#Red Rose Hat Box

[onlineflowercompany]

Naomi luxury 50 red roses bouquet! Click Image For Buy

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ beneath her tongue, there is a poem, and i find it every time.

knight!paige x princess!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: in the gilded halls of the house of fudd, knight paige bueckers is assigned to guard princess azzi—a woman whose intellect cuts deeper than any blade and whose beauty feels like both salvation and damnation. what begins as duty transforms into something far more intimate than either anticipated.

cw: explicit sexual content (fingering, semi-public), power dynamics, knight/princess dynamic, class differences, dom!paige, sub!azzi, possessiveness, hunting/chase kink, mild degradation, praise kink, emotional vulnerability as intimacy, duty vs. desire, implied forbidden relationship bc this is not even close to what the king and queen hired paige for, devotion as obsession, attempted assassination, violence, the inherent eroticism of a woman with a sword, choosing love over duty/marriage, we are playing fast and loose with historical accuracy.

notes: this was supposed to be only 6k. I'm not completely happy with this, but i hope you still enjoy. please let me know what you think. i love you.

when paige first met her, she was swaddled up to the cheek and down to the bone. she stood rigid in her thick furs, the pelts a brown so dark it almost looked as if the night itself had come to settle around her. they were spotted, possibly an exotic leopard or lynx, and a matching pill-box hat sat upon the thick swell of her curls. still, there was something sweet about her as she looked out across the drawbridge to where paige gleamed in her armor.

perhaps it was her parted mouth, open like two rose petals teetering precariously against one another, neither strong enough to stand alone. or maybe it was her teeth, the two peeking out just slightly like a rabbit's, white and square and sitting neatly behind the vermilion of her lips.

when the captain of the guard had briefed her, he'd called her princess azzi of the house of fudd with the sort of reverence reserved for delicate things. looking at her now, paige thought the man might have been blind.

it wouldn’t surprise her. most men were incapable of seeing beyond what they were given at face value.

she stood still, the winter breeze blowing brashly against her skin until the light brown was tinged a fervent pink that bordered on red. her arms were crossed, her body unyielding. she did not want to be guarded, but paige had yet to meet a charge of hers that did.

besides, why would a princess want to forfeit any form of her sovereignty?

paige was unsure of how they would begin.

on her first day, she woke right as dawn began to brush against the night-bruised sky. it was always heavy, her sleep, and she sat on the edge of her bed for several moments, blinking herself into the real world. her head swung down, blonde hair lush and falling around her like wheat sewn into a doll's head.

with a sigh, paige rose to her feet and reached behind herself. she gathered the thick body of her hair into a great, golden bulk and then secured it in a loose bun that sat sweetly at the base of her neck. her body ached, her bones still unnerved from her trek to the fudd lands.

after a brief sink into the wooden bath just to the side of her bedroom, she dressed in her leather and mail, and made her way through the castle's winding corridors, her boots echoing softly against the stone. the fudd castle was grander than any paige had served in before. tapestries lined the walls, depicting hunting scenes and court life, animals slain in feverish color, and human faces rendered so realistically that it made paige almost feel ashamed to be looking upon them. 

even the servants' quarters boasted carved woodwork that would be considered luxury elsewhere. ducks with vivid beaks, elk and deer with antlers so painfully sculpted that they seemed to strain out of the wall with a silent wish for life, and the ripe buds of flowers on the cusp of blooming into their true state.

it took a moment before paige realized she was standing still, her head craned upward to trace the religious murals on the ceiling as if she were a child. embarrassment whispered across her cheeks in a red haze, and she roused herself back into her journey to her charge’s chambers.

the hall seemed an endless anabasis, but eventually she arrived at azzi’s door. the doorknob, she noticed, was inlaid with gold and crystal. she paused outside, raising her hand to knock, when she heard movement within. the heavy oak door, adorned with the princess’s personalized fudd family crest—two swans on the outskirts of an elegant ‘a’ and ‘f’, the calligraphy limbs of the letters braided together in pale blue and silver—stood slightly ajar.

“your highness?” paige called softly, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside.

azzi's chambers were a study in excess and beauty.

the walls were paneled in cream and gold, adorned with delicate painted medallions depicting cherubs and archangels engaged in various pastoral scenes. ornate furniture filled the space: chairs upholstered in sage-colored silk, a writing desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and dominating it all, a bed that looked fit for an empress. 

the headboard rose nearly to the ceiling, carved with elaborate scrollwork and draped with a rich fabric canopy dyed deep emerald, teal, and gold. beyond it was a mural of a forest, the trees grey and skeletal and rising in spindly lines toward the ceiling as if seeking light. paige thought it revealed more of azzi than anything else in the chamber.

atop it all, sunlight streamed through floor-length windows, casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow. it stopped just short of making the room feel sickly or stuck in a memory.

despite the sheer opulence, it wasn’t the room that gave paige pause. it was azzi herself.

the princess sat at her vanity, and her hair—god, her hair—fell in dark, copious ringlets down her back, nearly reaching her waist. it moved like water, without reason or restraint, as she tilted her head and ran a thick, silver brush through the length of it with practiced strokes. 

she wore only a thin chemise, the morning light making the white fabric seem translucent against her skin. parts of her almost seemed completely bare, a trick of the light that paige made a conscious choice to ignore to the best of her ability.

paige had guarded noblewomen before, had seen them in various states of undress and vulnerability. but something about this moment, the intimacy of it. the way azzi's hair caught the light, the soft concentration on her face, made her feel like an intruder.

