mark their presence.

They kept the Starbucks gift card.

#my fiction #fantasy #wizards!#writing prompt s #7246heb72hfft783 #villains and heroes #lightning rioted in the heavens #500 #300 #100

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rebellconquerer · 3 years

Note

48, bucky/sarah

#48: “You make me want things I can’t have.”

“Boys, if one of you trips and dies I am not cleaning it up!” Sarah yells, glaring at her children as they chase James across the yard.

It had been a scorcher of a day, 103 degrees in the shade, and she had gotten tired of the pathetic little looks Cassie was giving her every time he complained about the heat, so she had brought out the swimsuits and the ancient slip and slide that lived in their attic. It had been a hit with her children.

If she is also appreciating the sight of James running around with them in swim trunks and a wet, now translucent, white t-shirt well… that’s between her and God.

With the summer sun finally about to set, Sarah looks back on a day well spent as she lounges in the shade. AJ lets out another whoop and she looks over to see her oldest hanging off James’s neck, probably halfway to strangling him.

“AJ! If you kill him, who will let you climb them?” she yells as James rather dramatically falls to his knees.

“Uncle Sam!” AJ responds as his legs swing around James’s hip and he tries to push himself almost up onto his shoulder. James is laughing rather loudly, a sound that she knows is rare enough, so she figures he’s probably okay with death by child.

“Try again, little urchin. You got bony everything.” Sam says from where he’s laying close enough to the spray of cool water, shades still on his face, as he holds the little battery-powered fan to his chest.

She rolls her eyes, letting her head drop back against the lawn chair, appreciating the sounds of her children happy and healthy and playful. She should probably get up and start packing up the toys and remnants of lunch before they lose the last bit of evening light, but she finds she’s a little too comfortable for that.

“How are they still going after a full day of running around?” Sam mutters bitterly.

“Super-serum, right? That’s how you explained it to me,” Sarah chuckles.

“Yeah, but what’s their excuse?” Sam says pointing at her children.

“Summer break has a way of making them power through everything.” She shrugs.

Sam huffs and is silent for a minute before she hears the rustle of his clothes as he stands and heads back to the porch.

“Where you going?”

“Evening calls for music. You know, it’s supposed to soothe the savage beast or something.” he winks at her, gesturing over his shoulder.

A moment later she hears the intro chords to an old Sam Cooke song. God, her brother could be so predictable sometimes.

“How about something from this decade?!” James calls out, light and cheeky. She can’t help opening her eyes to watch as he chases AJ through the sprinklers, holding Cass under his arm as he does.

The grin that splits her face is almost painful. She could not have imagined this scene a year ago, hell even six months ago. She tries not to let it get to her too much, how good James looks, happy and playful, wrapped around her babies. But it is hard. Her heart squeezes so hard in her chest it feels like it’s pushing the air from her lungs.

If you ever change your mind

About leaving me behind

“You really wanna be throwing stones in your ancient ass glass house?” Sam asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Uncle Sam said a bad word!” AJ shrieks as James finally manages to grab him, all of them falling down in a tangle of limbs and bony knees.

“Yes, he did!” James pants out, finally not moving.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot Bucky. And you’re about to be eaten by mosquitoes. See what your damn super serum can do against Louisiana’s finest.” Sam grumbles good-naturedly, starting to pack up the pieces of bread, cheese and meats that did not make into the earlier sandwiches.

The mention of mosquitoes seems to finally kick start her children again.

I know I laughed when you left

But now I know I only hurt myself.

“Oh jeez. Mosquitoes suck. Race you back inside!” AJ yells at Cass as he takes off towards the back door.

“Alexander Simpson Jr. I know you must have lost your ever-loving mind to be running through my house.” She says sharply before they are even at the porch steps. That brings AJ to a slow trot, sheepish smile on his face.

“No, mom,” he mutters, moving past her. “I’m just going to go bathe,” he finishes demurely.

She hums unconvinced as they grab their towels and head inside to the sound of Sam failing to hide his snicker.

“I’ll go make sure they don’t drip too badly up the stairs,” he says lightly, rubbing his hand over AJ’s head.

I’ll give you jewellery and money too

That ain't all, all I’ll do for you.

She watches them go then looks out at her yard, where James is still lying where he fell, a small smile curling his lips. She finds herself going to him, unable to resist the picture he makes, like a moth to a flame. His eyes are closed when she gets to him and she can’t help the delicate smile she feels curving her own lips. She pokes his side with her barefoot.

“You alive soldier?”

“I think this is it for me Ms Sarah, tell ‘em I was brave at the end,” he mutters, old Brooklyn accent thick as he wraps a hand lightly around her ankle, preventing her from poking him again.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Up and at ‘em before we really do get eaten by the mosquitoes. As super as your serum may be, you are still a white boy at the end of Louisiana. They will eat you alive.” A smile splits his face a moment before his eyes pop open, the blue almost grey in the fading evening light.

He gets to his feet quickly, but as she turns to move away, he grabs her waist, spinning her into him and swaying them gently to the familiar rhythm. It startles a laugh from her, light and airy.

“You’re in a mood,” she whispers as he takes her hand, holding it to his chest as they move.

“You know I’ll always be your slave, till I’m buried, buried in my grave-” he sings along with the song.

She settles easily into his arms, trying to ignore how right and good it feels to be this close to him. They’ve only been doing this, whatever it is, for a few weeks and it already feels like she can’t remember a time before she could look over and see the soft curve of his mouth slide into a gentle smile as he stares back at her.

It’s dangerous how quickly the feelings she has for him have gotten heavy and comfortable, settling deep in her chest.

‘You make me want things I can’t have,’ is what she thinks as they continue to sway softly. The words are on the tip of her tongue and she can’t help but wonder what his response to them would be. She looks up at him, deciding to be brave. Deciding to say the words to him.

She takes a deep breath. “You ma-”

“God! I leave you out here for 2 minutes and you two are all over each other. Seriously, I’m gonna turn the hose on you.” Sam grumbles.

Sarah can feel the rumble of James’s laugh in her own chest with how close she is wrapped up in him.

“Don’t be jealous, Sam. You can dance with me too!” James says, stepping away from her and ending their moment.

“Ain’t no one want your pasty ass, Barnes,” Sam laughs.

“See this is your problem, Samuel. Always with the insults.” James responds.

She watches him walk towards Sam, the two of them trading insults like children and breathes through the weight of the emotion on her chest. She lets the moment pass as she follows them inside, Sam Cooke still crooning out the end of this song.

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it all home to me

#bucky x sarah #sarahbucky #bucky x sarah fic #bucky/sarah #fleur de louve #asks #rebellwrites #sarah wilson #sam wilson #bucky barnes #drabble #prompts #crossposted to ao3

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illyrian-lover-flower · 3 years

Text

Crow of hope

Hey @duneska I want to wish you a Happy and full of delight filled Birthday, you truly deserve it 😊.

You have become a wonderful friend over the little time I knew you and you just brightened up my whole day with even the littlest message. The conversations we had were always so bright and funny to me, and I just bonded with you over similarities I always believed no one would get.

But I am so glad I was wrong and I was able to form this friendship with you, you were after all one of the persons who brightened up my tumblr experience the most.

And like I said, you brightened up my day with even the littlest message.

I hope I could also brighten your day a bit and wish you a lot of fun with this piece I’ve written.

It might not be your taste as it is rather angsty at the beginning, but I’ll promise there is a lot of fluff making up for it. Something I also want to apologise in advance for is that it turned out soo long, but when I tried to shorten it - I just wasn’t happy with it. So buckle up and enjoy this fic with a well deserved piece of cake 😊

However, I have brabbled enough - enjoy your Birthday present and your B-day😊

Words: ~8.5k

„Alright, put the daffodils right there – yes, to the Dahlias.” Commanded Elain in a soft voice as fae of all kinds bustled around the grand hall – her voice a drowned-out whisper in all the other murmurs which echoed off the sleek white walls. Bustling skirts, hurried steps, exhausted breaths, and small conversations all around her lithe body, while everyone -female, male, old and young – worked together to make their High Lady proud.