“princess,” she said, her voice rougher than intended.

azzi turned, and when she did, that cascade of hair shifted and settled around her shoulders like a dark cloak. her eyes met paige's in the mirror's reflection, cavernous and the color of flame-kissed wood, and there was something almost knowing in her gaze.

“azzi,” she corrected, and paige blinked. 

the other woman turned then, her chin tucked coyly on the ridge of her shoulder, and gave paige a pale smile.

“we’re to be together for quite some time. i’d like it if you’d call me by name.”

“i—yes, your—” azzi cast her a look. again, paige’s mouth twitched. “as you wish, azzi.”

azzi turned back to her vanity, drawing her hairbrush through the remaining ringlets until they were more waves than anything else. paige wished she wouldn’t. her hands itched, as if urging her to take hold of the brush and finish the job, but she only clutched them around the hilt of her sword instead.

“so,” azzi said, breaking the silence. she rose, sidestepping the vanity chair and approaching the short chaise at the foot of her bed. “what is to be your jurisdiction?”

“what?” paige asked, and almost at once she felt stupid for saying it. 

she watched as azzi wrapped herself in a thick, dove-grey, woolen robe. her eyes caught upon the way azzi lifted the mass of her hair from its collar, the descent of it almost hypnotic. azzi sat, tucking a foot underneath herself as she reached to the side where a plate swollen with pastries rested on a small wooden table. she ignored paige for a moment, seemingly looking for something, before letting out an endearing “ahah!” and conjuring two plates and a small knife out of thin air. 

paige truly needed to begin paying attention. this was not the first time she had taken watch over a beautiful woman, but azzi appeared more beautiful than most in a multitude of ways. her beauty was so—so visceral that it stung paige like bees, and her only thought was to unhinge her jaw so that she might swallow and become its hive.   

the breakfast spread was elaborate as expected: manchet bread, made fresh from sifted wheat flour and still warm from the ovens, with a golden crust that crackled when broken. sweet rolls studded with candied fruits and spices, their scent heady with cinnamon and nutmeg. a slew of delicate wafers and thin biscuits meant to dissolve right on the tongue were tucked alongside cold-roasted capons carved into neat slices, their skin still glistening with fat and herbs.

there was thick cream for pouring and honey languishing in a carved wooden pot, amber and fragrant. next to them, preserves made from fresh fruit: strawberry, apricot, and quince. so jewel-bright in their small silver dishes.

paige prayed her stomach wouldn’t rumble, her blue eyes alighting on the small glasses of ale and spiced wine warmed with honey and cinnamon. she watched, curious, as azzi bypassed it all for the fresh milk just behind them. 

“what i meant before was, what is the exact detail of your assignment to me? are we to only be together when i take a walk and attend to my social responsibilities? will you be there when i bathe?" azzi asked.

paige's mouth quirked upward before she could stop it.

“no, my lady,” she answered, noting the way azzi shivered at the rasp of her voice. her next words fell unbidden from her mouth. “unless you are at great risk of drowning.”

the princess paused, and paige resisted the urge to flee in horror at her lack of respect. then azzi’s face collapsed into a bright smile, before she tipped her head back and laughed. 

“i can assure you that i swim rather well,” she shot back, and paige fully smiled then. 

“come,” azzi gestured. “eat with me. take what you’d like, and then i’ll ring the servants to take the rest of it to my family.”

paige shuffled closer, sitting gingerly in a chair on the opposing side of the table. “do you always take your first meal alone?”

azzi looked up from where she was lavishing the surface of a biscuit with blackberry preserves. her eyes were luminous this close, a solar system of their own. she tucked her lower lip underneath her top teeth before letting it go.

she shrugged and replied, “i used to. now, i’ll only take them with you.”

it was two weeks of this before azzi made her next move.

paige arrived at her door, knocking gently before pushing her way in. azzi looked up from where she was perched on the floor, her skirts pooled around her. upon seeing paige dressed more casually, still with her sword to her hip, she smiled. she rose, brushing her palms along the waist of her daydress. 

azzi was dressed in deep indigo silk that made her skin look radiant. the gown was fitted through the bodice with a square neckline that framed her collarbones, the sleeves long and elegant. her dark hair was swept up and back, revealing the graceful line of her neck and the delicate shell of her ears. a few tendrils had been left to curl against her temples, softening the severity of the style.

“good morning, you. we'll have a walk this morning,” she announced, as if it had always been their custom. “after we eat.”

paige, who had been reaching for a delicate cut of white bread, paused. “walk where, my lady?”

“azzi,” came the gentle correction, followed by a smile that made paige's chest tighten. “and wherever we please. the gardens, the grounds. i find that breakfast sits better after movement.”

there was something in her tone that brooked no argument, though paige sensed this was less about digestion and more about establishing their own routine, separate from the rigid structure of court life.

an hour later, they made their way through the castle's corridors and out into the crisp morning air. azzi had tucked a leather-bound volume beneath her arm, and paige found herself curious about what the princess chose to read.

“you carry a book everywhere?” paige asked as they descended the stone steps leading to the gardens.

“nearly everywhere,” azzi replied, her fingers unconsciously protective over the volume. “i find most company rather predictable. books, at least, surprise me.”

they walked past carefully maintained flower beds bursting with a kaleidoscope of greenery, and topiary shaped into elegant spirals and arches. if paige squinted, she was almost positive one was meant to look like a bird. the morning light caught the dewdrops still clinging to the rose bushes, reminding paige of the thin sugar-dusted petals atop their vanilla cakes this morning. somewhere nearby, a fountain trickled steadily. 

but paige found herself more interested in the way azzi moved, the way her dress swayed with her steps, and how she occasionally glanced at paige as if measuring her reactions. she seemed to be waiting for paige to give in to something, and so paige did.

“what are you reading?” she asked, finally breaking their brief silence.

azzi's step slowed, and she pulled the book from beneath her arm. the leather binding was worn smooth from handling, and paige could make out gilt lettering on the spine.

“niccolò machiavelli,” azzi said, watching paige's face carefully. “you know of him? read the prince?”

paige's blonde brows rose despite herself. “i—yes. during my training.” 

she didn't mention that most knights weren't expected to read such works, that she'd sought it out herself during long winter evenings or even longer campaigns.

“and?” azzi's voice carried genuine curiosity, a gentle prodding differing from the usual testing tone paige expected from nobility.

“i found it…illuminating,” paige said carefully. “though i'm not certain i agreed with all of his conclusions.”

they had reached a fork in the path, and azzi chose the route that led away from the formal gardens toward a more natural landscape of ancient oaks and meadows almost suffocated with pastel wildflowers. paige found herself endeared just slightly toward her charge, her throat tickling with the suppression of a laugh at the way azzi simply decided, and she, herself, simply followed.

“which conclusions?” azzi pressed, and paige realized this was no idle conversation.

“his assertion that it's better to be feared than loved, for one.” paige adjusted her stride to match azzi's unhurried pace. “i think he wrote for princes who rule through force alone. but true loyalty is earned through respect, not fear.”

azzi paused. her smile was slow, pleased. “mmm, i’m inclined to agree. fear is the easier option. respect is far more difficult to inspire on a large scale.”

paige hummed in agreement, and azzi resumed walking. 

“most would say a princess has no business reading about the nature of power.”

“most would be wrong,” paige replied without thinking, then immediately wondered if she'd overstepped.

but again, azzi only laughed at her honest opinion, a sound like bells in the morning air. “you continue to surprise me, paige. i hope you always do.”

paige was silent for a moment, scrambling for an appropriate response before giving up altogether. “i cannot promise that i will, but i can promise to give you my best attempts.”

azzi looked up at her, forcing paige to acknowledge the few inches difference in their heights. “i wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

paige's ears grew red.

they walked in comfortable silence for a while, the path winding between stands of birch and elm. eventually, they emerged into a clearing where a small lake stretched before them, its surface mirror-smooth and reflecting the pale sky. time felt slower, as if they had slipped into a crack of the world meant only for them.

“this is where i come to think,” azzi said, settling herself on a fallen log near the water's edge. she arranged her skirts carefully, the indigo fabric pooling around her like spilled ink. “i told you i was a good swimmer.”

paige remained standing for a moment, uncertain, until azzi patted the space beside her. “sit. please. we're quite alone here.”

paige settled beside her, acutely aware of how close they were. the log wasn't particularly wide, and azzi's shoulder brushed against hers as she opened the book.

“machiavelli speaks of power as if it exists in a vacuum,” azzi said, her fingers tracing the text. “as if the ruler's relationship to their subjects is the only dynamic that matters. but what of those who possess influence without authority? those who must navigate power structures that they cannot openly challenge?”

the question hung in the air between them, and paige understood they were no longer discussing political theory in the abstract.

“someone in such a position would need to be strategic,” paige said slowly. “to understand the motivations of those around them. to build alliances carefully.”

“yes.” azzi's voice was soft, almost wondering. “and they would need advisors they could trust completely. people who see them as more than just their title or their usefulness.”

their shoulders were pressed together now, and paige could smell azzi, the whole of her. some of it she recognized: gardenia, lilac, vanilla, plum. some eluded her, and she just attributed it to azzi’s natural, inescapable magnetism. when azzi turned to look at her, their faces were close enough that paige could count the gold flecks along her irises. she tried not to betray herself, but the way that azzi’s pupils gently dilated made her stomach fall, and in between her legs grew warm like it had been kissed with flame.