No one knew that it wasn’t their priced High Lady who organized all this; the flowers, the decoration, the cluttery – it was all chosen by Elain, though the main idea really came from Feyre and perhaps that was all that mattered, but right now there was no time to frown at that.

Tables were still in the need to be placed by the walls, so everyone could dance to their hearts content in the middle of the great hall with tapered ceilings, the last bits of food needed preparation and mostly had the decoration to be finished -the colours a special order from Feyre herself when she had approached Elain two weeks ago. Telling her sister in a rushed afternoon, which the seer spent working in her greenhouse, that she would love to have an garland of flowers – rowed in the colours of the rainbow – stretching all over the room.

Considering the fact that the hall was at least thrice the size of the river Estates living room and mid-January – it was a miracle that there were even that many flowers available in Velaris. Many florists had given their last flowers to the charity event of the High Lady, once Elain’s begging voice whispered through their ears, having to close for the next couple of days as they had no other arrangements to put on display, but no one of the shop owners seemed to care.

And honestly, Elain didn’t either -having put the blooming part of her spacious greenhouse to good use – as the last flowers were braided into a river of poinsettias, orange Dahlias, daffodils, Jasmines, light blue Delphiniums and many, many more. If the seer was truly truthful, were it a bit too varying shades of colours to her, as they nearly seemed to jump into one’s eye, but who was she to care. Feyre was the artist who wished to paint this dull hall into a sea of happiness and surely knew what she was doing – hopefully.

Thought Elain while her delicate hands smoothed over the sea of flowers, a coughing fit crawling from her throat the moment all those different smells hit her flaring nose thrills – giving her already a headache – while she ordered for the garland to be pulled up.

“It’s just … magnificent.” Breathed Feyre next to Elain, a swirling cloud of dark chiffon skirts swaying to her feet, as she watched how the rainbow expanded over their heads in a bow, like a real rainbow. “It sure is.” Coughed Elain, while she tried to hide her coughing fit and tearing eyes behind the back of her hand – this was just too much for her nose!

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay till the party starts? You know, my students keep nagging me to bring my pretty sister back to the art lessons.” Mocked her carefree voice the tearing seer, who just shook her head – to more she wasn’t able anyway as Feyre already rushed off to Rhysand, who strode into the grand hall as if it was a catwalk, together with Nyx on his hip. Smiling sadly to herself did the seer shake her head and avoided to gaze at the happy family, safe, together and alive – unlike many other families who had fallen victim to the war.

The cold luring song of death pulling all those warriors and innocent fae away from their loved ones. This evening was for those loved ones, who stayed in the charts and rubble of a past life. This evening was supposed to be giving them hope – hope of a healed life as they were to laugh to their hearts content again. And Elain should have been happy for Feyre and Rhys – is happy for them – but somehow this was never all she felt, somehow there was this pinch. Twisting and stabbing her guts whenever she thought of all of the happiness, the freedom – all which she denied herself and did not dare to believe in anymore, as it was taken from her. Her freedom – her choice. Given to a male she nearly did not change a word with and did not even whish to have a bond with as her happiness vanished in the puff of a stary night as a ravenous voice declared to her: ‘It was a mistake.’

Never would she forget those words. Never would she ever be able to hear them from him again -whispered, yelled, breathed, or just told in a voice as cold as a grave – as no matter how, they would always be her end. Always send her heart bleeding in a flood of scarlet red while her eyes cried the river of a thousand seas binding together.

But it was no use- mourning after someone she was not supposed to be with. After all immortality awaited her and right now were the things on her mind far more important than a male – no matter how charming, generous, kind, patient and good looking he was. Elain tried to shake her head at those silly thoughts, her bleeding-heart wandering in a mine of salt with them, as her golden locks flew around her like a spinning skirt of the finest silk twirling under the glimmering lights of a chandelier. Sparkling and sprinkling as if a thousand stars lived in those heavy strands of hair. But those stars would not shine, would not rise as she hurried with silent steps away from the last preparations.

Past a happily laughing Rhys and Feyre as they listened to Nyx blabbering and let her pass without a second glance into the dull hallway.

‘She forgot!’

‘Of course, she forgot!’

Raged her mind while she waltzed over the marble in a barrel of sky blue chiffon skirts; ‘Why would she remember?’ , asked her heart her, this traitorous head of hers silently answering her ‘She has many things swirling in her head right now, she just forgot this year – there are millennia’s to come, don’t be too hard on her.’

Lie! Screamed her shattered heart, as tears dreaded to fall from her doe eyes, waiting like brave sailors at a plank end for the final push of the captain, while her delicate hands gathered the soft material of a dainty blue chiffon. But this last push never came.

The words in her head and memory those of a salt dipped dagger, but she did not cry, did not bend as her cruel heart sang to her, that her sister had not only forgotten this years Birthday, but the one of last year and the one before that and even before that.

Feyre forgot Elain’s birthday for the fourth time in a row and if things were going to continue like they were now, her younger sister would surely wonder in a century, if Elain was truly born or just popped out of a seed on some nameless day. Though Nesta was not of much difference, her number of rows only a three, while her pretendence of knowing her beloved gardener sister hurt just as much as Feyres.

Both seeming to know what was best for her.

Both seeming to know that a rainbow would wait to be spotted in her life – funny thing was just, that instead of letting her watch out for the numerous colours painted in her fate, did those two stand in front of her. Clouding her vision and senses with their good believed thoughts as they were ready to fight for this miraculous happiness of hers with a shield, dagger and sword, and bow and arrow. Never letting anyone past them, as they watched out for her, believing that this suffocating grip they had on her heart was something non-existent.

But they didn’t know that she felt about them this way, after all – Elain never really spoke a word of discomfort to them, never truly. All that spoke for her was her body – lithe a pale swaying from time to time under the glowing sun, whilst her last meal had been days ago. A peaceful sleep seemingly something which mocked her from a century long distance as it escaped her over and over again.

But no one noticed -except for Nuala and Cerridwen, who tried to nurse the delicate fawn silently back to health with heart sweetening friendship and occasional baking lessons, in which they all ate the results after wards.

Though did another name occur in her mind, as she raced through the long, sleek corridors and farther away from the shining stomach of the bustling manor. Grabbing her lilac cloak in a hurried way, while she repeated that same name over and over again in her head. The smile she wore stretching itself impossibly wider on her lips the more often she thought of him and his dazzling smile. Him and his gleaming eyes and sun lightening laughter.

And it were those thoughts which made her rushed walk to her home so much lighter, almost jumping from one step to the other as she hurried past chatting fae on the cobbled street. Only noticing with a distant consciousness that each house she passed grew darker and darker. Colour fading, whilst walls crumbled under the broken roofs.

Her nose didn’t even scrunch up at the rotten smell which wafted through the air, unlike she had done before, because she knew -just knew- that this was a familiar scent. One which would come without suffocating sisters, one which would come without an always smiling gardener but one which would come with a light sweet hearted boy, who lived among greys and browns.

Only a few houses stood crumbled, but proud, under the sinking sun of the night court. Rags and hastily put-up tents dominating the dark paths far in the outskirts of Velaris. Though some did not want to acknowledge that they were still part of this shining city, feeling out of place and unheard, whilst the high fae and lesser fae lived in glorious peace with their High Lord and Lady, who believed to have restored houses and families of their city. The healing of the peoples hearts a process which started long ago. The charity ball of Feyre was a part of this process too.

Her cheery and optimistic self, which also understood the pain and grief of the fae, made them all come together for those in need -mostly for those at the rainbow. Little did one of them know that those who needed the help the most, suffered in silence under ruins, and decayed bodies of their loved ones. Skeletons of delicate fae females, bulky males, Illyrians and even children resting in dreading ivory colour among crumbled walls and roofs.