“i think,” paige said, her voice more strained than she intended, “that such a person would be fortunate to have found someone who sees their true worth.”

something shifted in azzi's expression, a softening around her eyes. she tilted her head. paige could’ve sworn she moved closer.

“and i think,” azzi replied, “that tomorrow morning, we should walk to the eastern gardens. i hear the lavender is particularly beautiful this time of year.”

it was a promise, paige realized. of more mornings, more conversations, more moments like this one where the careful distance between princess and guard dissolved into something far more intimate.

“as you wish,” paige said, and meant it in ways that had nothing to do with duty.

azzi settled backward, her mouth twisting into something triumphant. 

“just a minute more,” she said, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the watery shine of the sun, “and then we can return to the castle.”

“of course, my lady.”

“azzi.” the correction came swiftly, and paige smiled to herself.

“do you dislike the title?” paige asked, her tone deceptively light. “if you truly hate it, i will cease using it immediately.”

azzi opened her eyes and turned, studying the planes of paige’s face. again, her pupils dilated. “i…”

“yes?” paige said, her voice husking around the question.

“i do not—i do not dislike it,” azzi said, and paige nodded.

“i’m glad to hear of it, my lady.”

silence came between them, and neither one of them dispelled it again. paige closed her own eyes and thought how sweet it was to unbalance azzi, even if only for a moment.

for a while, paige thought this was all it would be. 

breakfast and walks along the grounds, sometimes broken by attending court or dinners meant to honor political guests the kingdom hoped to rope into an alliance. maybe it was all she wished it would be.

but the world had a way of resetting things, reminding one of one's true purpose. paige’s reminder came in the form of an ear-shattering scream in the dead of night. 

one that she knew only belonged to azzi. 

at once, paige became a blur of movement, stumbling from slumber into the hall with her sword hanging loosely from her hand. her bare feet slapped against the cold stone as she ran, her nightgown billowing behind her like a ghost given form. the corridors that had seemed so grand in daylight now felt vast and menacing, shadows stretching long and strange in the flickering torchlight.

azzi’s scream echoed like a wolf’s call, her throat straining as she keened. paige could not tell if it was in pain or rage, but she prayed to god that azzi would keep screaming. for as long as she screamed, she was alive, and she was calling out to paige, who latched onto this proof of life like a dog to an animal’s scent.

panic began to claw at paige’s throat, tightening her breath and acting as a final sign that she had grown too attached to this blue-blooded woman. it felt as though paige could not see anything in front of her, her anxiety rising and rendering her nearly blind. azzi’s scream keened out again, a ragged bird’s song, and paige turned wretchedly, tumbling around a corner and almost falling to her knees.

it was as if something was keeping her out, keeping her back. still, she fought. 

another sound reached her. a crash, the splintering of wood, then silence so complete it made her lungs seize. paige's grip tightened around her sword's hilt as she rounded the final corner, her shoulder slamming against the doorframe of azzi's chambers.

the door hung askew on its hinges, the beautiful carved swans now cracked and listing. inside, furniture was overturned: the delicate writing desk on its side, papers scattered like fallen leaves, and the sage-colored chair knocked backward. the sweet scent of spilled wine mixed with something metallic made paige's stomach lurch. 

she turned wildly, hair whipping like a snare of light. she stepped on something, stumbling as the pain lanced through her, and when she glanced down, she saw and mixture of brambles and earth wet with something she hoped to be rain. she looked up, fear clenching her lungs in a vise grip, and then there. 

there, in the center of it all, was azzi.

she stood over a still form dressed in rough clothing, a pearl-handled dagger glinting in between those beautiful, trembling fingers. paige took a moment to register the blade and realized azzi must’ve been sleeping with it underneath her pillow. 

she had been prepared. how long had she known she wasn’t safe? why hadn’t she said anything?

her white nightgown was torn at the shoulder, dark stains trailing across the fabric like ink dropped in water. there was a perfect bloom of the deepest red across where her heart was hidden under miles of bone and muscle, and paige’s chest seized, a sound escaping her before she could suppress it. 

azzi took no notice of her. her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, and her eyes were wide and unseeing, focused on something far beyond the present moment. she swayed on her feet, her free hand pressed against the bedpost for support. blood sprayed across her cheek from where she had slashed at her assailant and caught his throat, and more smeared along her palm where she'd gripped the blade too tightly in her desperation.

paige slowed her own breathing, recognizing the signs of shock setting upon the princess. when her voice felt steady enough, she released it from the tower of her throat, moving inch by inch until she could better see her lady’s face.

“azzi,” paige breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. the princess turned toward the sound, her movements jerky and unsteady, like a marionette with tangled strings.

when azzi saw her, truly saw her, something crumpled in her expression. her hand flew to her mouth, barely obscuring the sob that escaped it, and fresh blood from her palm streaked across her lips and chin from the grip. the dagger clattered to the floor as her knees buckled.

paige surged forward, dropping her sword to better move, guilt clawing at her chest like a living thing. she should have been here, should have heard the struggle sooner, should have prevented this entirely. but those thoughts scattered as azzi stumbled forward with her arms out like a child, her legs giving way.