Fortunately, he was not one of them, luckily, he was brave enough to get a hold of her skirt one fateful day on which she got lost. Mortified by the skeletons, ruins and death singing streets, did her heart nearly leap out of her chest once this little hand brought her to a halt. This traitorous muscle already readying her to meet the empty eye sockets of a dead being. But those eyes glittering and shimmering like a mountain lake at her were pretty much the liveliest she had ever seen. Specks of brown and green swimming in those eyes of his, that one could think they were fishes enjoying the warm presence of him.

Just like Elain would do now, as she reached a small house. A cracked door -rotten and hanging off on one hinge- was all which kept her from seeing him again. Eager to see his blinding smile, did she knock three times: one short and two long, just like she had told him.

“Elain!” squeaked his voice already from the inside, as he hurried to haul the door open. The seer could only smile at the little boy standing in front of her with this dazzling grin – one of his front incisors gone. “Hey Amel! Would you let me in?” “Of course!” beamed the boy and crushed the seer into a warm hug once she closed the door behind her. “What did I miss while I was gone?” spoke her voice softly, once she had picked him up and carried him towards the rag of a couch only a few steps away. His little wings twitching up for the shortest of moments, when she accidentally brushed the base of his wings with a slightly calloused hand. “Nothing much.”, mumbled Amels voice into her shoulder, “though I did miss you. Does that count?” Elain giggled at his hopeful eyes and could only plop his little nose; “Of course it does! I missed you too after all.”

Amel nuzzled into her at those sweet words and enjoyed her warmth like a giant cat, which curled up on the seers chest. Though he did not purr, but did the boy fold his wings neatly back in – almost as if he were ready to fall asleep.

“I have a surprise for you!” spoke up the little Illyrian in a rush, once Elain sat on the slightly mushy pillows of the couch, as if he had just remembered the surprise himself rather than to tell Elain. “And which one is that?” But she did not even receive an answer, as the little Illyrian had long scurried to the kitchenette in the back of the giant room, in which next to the sofa and a kitchenette stood an old table, with two chairs, accompanied by an old cask, which worked as a bathtub and an ancient fireplace. The in grey stone set cleft gaping at her, whilst the heavy stones crumbled, but the important parts of the old fireplace were still intact. The empty blackness reminding her that she had to feed it with wood and light them up in order to have some warmth in the perforated house.

Kneeling in front of the ancient fireplace did she fed log for log and lit the stack of wood with cold shaken fingers up, silently listening how Amel dragged a chair over to the kitchenette and climbed on top of it.

It were mere minutes which the seer had spend here, yet had the sun sunken that low already, that the stars begun their twinkling evening dance atop of their heads – bringing chilly January coldness with them, that let her breath fog. And that was the sign for Elain to start the nightly preparations with a whistling wind around her shaking shoulders, picking up various piles of blankets, while Amel still bustled around in the rotten kitchen cabins.

Blanket after blanket were strained atop of the clumsily, over the holes nailed wood. Blocking out any roaring sound of cold gusts and any light. And whilst the seer put the last blanket over the gaping slit of the broken door, did Amel sit down eagerly on the couch. “Come on, Elain! You are going to miss your surprise!” She smiled then, nailing the last blanket for today against the old wood and strode over towards the young boy with two thick wool blankets in her hand.

Once she sat down on the slightly warmed pillows, did Amel pull something to the front, from behind his back, the happiest smile he ever wore stretched on his thin lips: “Happy Birthday, Elain!” Exclaimed his cheery voice and let her gaze on a plain little muffin, which was topped with a half burned Birthday candle. “You shouldn’t have, Amel.” Whispered the seer as tears welled up in her eyes and hugged him with all her blazing heart.

She had only mentioned the day of her Birthday once, in a bedtime story she told him, and here he was – this young soul, full of happiness despite all his pain, who presented her a sweet little muffin as if it was a great Birthday cake. And it was, for her it was everything she ever asked for. Elain did not need any gowns or jewellery on her Birthday as presents, she just wanted a soul which remembered her.

And Amel was together with Nuala and Cerridwen the only souls which truly remembered her. Perhaps Azriel remembered the date too, but after the Solstice a few weeks ago it was probably clear that he would not wish to speak his congratulations to her, after all – she was a mistake. One he was likely to never do again, as he seemed to avoid her like the plague – only letting her catch one accidental glance at him while he admired the work in her Greenhouse from afar.

“You have to blow out the candle!” cheered Amel. Though did his eyebrows raise once Elain told with a slightly stern voice, that he was the one to eat the muffin. “I already ate lots of cake Amel, one more bite and I’ll explode!” joked the seer, but the Illyrians wings only lowered itself down on the brown pillows “I knew it is not good enough…” “It is, Amel. This is all I could ever ask for and I bet it tastes delicious,” Elain rested her cold hands over those of the little Illyrian, cupping the muffin together with him “but you need to eat more than me. You are still growing.” He nodded at that and let the seer blow out the striped candle.

She did not have a wish then, but after Amel devoured the baked good and went to take a bath with her, did he ask her sleepily “What did you wish for?” Elain tugged the blankets around them impossibly closer, a cocoon of warmth, “I can’t tell you; it won’t come true otherwise.” “Pleaseee…” “Alright.” Chuckled Elain at the Illyrian, whose wet black hair stuck out as if it were hedgehog spikes and leaned down to him: “I wished for your Mama and Papa to come home and that you three live in a cute little hut together.” “Without you?” “I’ll come by to visit – verry often.” spoke Elain once she saw his sad blue eyes, that lit up the moment she announced her regular visits.

It made her smile, when Amel cuddled closer into the pillows of the large couch and into her warm side, his arms and wings sleepily drabbed over her while he tried, even in his sleep, to protect her and hold her close to him. Elain could only draw calming circles over his wet hair, as she too pulled his little body closer. The sad awareness of her lie chuckling behind the sofa leans at her.

She knew that Amels parents were to never return. Their broken bodies one of the first she had found and buried, after she decided to come and help those who needed it. Fae of all kind had helped her burry those which did not survive the Hybern attack and had taken her advice on going into the starlight kissed city. Only this little boy stayed.

She had met him the week after she buried the winged female and in rind covered male, the descriptions he made to her sending chills down her spine as she realized that he was the child of those two lovers. An orphan now – though did he not know it, as he eagerly waited for his parents to come home after their grocery shopping and Elain did not have the heart to tell him of his parents passing. The only thing she had told him, was that they were asleep and that for a verry, verry long time – forever-she had told.

But Amel did not understand the meaning of those words and simply waited for his parents, in their house, to wake up and get him back. Elain couldn’t count the times she had asked the boy to come with her anymore. His reason of stay always the same – “Mama and Papa won’t find me, if I’ll leave.” And so, all she could do was visit him, as often as she could and if one considered that her presence at the river estate was barely acknowledged, did she spend almost all her time here. The only ones which knew about her whereabouts were Nuala and Cerridwen, who occasionally send her with a basket ‘into town’ to get something for them, if Feyre ever asked. Though did the basket never come back filled – it was always empty. The smuggled loaves of bread and wheels of cheese always staying at the little hut together with Amel, who had fallen soundly asleep next to her.

His little snores pulling her under too, whilst wind and darkness raged outside and slowly let the fire die down.

A heavy knock on the door was what pulled them awake. Sleep mused and dry did the Illyrian boy and Elain look at each other and waited for another knock, which followed soon. The seer already wanted to go and check the door herself as Amel only hurried past her, to haul the door open again. Letting her poke the dying ember glimmers in the ashes awake.

And then he just stood there at the door, wings dropped and mouth wide in amazement, did the boy not even shiver when coldness cloaked his in rags covered body. “Who is it, Amel?” shouted Elain from the fireplace, as her eyebrows furrowed together. At this time of day no one had any business to attend here. The worry she felt overtaking her once no one answered her. And as she saw the one standing on the other side of the threshold, did she nearly lose the black fire poker in her hands. Shock, delight, and pain all suddenly exploding and chasing around in her heart.

Amel only took her free hand, once he saw her frozen face – widened eyes and a slightly parted lips. “He looks like the one you always describe in my bedtime stories.” Stated his happy voice in a hushed tone, as if he feared the person at the threshold – chunky as a cupboard – was just a ghost. He was certainly not the only one believing that, as Elain herself could not process the picture in front of her.

Azriel stood there, in flesh and blood, with a heavy breath fogging the air as his murky coat and wind mussed mass of dark hair stood black against the stary night. At first glance one could believe he was one with the darkness, but at second glance one saw the broad shoulders, tugged in wings and tousled hair standing darker than the shadows against the sky. A silhouette painted in the depths of a night blooming sky in one of Feyres paintings.

And he was just that, a painting whose face lit it up in a golden hue with surprise once he saw the little Illyrian hauling the door open with his yet dainty fingers, now clutching to the seers hand. His breath halting the moment he saw her -just like hers had flogged itself away in her chest once she saw his eyes again. Dulled and almost entirely hazel, the specks of grey and green which she had spotted over a year ago, nearly gone as they seemed to hide away from pain and hurt.

“Elain.” Tore her his ravenous voice away from his empty eyes. She felt shocked, to say the least as they were always warm and seemed to sing of companionship and appreciation whenever her gaze wandered into them, but now there was nothing – just a murky sea of hazel, empty and without a feeling. “Can I come in?” “Of course!” chirped Amel before she could even lift her tongue for an answer. Sending the boy a stern look -accompanied by a suppressed smile – when he left her delicate hand and placed his little palm against Azriels large one, dragging a stumbling Shadowsinger into the little hut, as they left the seer to close the door.

Elain could only smile and shake her head, once she saw how the two took their seats on the coach, a strong wind- piercing and shivering- flickered through the rotten walls and send the fire dancing, whilst the seer merely shook at the gust. Hazily closing the door after this howling bite reminded her of the gaping opening in the wall.

“Are you really the Shadowsinger?” whispered Amel at the gigantic male by his side, as if he were afraid to accidently summon an ancient creature. “I am.” Azriel inclided his head, “At your service little lord … .” “Amel.” The Shadowsinger send a rare grin to the boy and repeated his name, which set the Illyrian giggling “But I am no Lord!”

“Really? But I thought you had the heart of one.” Mused Elain as she stepped back to the two again, her arms loaden with wood and those delicate shoulders covered in a sheet of wool. Amel watched her with raised eyebrows feed the fireplace. “How do you know one has the heart of a lord?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Smiled the seer to herself once she sat down with the two curious males. Amel a small curious bundle of wings between her and Azriel – watching her with the same curious stare as the Shadowsinger. “A lord is one of a noble kind, though I do not mean the kind of nobility you are born with. I mean a kind of nobility you grow over time, one which is not defined by money or jewels, but by the weight of the heart and one’s decisions.” Whispered her small voice at him and poked the spot above his heart with a teasing finger. “A lord is -for me- not someone born with the claim of a throne or a higher stance in society, only minding his own business and his alone. A Lord is someone who is kind and generous, with a heart as bright and pure as the sun.” And somehow her gaze wandered over the ash black locks on Amels head and into the curious eyes of the Shadowsinger.

Specks of life and colour returning to these irises in green streaks once her words had settled into his heart. A shy smile stretching on her lips after she had spotted the faint blush in his cheeks, under the glowing light of fire.

Amel only hummed at the words. “So does that mean I am a Lord?” “To me, yes!” smiled Elain at the boy and wrapped him into the wool blanket beside him. Afraid that the wind which rattled at the planks and blankets would bite into his warmed body. Tucking him away with a careful hand and slowly pushing him down on the spacious couch. “Come on, Amel, it is time for bed.” “But I don’t wanna go to bed! We have a visitor!” Protested the young boy with an uprising of his wings and voice.

Making the Shadowsinger uncomfortable as he was brought into the argument. “I can go … if you need your rest little boy.” The little Illyrian jumped at that – not on the floor to have a temper tantrum – but to the Shadowsinger. His little fingers holding on tightly to Azriels’ neck as he sat in his lap, “No! Please don’t go! It’s nice to have you around!”

“You are certainly the only one who is thinking that.” Grinned Azriel at his head. Somehow laughter and sadness lacing those uplifted corners. Those twisted ties drawing in the seer so much, that she could not prevent those childish words from slipping; “That is not true. I like your company very much.” Only when his head snapped to her, those eyes widened and brimming with green and grey again, did she hear her own words pounding against her ear and nearly punching her heart out of her chest, as she got lost in the forest in his eyes.

Only catching herself once a last crack of wood screamed in the flames, making the burning ember jump out of the chimney and onto the rotten wooden tiles. It had the seer nearly jumping to her feet – pushing the glowing ember back with the heavy fire poker, as if she were stabbing a chicken.

Or a king for that matter, as suddenly not the gleaming heat of the fire covered her hand, but the warmth of freshly spilled blood. Elain shrieked at the sight, eyes wide and mortified did she throw the iron poker in front of the fireplace. Wiping her ash covered hand at those chiffon layers of sky blue.

Azriel was there the moment her back hit the old couch. Setting Amel on the old cushions and picking up the slightly heated fire poker with a careful, scarred, hand.

He took the space beside her the moment his ears heard the Illyrian boy shuffle to lay down, trying to give them at least the imagination of privacy with his back turned to the two fae. “El, are you alright?”

Her heart jumped at her nickname on his tongue. Rolling off of it so easily, as if he had done it a hundred times. “I am fine.” Croaked this silent voice of hers at him. Making her laugh at her ruined try of steadiness. “It’s fine Az, really. Nothing to be worried about.”

He didn’t answer her.

Hearing the lie a mile away even if he were deaf.

But he gave her time to sort herself out and collect all the silent thoughts she did not share with him. The moment she wanted to, his words flowing into hers as they were to interrupt each other’s sentences; “What are you doing here Azriel?” “I wanted to wish you a happy Birthday.”

They looked at each other then, really and for the first time in weeks. Those brown swirls in the seers’ eyes drawing him in, as if he were a child yearning for chocolate. Whilst the seer wandered into those streaks of green in his irises as if they were a mystical forest, she long wished to discover, but never dared to.

It had them still, yet throwing their heads back as laughs, as sweet as the first flowers in spring bloomed from the seer’s mouth. Whilst those frail petals slithered down Azriels spine, had the rich ravenous sound of his laughter goosebumps emitting on the seer’s skin. Amel merely turned around, peeking at the two adults merely sitting inches away from each other. The Shadowsingers wings slightly extended to Elain’s side as content silence wrapped around them as a warming blanket.

Even after weeks of silence did not change a thing of their companionship.

Even after all this time, after all the mistakes, had nothing changed.

There was a bond, buzzing and glowing, as warm as a hearth between them. But something dimmed this radiant glow.

Though it was no shadow which touched this magnificent bond. Enthralled by this golden glow themselves did they sneak around it like curious snakes, watching and gazing, tracing and tickling.

But neither of the two fae acknowledged this bond, this tether between night and day.

And so Amel saw it upon himself to cut through this thick silence, once no one dared to utter a word, not even a heave of a silent breath. “Elain, I am tired. Can you tell me a story, please?” “Of course!” jumped the seer to answer immediately, as she turned to wrap him up. Snuggling onto the couch close to his fragile body, to prevent him from freezing, and put another blanket atop his frame.

It didn’t take long for the boy to nuzzle into the seers side, pressing his rounded ear next to her left ribcage -listening to the thundering sound of her heart. “Do you want to listen too, Shadowsinger?”