“i've got you,” paige said, catching azzi before she could fall. she pressed her cheek to the top of azzi’s head, blue eyes surveying every crevice of the bedchamber. “i've got you. i’m right here. you're safe now.”

azzi's body shook against hers, violent tremors that had nothing to do with the cold. her breathing came in short, sharp gasps that bordered on hyperventilation. paige's eyes swept the room once more. the intruder's body lay motionless, no immediate threat, the windows secure. 

they were alone. she looked back down to where azzi had stilled, her head lolling with the sudden vanishing of her adrenaline. paige adjusted her so that they were pressed closer together, rubbing a large hand down the ridges of her spine.

“good girl,” she murmured, tucking azzi into the pale of her neck. the princess kept silent, and paige didn’t push her. “you did well, azzi. so well.” 

the tip of azzi’s nose was cold with her cooling sweat, and paige could smell the tepid bitterness of urine, most likely released in fear, but she was uncaring of the state of azzi’s body. she gathered her closer, shifting them so that they were further from the body and pressed against the legs of the chaise that stood tall against the end of the bed. 

there was a minute of silence, an unnerving stretch of nothingness, and then paige heard a soft ‘scritch’ just to the right of her. slowly, she turned her head only to meet the gaze of a crudely masked man—his face partially obscured by a thick band of black. his eyes peeked out, gleaming green and mean. 

they stared at each other: paige with azzi practically crawling inside of her, and him with his bloodlust practically licking at his teeth. only another minute passed before they both leaped into action.

it was like a brutal ballet, only there was no stage and a very real threat to both women’s lives. paige lurched upward, dragging azzi with her. the latter lifted her head blearily from where it had been slick against the blonde’s neck, and paige felt the moment she realized there was another assailant. azzi’s entire body went to stone, her limbs leaden as fear consumed her.

paige knew azzi would not be able to kill again.

with a great deal more strength than she intended, paige pushed azzi behind her onto the full body of her bed and rushed the assassin with the full brace of her body. they collided with brutal force, spinning off-kilter in a tangle of limbs and emotion.

paige slammed into azzi’s vanity, her nightgown too thin to defend her against the shards of glass that flowered from the looking glass’s destruction. she and azzi let out a high cry at the same time—paige of pain, azzi of paige’s name.

the assassin grinned, his teeth crooked and black, and paige grunted as he slid a tough hand around her neck. he began to squeeze, and her vision sparked, but she got a hand up high enough to gouge her nails into his eye. he let out a near-girlish yelp of agony and released her. she twisted away with dizzied breath, feet carrying her unsteadily to where her sword lay.

just as she got her hand around it, azzi called out a warning to her, her eyes blown out with fear. paige felt the body heat of the man just behind her, and she ducked into a low crouch, her hips swiveling so that she could somewhat face him.

he towered over her, his top lip dark with the blood that dripped from his mangled eye, and paige knew that he wanted more than ever to kill her.

she refused to die.

there was no more time to waste, so she pushed up on the balls of her feet and carried her sword arm with her. the blade flashed in the moonlight, the steel clean and beautiful as it arced up in a graceful half circle.

the edge met his neck, and she watched as it cut through. there was a horrible, wet gurgle, and then his throat yawned open as his head toppled clean from his shoulders. as the head fell, paige didn’t feel triumph. only the echo of azzi’s scream still caught in her chest, and the warm splash of blood across her feet. 

she had killed before. she had never needed it like this.

for a moment, it spun, like a stocky, flesh-made coin before rolling off into a corner already bruised with drying blood. she heaved out a breath of relief, her body faltering as her wounds caught up with her. her throat burned, and she clutched it, eyes smarting as every bit of pain found a place to flood her.

behind her, azzi scrambled off the bed and to her side. her hand was firm as it encircled paige’s wrist, and she dragged her bodily to her wardrobe. hurriedly, the princess tucked both of them inside and lifted paige’s sword with a low grunt. she managed to slide the blade into the loops of the door's inner-facing handles, preventing those outside from easily getting it to open.

the wardrobe was stifling, the wood groaning under their weight. paige’s knees pressed into something sharp, a forgotten brooch, maybe, but she didn’t dare move. the iron tang of her recent kill clung to the roof of her mouth. paige sat on the floor, reaching a hand out to bring azzi between her thighs. 

azzi was trembling against her, both of them pressed so close paige could feel her breath stutter over her collarbone. she pushed at her hips until azzi turned so that her back was to paige’s chest. it was slick with fear against her skin, but paige clutched azzi to her like a lifeline. 

they stayed like that, blinking silently with their hands laced tightly together, until dawn broke and the main guard found them.

paige slept in the same room as her after that. the only reason she hadn't done so before was that azzi was determined not to have an invasion into every bit of her life.

azzi's bedchambers had been repaired in less than three days, but the same could not be said for the princess. paige had to coax her into a short walk, but azzi refused to go further than the garden. not even to her clearing from before.

she barely spoke anymore, her voice reduced to clipped responses and hollow pleasantries. at breakfast, she picked at her food with the mechanical precision of someone going through motions, her eyes distant and glassy. her fingers, once fastidiously kept, were chewed raw at the cuticles, one nail cracked to the quick. she didn’t seem to notice the blood welling there, only smeared it across her napkin with the same dazed indifference.

the woman who had debated machiavelli with passionate intelligence seemed to have retreated so far inside herself that paige wondered if she'd ever find her way back out.

it had been two weeks of this careful, muted existence when paige finally reached her breaking point.