“Please, call me Azriel. And only will I stay if your mother is alright with it.” Elain stiffned at that, barely noticeable -at least for Amel- as the little boy merely answered him “Elain is not my Mama – but she is waiting, together with me, for her to come back.”

Dread immediately filled Azriels guts as he saw the almost invisible shake of her head. He was an orphan. Left in the rubble of Hyberns attack.

He had to chock down a small “I am sorry.” For the boy did not yet know of his parents passing. But even though this was a message as dark as a shadow, did he still feel a spark of light inside this black mist, when he remembered how long ago the attack was and Elain was still here to watch and guid him. “Before you ask, Azriel, I don’t want to go into the city. Mama and Papa won’t know where I am if I leave.” Yawned the boy tiredly, surprising the Shadowsinger ever more, as he seemed to have known his next question.

Elain merely smiled at the boy and caressed his back protectively, whispering to no one in particular “I have tried to convince him for months now to come with me into Velaris, or at least a little hut -not a ruin- but this stubborn Illyrian doesn’t even give me a chance to reason with him.” Her gaze shifted then, from a warm fire to a cold batch of earth “But I am already used to that.”

Azriel didn’t know if she meant the incident on solstice, or if she was talking about her lack of choice in general, but he did not dare to pry any further as the shadows whispered of her uneasiness to him.

Amel seemed almost fast asleep in her arms, lulled in by the beat of her heart -how he would have liked to switch places with the little boy – barely noticing anything around him as he carefully got up from the creaking floor. “I better get –“ “Stay.” Interrupted him Elain before his heavy booted feet could even make one tentative step towards the door.

The Shadowsinger was torn between leaving and staying. The High Lords words,as well as his own ringing in his rounded ears. ‘You are to stay away from her.’ ‘It was a mistake.’

Did these words hunt her just as much as they chased him?

Letting him grief and nearly cry out in anger at a love he was denied being with, as his brother -His High Lord- assumed him to be driven by the need of his lusts. But this was by far the furthest thing from reality. He had long admitted to himself, that the taste of the seer on his tongue would send him to heaven and hell all the same.

But what he carved more than any taste of her, was just the feeling of her. The warmth of her lithe body seeping into him, whenever she would hug him. The sound of her voice giggling at one of his dry jokes – whilst her smile brightened up his world. Her smell a perfume of Jasmin he wished to smell for the rest of eternity.

And driven by all that -his hearts carvings- did he give in to the temptation of her company and settled to rest at the other end of the brown couch. One of the woollen blankets Elain had carried before resting atop his massive frame with slight scratches, but they gave him warmth and something other to concentrate on than the seers smell.

„All right. You settled in, Amel?” “Uhmm.” Hummed his young voice at Elain, sleep already drenching from every little sound. It had the seer giggling, whilst the Illyrian only nuzzled into her. Merely peeking an eye open when he had heard nothing of the silent Shadowsinger. Only to see the picture of darkness at the wrong spot.

Elain was sure, that if Feyre, or any other artist was to capture this moment, it would not be the taunt reality with a shy Shadowsinger trying to hide at the other end of the couch. For anyone else it would be death peering down on his next victims. The shadows behind him seemingly lashing and wiping at those preys, whilst the truth was one of shyness. The shadows not knowing what to do with themselves as their master was fully at ease and their presence of needlessness. But the curiosity they harboured, for the story that was to come, made them stay. Shyly settling down by Azriels wings and shoulders as they waited patient as dogs for the seer to begin.

But apparently was Amel not happy with the arrangements. Huffing a loud puff of air at the seer when he had realized the uncomfortable shyness with which Azriel gazed at them. “Azriel, please come here too – I wanna cuddle with you too!” It had the Shadowsinger go stiff as a board, the calm shadows beside him suddenly twitching alive again. But instead of lashing out to protect this cupboard of a male, did they more seem to gather behind his back. As if trying to push him.

“Traitors!” muttered the Shadowsinger under his breath, making the seer giggle ever the softest at his stern gaze into the black void. Amel hadn’t heard this word, which echoed through the seers pointed ear, but was delighted when he saw the dark male standing and gathering his blanket. The fire beside them dancing and seemingly caressing the stern panels of his face and gigantic wings.

Every other kid would have trembled in fear at him. Afraid that those painful eyes would hide a volcano of rage and violence, but Amel knew it better. And Elain couldn’t help as to smile at herself, with the knowledge that this better knowledge of the boy was her fault – telling him every night a tale of the Shadowsinger, which she herself heard from Nuala and Cerridwen.

“Scoot over.” Ordered Amel with the try to push the seer at the sofa lean. Even though the seating was rather large considered to regular couches, it still was not enough to fit all three next to each other.

Azriel already wanted to see it as a cue to finally go. A sigh of relief, but also exhaustion flooding him, as his heart yearned for the company of the seer. But also was afraid to come too close to her. Hurting her perhaps. He didn’t wanted to do that.

To his relief or unluck, he wasn’t sure, grabbed the seven year old his tainted hand and pushed him into the space next to Elain.

The seer, as well as the Shadowsinger, gazed at each other in a moment of surprise. Their widened eyes searching the company of each other as Azriels wings twitched beneath him, adjusting ever the slightest to his new form of rest -trying to make them some space.

But as it turned out was the only option to let Elain slightly lean up and let the wing pass under her. Cradling this lithe body of hers, while Amel crawled on the males chest and snuggled between the two. His own wings a warm cocoon around him. “Comfortable?” asked Azriel the boy and had his heart leaping in his chest at the bright smile the boy offered him. Hugging him close as if he were not a monster, as if he were not covered in the blood of hundreds and hundreds, but as if he were a male like everyone else. With a heart and a life and a mind which could make generous decisions.

It was the case that he did, but right now, even this moment seemed too innocent to weigh against all the bad decisions he made. Sensing his discomfort snaked the seer an arm around the little Illyrian between them, and let her palm silently rest on his drumming heart. She felt every nervous pump of blood on her skin, yet she merely smiled and tugged the blankets -which were shortly discarded- up to cover all three of them.

The fire still crackling happily in its pit. Whilst those three souls lay in comfort there.

It was the physically closest they had ever been. Even with Amel between them could the seer not say were his heaving chest ended and her calming hand started, connecting them as if he were a vibrant tree sprouting out of her calming earth. Somehow this coaxed a smile out of her and using the situation shamelessly by snuggling even closer.

But it did not like as if Azriel minded, as his scarred hand grabbed a hold of her waist. Steadily keeping her against him.

“Ready for your story?” whispered Elain in the warmth before the fire. “Yes!” declared the boy and too, snuggled closer to the Shadowsinger. In whose chest seemed to bloom a flower of happiness, nurtured by the appreciation, patience and love of those two in his arms.

Elain merely smiled and started a tale which the quiet Shadowsinger was to remember even in the passage of centuries.

“Once upon a time, there lived a princess. She was of utter beauty and kindness, pure and entirely unstained. Something her two sisters wanted to prevent from ever happening, as they searched the truest, kindest and sweetest soul for her sister to marry. Promising her hand to him at a time she had not even met this mysterious man. The bubble of solitude and guarded safety her sisters kept her in, stifling her chances of ever getting to know him before their wedding was to happen. Promising her forever to the hand of a stranger, who did not even own her trust.” Azriel noticed, that during sometime at her telling – had slipped a sting of pain in those normally bright shining eyes. But Azriel assumed to know why this was the case, her fingers starting to rub unconscious circles over his heart – chanting searing circles through his burning skin as his heart thundered and pumped in response at them. At even the softest of flame rings did this beating muscle in his heart not miss a chance to capture this circle.

And then she whispered again -at the night, at Amel, at him or at the fire, he wasn’t sure. “But this marriage was a trap. Not for the lovely sister, but for the poor man -who would spend his entire life in the fear of losing his wife to a so believed demon inside of her. This creature inside of her -so it was told- capturing her and leaving her eyes in a mist of grey whenever he was to talk to her. “

“Her sisters had worried for their beloved, lovely sister ever more with the passing years, as this haze of grey seemingly hunted her day and night. Fearing that this beast might kill her, had they locked her up, far, far into a tower with barred windows. Her entire freedom taken away from her, when her sisters had sent a guard to watch over her.” Elain chuckled, and sneaked a glance at the Shadowsinger, who cradled the tired Illyrian, as if her were worth an entire court. “At first, she believed him to be a statue, one created without emotions displayed on his looming face. But over the time she got to spend with him – she saw it was actually a massive cauldron brewing beneath his bronze skin. Mixing happiness, kindness, gratitude, sadness, anger and so much more into one pot that he just didn’t know how to express them.”

“But over time -even when those hazy moments possessed her- did they grow to know each other. Finding more similarities in the other than it was ever believed of a guard and a princess to have. Her sisters however were blind to the obvious trust between the guard and their sister and kept the engagement to the other man. It was when she first saw the male, so in contrast to the guard who had her trust, that this demon overtook her. Not just her eyes, but also her mouth. Speaking of a riddle which was to occupy the entire Kingdome of the princess for years: ‘The one with the deepest of values, shall be able to set her free – the one of the greatest of powers. The one having fate at her hand, a two-sided blade -one old and one new- wielding at her will. A mist of grey laying ahead of her eyes, whilst the path behind her, shall be paved forever more. The stone to rest, one which she can’t move.’ “

Her eyes glazed over at that – when her voice talked almost sacredly about those prophecies – as if she were in a memory only months away. Absently starting to trace Amels ash black curls with a tentative finger. His deep snore vibrating through the Shadowsingers chest as both watched in trance the rise of his little body. When she realized that Amel had long gone into the depths of sleep, she withdrew her hand, closing her eyes for the rest of slumber. That was until the Shadowsinger asked, a careful edge lacing his voice, “Could you please continue? I wanna know the answer to the riddle.”

Her eyes snapped woken at that, a shy smile stretching her lips, before she used the hand to cradle the felty matt of Amels hair, to caress his lightly stubbled cheek “I assume you already know the answer, Shadowsinger.” “Still. Please.” He wanted to hear her voice just for a little longer. Wanted to enjoy her embrace as long as he could – savouring every searing fingerprint of her on his skin.

Elain did not argue father than that, simply letting her words lull him in again; “Her sisters believed, that the one who had the deepest of value, was the betrothed of their beloved sister. Claiming that her love was his. But to their disappointment had he no clue, no answer with could free the lovely princess from her haze. And so, she stayed locked up, in the tower and murky depths of grey, her hand free to take – as the sisters saw that the man they chose, was a choice for another princess. The riddle, which was spoken, carried near and far. Surprisingly, luring a lot of man into the trance of the cursed princess, so it was said. “

“Her beauty had man forget the oddity ,this curse seemed to be, and made them simply wish to take her hand with the freeing of her haze. And yet, determined they all were, no one had the ability to free her from those murky grey depths. The only soul loyal by her side -unafraid- was the devoted guard by her side. Watching and protecting her like the human she was before. “

“Year went by, beforethe guard got fed up with presenting the princess constantly as if she were an animal in the zoo. A mere attraction, not a living being. The guard had heard the riddle so many times, he himself was able to recite it as if it were his own words, yet it took time too, for him to realize the meanings of the words.”

Elains brown orbs gazed deep into his then, a bright smile seemingly lightening each freckle and trace of colour in her eyes, when she recited the words he once declared “A seer. That was what the guard had told. Freeing the princess from the grey murky depths of future and past with two simple words. Spoken as if they weighed nothing. But the world rose at that day, colour, smells and feelings returning to the princess. The cry of happiness was roaring through the entire castle, as the two sisters wanted to hug their beloved sister, though had she heard nothing of that. Running past her extended arms and down the pedestal on which they kept her. Jumping right into the guards’ arms and clinging to him, as if he were her air.”

“Is that what you would have liked to do?” grinned the Shadowsinger. The tenseness of his shoulders -of his entire being- seemingly vanished into thin air within this stolen moment. Elain blushed a little, but nodded nonetheless – snuggling a bit closer to his warmth and body – whilst his wings drew in tighter and tighter around the three. As if they were the boundary between the world and their peace. “If Lucien wouldn’t have been there -as well as my sisters- I would have done so. I would have weeped into your arms out of joy.” Admitted Elain with crimson cheeks. But Azriel merely pulled her tighter with the hand around her hip.

A silent understanding that he, too, would have liked to change this moment now. But the past is paved and set in stone – no matter how many mistakes one might have done, they could only change the future. And Azriel knew the moment a loud snore left Amels lungs, that he wanted a future where this was not a stolen moment – where this was their life. And one in which this would not be a ruin, but their home.

Their home.

How he liked that sound. Making him feel all fuzzy and warms as he imagined it, not even the cold reality of the story able to catch up to him. He was with Elain in her embrace he could dream – he always did. It should have been a warning- that his mentality had went from cautious and professional to this cotton candy sprinkled mind of happiness and without boundaries – but he would take the consequences for that on another day, in another setting.

“Where did you even know from where I was?” whispered Elain into the dimming light. “I didn’t. The shadows had guided me.” And as if on queue flickered a whisper of darkness over her cheek, caressing her, as if they were a ribbon of silk. Fluttering briefly over the snoring Illyrian between them too.

“They seem to like you and him.” “I like them too.” Smiled the seer. “They are you after all.”

Azriels heart nearly burst at this as blinked away the prickling sensation in his eyes. Never, not in 500 years, had one spoken of him and his shadows like this. Never had he felt those words more than now as he was on an emotionl edge. Torn between his High Lords command and the calming presence of this beloved female. But as she hugged him impossibly closer, he knew that he no longer was torn – that he no longer had to fight against a wish he wanted fulfilled.

Azriel was sure that he wanted Elain, courts and everything be damned, as he only hugged her closer too. She and Amel, right now the only ones which counted to him. And he was ready to die for them – if Lucien or Beron insisted on the blood duel.

“I am sorry I haven’t gotten you a Birthday gift, El.” Exclaimed his strained voice suddenly, when he noticed the seers eyes glaze over with tiredness – believing that she could not answer him anymore.

“It’s alright Az, your company is gift enough.”

And it was in that moment, when silence and sleep rested on the wind’s breath, that he didn’t know if it was the seers Birthday or his. As this was the greatest present he ever received.

The wind sored loudly around them, as a curtain of honey whipped in front of his face -the seer having once again not listened into braiding her hair- clouding his vision on the small hut. “We are almost home!” yelled Amels voice next to the two. His yet delicate wings carrying him carefully on the gusts of wind, as if they were lifting him up into the arms.

Azriel and Elain merely smiled, once they saw the little hut. Hidden away into a garden of wildflowers and trees, as Elain had planted them there. Around their home. Around their secret.

It was yet a story to be told to their family, of how the crow -how Azriel translated Amels name to her- had connected death and the fawn. Letting them soar high into the sky in the arms of each other. Away from responsibilitys and fate.

They knew it would all come to an end eventually -spilling the secret – but until then they had this.

A life full of sunshine, yet covered in the shadows, as they flew further and further to the wooden hut. The sun guiding them their path with a shining smile.

Whilst the Seer and the Shadowsinger could only smile as bright as the rise of a new day, “Yes, Amel, we are almost home!”

__________________________________

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years

Text

The Smarter Witch

Synopsis: You like to consider Hermione your academic rival but things begin to fall apart between the two of you when Malfoy and friends start asking questions. The reader is in Slytherin sorry.

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader (can be read as romantic or platonic)

Words: 3.5+

A/N - I’ve been rewatching all the Harry Potter Movies at the cinema recently and I think i like it more now than I ever did before. This is my first HP story so go easy on me, okay? Comments are appreciated and requests are open!!

Warnings - Swearing, excessive use of the word mudblood... i think that’s it.