“we're going for a walk,” she announced that morning, her tone leaving no room for argument.

azzi looked up from where she was methodically tearing a piece of bread into smaller and smaller fragments. even their breakfasts had grown bland.

she sighed, the sound long and tired. “you’re free to go, paige. i’m sorry, but i don't wish to—”

“i wasn't asking.” paige's voice was sharper than she intended, but she was tired of watching the woman she'd come to care for disappear piece by piece. “get up. get dressed. preferably, something you can move in.”

for a moment, azzi's eyes flashed with something like her old spirit. annoyance, perhaps even anger. but it died as quickly as it had risen, replaced by that terrible, empty compliance. paige watched as she slipped into an emerald dress, the fabric limp without the structure of her pannier beneath it. she cinched the corset tightly, her chest rising until paige had to force herself to look away lest the heat in her belly consume her.

they walked in silence through corridors paige now knew by heart, past the lavish tapestries that no longer seemed quite so magnificent. when they reached the gardens, azzi moved to take their usual path, but paige caught her wrist.

“no.”

she led them deeper into the grounds, past the manicured flora and topiary, toward a part of the grounds azzi had yet to show her. the more they walked, the more the hedge maze rose before them, its walls thick and a blackish-green and nearly twice paige's height. ancient yew trees had been shaped and trained into an intricate labyrinth that stretched out in geometric perfection.

“paige, i don't understand—”

“you're going to run,” paige said, turning to face her. azzi's eyes widened, the first real expression paige had seen from her in days. “and i'm going to hunt you.”

“i'm sorry?” the words came out breathless, shocked.

“you heard me. i won’t repeat myself.” paige stepped closer, and azzi instinctively stepped back. “i'm going to give you a head start, and then i'm coming after you. you're going to have to think, azzi. you're going to have to be clever and quick and remember who you are."

“i refuse. i don't want to.”

“i don't care what you want right now, my lady,” paige said, and the harshness in her own voice surprised her. “what you want is to disappear, and i won't let you. it’s pathetic. the woman i know wouldn't run from a challenge. she'd find a way to win.”

something flickered across azzi's face. it looked closest to hurt, but could’ve just as easily been the ghost of indignation. either way, it was the most alive she'd looked in weeks.

“this is absurd,” azzi whispered.

“quite.”

“you have lost your mind.”

“yes,” paige agreed. “now run.”

for a heartbeat, they stared at each other. paige casually took a step forward, letting her face harden with her determination. azzi’s face twitched.

“i said run, azzi.”

finally, azzi turned and fled into the maze, her skirts lifted in her hands as she disappeared around the first corner.

paige counted to thirty, then followed.

the maze was much older than she'd expected, the paths worn smooth by generations of feet. she could hear azzi ahead of her: the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of footsteps on earth, the sharp little gasp she gave as she almost fell. still, the hedges muffled everything, making it impossible to tell how far away she was or which direction she'd gone.

“i can hear you,” paige called softly, her voice carrying through the green walls. “you'll have to do better than that.”

she thought she heard azzi's breathing quicken, footsteps moving faster. good. fear would sharpen her mind, force her to think strategically instead of simply existing.

paige took the left path, moving with practiced quiet. she'd hunted men through forests darker and more treacherous than this. but this wasn't about catching prey; this was about making azzi remember she was more than what had happened to her. paige wouldn’t dare ask her to forget it, but she did have to find a way through it before it ate at her potential.

minutes passed. the maze was larger than it had appeared from the outside, with false paths and dead ends that would frustrate anyone trying to navigate it quickly. paige began to wonder if perhaps she'd underestimated the challenge when she heard it. 

a small sound, almost like laughter.

she froze, listening intently. there it was again. not laughter exactly, but something breathless and almost delighted.

paige’s lips curved into a smile. there you are, she thought.

“come on, my lady,” she called out. “make it fun for me, will you?”

she turned down another path, following her instincts more than any particular sound. the hedges here were particularly thick, ancient growth that created deep shadows even in the afternoon light. she was scanning the path ahead when something solid and surprisingly fierce slammed into her from behind.

the impact sent them both tumbling to the ground, azzi's arms wrapped around paige's waist in a tackle that was equal parts desperate and determined. they rolled once before paige's training kicked in, and she used their momentum to flip them, pinning azzi beneath her.

for a moment, they were both breathing hard, staring at each other in shock. azzi's hair had come loose from its pins, spreading dark and wild across the earth. her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with something paige hadn't seen in weeks: triumph, mischief, life.