"Granger," You call out, shoving your things into your bag as quick as humanly possible before charging after her. The crowd of other students growing the distance between you as you slip between them but not without almost crashing into people a bunch of times along the way. "Granger- wait." You try but she continues to walk away with Potter and Weasley beside her. You eventually manage to push your way through until you're walking in step with the trio. The girl stands in the middle, guarded by her two best friends.

"Hey," You offer them a smile, "Guess who got a perfect?"

"How?" It's instinctive to turn your nose up when it comes to Ronald Weasley. Not because of his social status like Malfoy suggests but you just found him rather... irritating. You completely ignore his question; breaking formation, you get ahead of the group and begin to carefully walk backwards so you can focus on the girl. She looked anywhere but at you, however, she had a smirk on her lips. Small but visible.

"Only because Snape favours you," The brunette proclaimed. This was routine for the two of you as of late. Always making excuses as to why the other came out on top. Only because of this. Only because of that. It was never as simple as just studying and doing well.

"You're just jealous that I'm a genius." You insist, your smile growing as you teased your own brilliance. Her head shakes a little.

"Since when were you, two friends?"

"Nobody said anything about friends Weasley-" You growl, your once happy expression morphing into one of pure distaste as you look at him. Spinning gracefully on your heel, you begin to walk normally again. "Since I'm so much smarter than you, I can help you study if you need it."

"I don't need any help from the likes of you, thank you," The likes of you? Did she mean a Slytherin? Or just someone who was smarter than her? Although you didn't actually believe you were smarter... well, not entirely anyway. Hermione Granger was often proclaimed as the smartest in your grade, didn't matter how hard you worked; you'd never quite be the promising young witch everyone seemed to think she was. Which is why you find yourself constantly competing. If you can prove to her you were smart then maybe everyone would see you as more than just a Malfoy crony.

You slap your hand against your chest just above your heart; stumbling backwards as if she just shot an arrow straight through. "Oh, how you wound me, Miss Granger. Care to share how well you did? One hundred percent?" She wouldn't have done badly at least not by everyone else's standard of bad. "Ninety maybe?" You turn back to them, coming to halt directly in front of the girl. "Merlin's beard Hermione, don't tell me you got less than eighty? That would be a travesty."

"if you don't mind, we're a little busy." She hadn't answered the question and as she walked around you, you expected she wasn't going to. "Come along Harry," she took his hand. "Ronald." And his before marching away. You watch them as they go, a smirk lingering before slipping off in search of your friends.

Come Friday afternoon and you found yourself in the great hall. The busy castle was beginning to calm and few people sat in the tables alongside the two of you. You take a sip of some water as you watch the gears in her head turn, debated her next move. At this point you already knew you would win; you always did. While everything else was more of a competition; Hermione Granger surprisingly wasn't all too hard to beat at Wizard's chess. Your Fridays together we're brilliant times to chat though, you'd often sum up any achievements from the week just to see who's doing better.

"I can't believe you beat me in history of magic again- I spent hours on that stupid essay. I basically lived in the library."

"I can help you study if you like," she offered, her eyes not leaving the board as she ordered her bishop forward. You watch as the chess piece moves along the board.

"You're not funny Granger," you tease, ordering your knight forward to take down her bishop. "Check,"

A paper ball hit the back of your head, drawing your attention away. Pansy stood with a wide grin on display, you ignored her and returned to your game but Hermione was also focused on your friend. "I think she wants your attention."

Another paper ball collides against your head. You sigh loudly before turning and mouthing 'what?'

"We're going down to the black lake? You coming?" She asked. "Or are you too busy with the Gryffindor?"

"just give me a sec." You wave her away, turning back to the other girl. "Have you moved?" She nods a little, her hair bouncing with the movements. You examine the board trying to figure out who she had moved but it didn't really matter. With a final move of your queen, the king was knocked off the board. "I do believe that is checkmate."

"I'm beginning to think you're cheating."

"Me?" You ask, pretending to be offended by the notion. "Never. How little faith you have me in, Granger."

"Slytherins are known for being cunning."

"We're not all cheating monsters, my dear sweet Gryffindor. Some of us actually have a conscience."

"I find that hard to believe," Her lips were curled into a cheeky smile. You'd never quite noticed the way her eyes crinkle when her smile is so big or how teethy it was. It was adorable.

"I gotta go- same time next week? Maybe I'll even let you win."

"I don't need you to let me win,"

"You sure?" Nothing more than a harmless joke as you stand. "How many times in a row have I won now?"

"Slither away," Hermione smiles as you back away towards Pansy. You had to admit, you did firm Hermione to be intriguing.

Being in the same year, meant you actually saw Hermione rather frequently, however, your actual interactions were limited. Yes, you played Wizard's chess together every Friday but other than that, you basically only had very short conversations. It was like being in two completely different worlds simply because you were put in different houses. This school had a weird obsession with separation by houses. You were a proud Slytherin as were you friends but your ambition to branch out was often looked at as beneath some of the others. It was dinner time and you sat at the Slytherin table but your focus was pulled towards a certain familiar Gryffindor student. She just happened to be sat in your eye line, so you couldn't help but amuse her from afar. With funny faces and playful winks. Her most common reactions were shakes of the head or rolling her eyes but you knew secretly she enjoyed the teasing.

"Are you even listening?" A sharp elbow slams into your side. You bite back a groan as you shove the boy gently.

"The hell Draco,"

"What are you staring at?" There was a particularly bite behind his words but you'd grown used to how aggressive he could come across. He was always trying to be the alpha and frankly, everyone let him be. You simply shrug at his question; grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

"What did you want?"

The grey of his eyes flickers in curiosity as he tries to figure out what had you so distracted. When you look across at Granger, she's chatting to Ginny Weasley about something.

"Sometimes I wonder if the sorting hat got it wrong with you," He muses. "Should have put you in Gryffindor since you're so obsessed with Potter."

"Says the boy who never shuts up about him." You fight back. You couldn't care less about Harry Potter or his chosen one status. You knew Malfoy hated him though; it was a little weird just how much.

"You gravely misunderstand my interest in potter."

"I don't care if you have a crush on him Malfoy," There are a few snickers around the table but he's definitely not laughing.

"Don't be ridiculous." He growled, leaving the table. It was only a joke. You follow after him along with the others.

After dinner, you're lounging in the common room. One leg hooked over the arm of the couch as you read a book all about dragons. Fascinating creatures.

"So are you and the Gryffindor friends?"

"Who?" You question. Not even looking at the blonde as he sits down beside you.

"Granger." He confirms. "Pansy thinks you have a crush or something?"

"Pansy is a liar." The joke isn't as funny when it's against you. Your feelings towards Granger was nobody else's business but your own. You were often left conflicted when it came to her. You roll your eyes, sitting up straight. "I just like proving that I'm better than her."

"You spend a lot of time with her," Goyle adds.

"So?" You finally lower your book. Your brows knitted together in a clear frown as you scan the room. A few people had invited themselves into the conversation. "I spend a lot of time with you but doesn't mean I wanna get into your pants,"

"I don't know why you associate with any of them." This was beginning to feel like a lecture. Why do they even care who you hang out with? You didn't care much for the boys but you liked Hermione. She was kind, funny and really smart. You enjoyed the little time you ultimately spent together but if you admitted that, they would crucify you.

"They'd probably say the same about you lot," you state. Bringing the large book back up to cover your face. "Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to read here,"

"You can tell us if you like her," Pansy contributes. "I mean we all know you have a soft spot for the weak."

"Are you taking pity on her?"

"Maybe she wants to start hanging out with Potter. Can you imagine?"

You grit your teeth, not at all reading the words on the page in front of you. They're just trying to get a rise out of you.

"I can't imagine anything more pathetic," Malfoy chuckles followed by a few of the others. "They're an embarrassment to the wizarding world if you ask me. Parading around like they own the place-"

"We're nothing okay?" You slap your book shut. "Not friends or secret lovers or anything, I would never date someone so.... dirty." The word slipped out before you had a chance to stop. You didn't see her that way; she was much too grand to be considered dirty. And you couldn't care less about pure bloodlines. It didn't make her any less of a fantastic witch. "I'm not joining Potter's Merry band of monkeys, so just drop it okay." Ignoring the snickers and hushed whispers, you march off to bed.

It's the Friday following your little session in the common room. You forgave them all of course; you always did. There was no point in being angry at them over some harmless teasing. You had the chessboard set up and even brought along a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans but she was running late. Normally it was you showing up late; very unusual behaviour from someone known for punctuality. But as time ticked on and you were still left alone, you began to realise she wasn't going to turn up. Packing everything up, you decide it'll be best to search for her; something bad must have happened for her to not show at all.

"Weasley," you shout, jogging up to Harry and Ron who seemed to be missing their third arm. "You seen granger?"

"Why?" Asks the redhead. Harry presents you with a smile.

"None of your business," you spit at Ron. "Have you seen her or not?"

"Last we saw her she said she was heading to the library," Harry answered. You offer a grateful smile but you can't help but wonder why she's decided to head to the library. Was there a test you didn't know about? Was she trying to get the upper hand? Surely she could have just told you that instead of having you wait.

"Thanks, Harry," You skip along to the library but the journey proves pointless when you discover she isn't there either. You would be lying if you said you had searched particularly hard before giving up though. There was always next week. With a defeated sigh, you head back towards the common room. Luck must have been on your side because you spot her on the way back. Perched on a ledge with her head in a book. Typical Hermione Granger.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," you announce as you walk towards her. "I thought we were gonna play wizards chess so I could annihilate you again." The faintest sniffle hit your ears and you froze. Was she... crying? Shit. You don't do well with criers; you never know how to handle situations when people cry. It's always so... awkward. "What's wrong?"

"Go away." Her voice is quiet but echoes through the empty corridor.

"Granger?" You closer to her now, leaning against one of the stone columns.

"I said go away," Her words are harsh; she shoves her face further into the book. Was she trying to hide the fact she had been crying? It was pretty obvious at this point.

"What's up with you?" You wonder, folding your arms over your chest.

"I don't want to talk to you,"

"What did I do?" The confusion is very clear in your voice. You'd hardly even spoken to the girl recently so how could you have possibly upset her.

"You're as bad as the rest of them, now leave me alone," Sharp words as she grabbed her things and stormed off. As bad as the rest of them? What did that even mean? Pushing yourself upright, you follow after her.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Just some filthy mudblood am I?" Venomous words spat at you with the speed of a viper. You stumble back a little; she's never been so angry with you. Tears spill down her rosy cheeks."Malfoy told me what you said- Guess I should have known better considering your so-called friends. You're just as cruel as the rest of them."

"Hermione..." you sigh softly. You couldn't exactly defend your fellow Slytherin friends. "Why do you believe him anyway?"

"So you didn't say it then."

"No, I did," you shrug a little. "Well I said you were dirty, I didn't say... that word."

"Mudblood- Same thing though right? You think you're so much better just because you're of Pure blood."

"I didn't say that, I-"

"Just stay away from me." Her tone has you backing down from the fight. You consider following her as she charges off down the hall but instead, you go back to the dorms.

"You're a right git," you exclaim, storming into the room, grip tight on the book you launch at his head. Platinum blonde hair darts of the way.

"What the hell."

"You told her?" All eyes are on you as you confront him.

"What are you on about?"

"Hermione- you told her I thought she was dirty."

"Your words, not mine." Draco shrugged a little. A huff of a laugh passing his lips which pissed you off even more.

"I-," you look around, picking up a pillow and tossing it at him. "You are such a pain in the ass."

"Why do you care about that filthy mudblood, you said you don't even like her?"

"I don't even like you and yet we're best friends," You shout, looking at the coffee table you grab a mug and aim at the boy. Draco's hand shoots up in defense.

"Don't you dare throw that at me or I swear-" He fought back. You lower your hand and so does he then you throw it anyway, hearing it break as you collapse on the couch. "You don't need someone like that." He muses as he cautiously approaches the couch.

"We can't all be insufferable snobs Malfoy," you grumble, rather casually considering what just happened. "You mess up everything for no bloody reason"

"Probably shouldn't go around calling her dirty then," He argues. "I didn't make you say that..."

The boy hovers over the back of the couch and you shove him away. "I hate you."

You realise you have to be the one because Malfoy's not about to admit he did anything wrong. And you know at the end of the day it was your fault for saying it in the first place. You retire to your bed, no longer watching to deal with other people.

For the next week or so Hermione avoids you like the plague. You'd obviously see her in some of your classes but when you'd try to speak to her after, she'd rush out before you had a chance to so much as saying hi. If you managed to catch her gaze, she'd stare daggers; if looks could kill you'd be six feet under by now. You'd sometimes find her in the library, it was the one place she could cause a scene but neither could you. When you tried to whisper to her, she'd completely ignore you. You were beginning to miss the limited interaction you hard; Half the fun of studying was ultimately doing better than her in the end.

The girl was alone today, searching the shelves. The library was fairly empty and it was getting late. You take the opportunity to make some paper birds and send them fluttering over to her. One by one until she whispers yells at you to stop. You chuckle. Doing it again. This develops into a habit throughout the next couple of days. You'll send paper birds her way, just to get a reacting out of her. You start writing little messages on them too but you don't think she ever reads them before setting them on fire.

It becomes abundantly clear she's not giving in and therefore one day during breakfast you abandon your table and enter what Malfoy would consider enemy territory. Pushing Neville aside to sit next to Hermione. A bunch of lions look to you like you'd just entered their den without permission; in their defense, you never sit here. Hermione gets up to leave but not before you can grab her wrist.

"Can you please stop ignoring me," she yanks out of your grip, walking away to leave you surrounded by kids you've only ever spoken to in passing. You groan loudly.

"What happened between you two?" Ron asked.

"Do you ever keep out of other people's business Weasley or do you have some obsessive need to weasel your way into everything."

"Just tryna help, jeez."

"If you must know, Malfoy told her that I referred to her as a... y'know."

"Mudblood?" Harry continues for you.

"I called her dirty but I didn't mean it."

"Thought you weren't friends anyway," Ron wore a smirk like he caught you out or something so you just ignore him.

"Now she's ignoring me. I just want her to talk to me."

"Have you apologised?"

"How can I apologise if she won't bloody talk to me, Harry? I thought you were supposed to be smart." You comment, dropping your head against the table. "I've tried writing notes but she burns all of them. I'm running out of ideas, I can only be so charming."

"Can't really help you there," Ron replies.

"All the boys in this school are so bloody useless," you sigh dramatically, slamming your hands on the table to push yourself up. "You’re her best friends and you can't help? Pathetic."

You debate joining the others but you decide against it and leave the great hall. You're not hungry anymore.

"You really should stop sending paper birds," The voice catches you off guard, whipping your wand out before realising it's her.

"I'll stop if you talk to me again," You counter, lowering your wand.

"I'm not ashamed of my parents."

"And you shouldn't be." Your head falls, "I really am sorry for what I said, it was definitely a peer pressure thing and I was stupid." You blurt out. "Malfoy can just be a lot sometimes and I was trying to study so... I don't think you're less than just because your parents are muggles Hermione. Not even a little." You take a deep breath. "I just want my friend back."

She hesitates. "Oh, so we're friends now huh?"

"Only if you want to be," You shrug. There was part of you that wanted to say maybe you like her as more than that but you kept it to yourself; at least for now. "I understand if you don't like... I was really shitty."

"So Friday then?"

"What?"

"Wizards chess? I think I may be able to beat you now, I've been practising."

"Pfft not likely," You tease, your smile growing. "Friday sounds good."

// NEXT

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