“there you are,” paige breathed, and her voice came out a triumphant rasp. her hair fell all around her, shrouding them as it broke free of her bun.

something cracked in azzi's expression as they were shielded with the haze of paige’s tresses. her eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling for the first time since that horrid night.

“i went through the hedge,” she whispered, a wet laugh slipping through her teeth. “like a child. it wasn’t fair, but i thought—i thought you'd never expect—”

“i didn’t ask you to play fair. you thought right," paige said softly. “you were brilliant.”

they were close, so close that paige could count the lashes fanning azzi's doe eyes, could feel the warm puff of her breath. azzi's hands came to rest against paige's shoulders, and there was something electric in the space between them, something that had nothing to do with the hunt and everything to do with the way they were looking at each other.

“paige,” azzi said, and it sounded like a question.

the expulsion of her name came from somewhere deep in azzi’s chest, and the effort pushed azzi’s breasts high, almost to her throat. paige made a sound so low and animalistic—one that azzi answered with a near soundless parting of her mouth—as she lowered her head, her lips crushing against azzi’s as if to draw juice from them. azzi's hands fisted in the fabric of paige's tunic, pulling her closer, and paige fell further into her. she tasted salty, of sweat and strain.

time seemed to slow and quicken at once. paige kissed her harder, all thought fleeing from her mind. her hand found the hem of azzi's dress, fingers trailing along the soft skin of her outer thigh. higher she went, climbing until she could graze her nails against the tenderness of azzi’s inner thigh. azzi gasped against her mouth and arched beneath her. the sound broke something loose in paige's chest, a want so fierce it bordered on pain.

she felt azzi’s body twist, felt it pulse as they became hooked on the same rhythm. azzi broke their kiss, her lips inflamed with the force of paige’s affection. paige let her breathe, dipping down to press kiss after kiss against azzi’s neck. her mouth found its way to azzi’s chest, sucking a soft ripe mark atop the fullness of one. 

she was just setting her teeth upon the other when she heard voices. 

paige raised her head, senses returning to their sharpest state. the conversation was distant but growing closer. gardeners, perhaps, or other members of the court, taking their own afternoon walks.

the women pushed apart as if burned, both breathing heavily. paige rolled away, putting distance between them even as every instinct screamed at her to stay close, to shield azzi from the world and all its expectations.

“we should—” paige started, then stopped, because what should they do? pretend this hadn't happened? go back to careful distance and formal propriety?

azzi sat up slowly, her fingers moving to her lips as if she could still feel the kiss there. when she looked at paige, her eyes were clearer than they'd been in weeks. something dark pricked at the edge of her gaze, and she looked away before she spoke.

“we should go back,” azzi said finally, but she made no move to stand.

“yes,” paige agreed, but she didn't move either.

azzi clutched two fistfuls of her skirts tightly, and paige resigned herself to pretending they could go back to the way things were before. but then, azzi spoke again.

“my room,” she murmured. 

“what?” paige said, turning her full attention from the group approaching the maze to the princess beside her.

“we should go back to my room,” azzi clarified. her tone was firm, her eyes even firmer.

paige’s mouth fell open, and she sat there, hair askew and mind blanking. azzi sighed and climbed to her feet.

“paige,” she admonished, extending a hand to help the blonde to her feet. “do keep up.”

they didn’t speak on the way back. azzi led, skirts muddied and breath ragged, and she urged paige to follow behind her from a distance like a soldier in retreat. she felt as much; glorious in azzi’s defeat of her, winded by victory.

they weaved through the castle until they were sequestered inside azzi’s chambers, the door shutting with a deep finality. it was as if everyone knew it would always end up here. 

the moment it latched, azzi turned. her eyes were fever-bright, chin lifted with a hard edge as if she was readying herself to batter paige into submission. paige didn’t even have time to catch her breath before azzi was on her again, backing her further and further into the room until paige tripped against their beloved breakfast table and fell onto the chaise’s open body. 

azzi left no room for anything other than what she desired, climbing onto paige’s lap with the momentum of someone who’d made her decision hours ago and was only now cashing in the ache.

they both rose in the same moment, tongue and teeth clicking awkwardly with their desperation. it did nothing to break through the spell. paige gripped azzi’s hips tightly, squeezing so hard that she wasn’t sure if the sound she next heard was azzi whimpering or the creak of her bones. her hands kept roving, kept finding new palmfuls of flesh to grip and tease. azzi’s fingers curled in the rough collar of paige’s tunic as she did so, dragging it open with impatience. her palms grazed the plane of paige’s chest like she was verifying solidity, like she needed to touch muscle to remind herself this was real.

she moaned into paige’s mouth as the knight’s hands pushed up the skirt of her dress, her calloused palms finding the shapely curve of her ass and using it to drag her against the rough fabric of her breeches. paige broke their kiss gently, trailing her mouth down until she was back to azzi’s tits, her teeth nipping more dark patches into the soft, golden skin before soothing them with the flat of her tongue. azzi hummed with pleasure, her head falling back to reveal the delicate column of her throat.

she began to roll her hips, using paige’s thigh as a means of friction against her clit. paige let her. how could she not? she had dreamt of being held like this, of holding azzi like this, of fucking someone like they were a fortress she wanted to lay siege to.

azzi dragged her head up by the chin, pulling her back into a dizzying kiss as her hips bucked faster. she broke the kiss only to press her forehead against paige’s. 

“you don’t understand,” she whispered. “i’ve tried to stop wanting you. it’s practically made me ill.”

and paige, paige could’ve slid off the bench and dropped to her knees right then, her whole world trembling around that confession. 

“tell me what you want,” she managed instead, voice hoarse.

azzi didn’t tell her.

she took paige’s hand instead, tough from years of battle, the pads of her fingers still scented faintly with crushed hedge, and guided it beneath her skirts. no ceremony. no flourish. just raw need and the wet heat between her thighs.

paige swore lowly, fingers easily slipping past azzi’s folds and into the hot clutch of her cunt. azzi's head fell back slightly as she pressed herself into paige’s palm, working her hips until she sat at the knuckles of the two fingers inside of her. 

“mmm. yes, like that,” she breathed, and paige felt it echo down her spine. “don’t stop. don’t—”

paige wouldn’t. couldn’t. her other arm wrapped tight around azzi’s waist to keep her upright as she began to move her fingers, slow at first, then deeper as azzi rocked against her hand. it was obscene how easily she parted. how greedily she accepted.

“princess,” paige choked. “god, you—fuck.”

azzi shuddered at the term of address, fucking herself down harder. 

“i need more,” she gasped, her nails digging crescents into paige’s shoulder. “deeper. more. just give it to me.”

something about the way she said it made paige slow. azzi blinked, dazed, and looked at her.

“azzi, did we lock the door? is it—someone could come in.”

azzi’s hair fell around her as she leaned forward, bracing her hands fully on paige’s broad shoulders. she laughed lightly as she began to ride paige’s fingers, stopping only to urge paige to tuck a third one into the sticky, tight press of her cunt.

“i don’t care. i want them to know that it's you inside of me. i want them to know i’m yours.”

paige didn’t think of anything else after that. she gave everything. fingers stroking into her princess with measured force, knuckles catching on slick velvet. her mouth found azzi’s throat, sucked and kissed and grazed her teeth just below the hinge of her jaw. azzi sobbed out her name, legs shaking.

“i’d give you anything,” paige murmured into her skin, voice wrecked. “my name, my sword, my soul, if you’d only fucking ask. i don’t know why you don’t. i know how smart you are, i know you’ve known how badly i’ve wanted to have you. how much i’ve wanted to make you cry.”

azzi’s mouth popped open, and paige wanted to laugh a bit at how easy she was when you got past everything. she felt azzi tighten around her and pressed a hand to her stomach.

“no,” she murmured. “not like this.”

she removed her hand from azzi, fingers sliding out with an obscene ‘schleck’, and it took every bit of strength she had left to ignore how azzi groaned as if she wounded her with the removal. instead, paige lifted azzi so that she was on her knees on that massive bed, dragging the heavy fabric of her dress up to the middle of her back so that her ass was bared.

with one hand, paige spread her legs apart, climbing up behind her so that she could drape the weight of her body over azzi’s back. her breasts hung free where azzi had ripped her shirt—paige had never been one for undergarments—and her nipples were so sensitive that their graze against the laces of azzi’s gown made her moan high from behind her teeth.

paige regained her focus, pressing down so that azzi arched before sliding three fingers back into her. azzi had run out of sound now, her hips twitching as paige brought her free hand under her stomach to rub at her swollen clit. 

“work for it,” she muttered, voice smoky with her thin self-restraint. when azzi didn’t abide by the command, she pinched her clit and relished in the way azzi fell forward with the pain. “i gave you a command. heed it. fuck yourself, azzi. it’s the only way you’ll finish.”

azzi gave a strangled, little cry and began to fuck back against paige’s hand. she gave it her all, hips swiveling as she ground down to the root of the other woman’s fingers. 

“good girl,” paige cooed. “there you go. take what’s yours.”

she could feel the way azzi was dripping down her wrist, her cunt as hungry as paige felt. there was a tight contraction as azzi’s orgasm approached, and paige let her forehead drop to azzi’s sweat-glazed shoulder.

“come on. please. please, my lady, please. give it to me. please. this is all i’m asking. this is—this is all i want.” azzi’s body gave a great heave, but paige held her up. 

she nudged azzi’s legs open further, fucked deeper into her until she was sure she’d discovered some deeper part of her body that had never been touched before.  the change in position made it so that azzi was practically squatting, her bottom lip now dragged between her teeth as she chased her high. 

“azzi, please. i can feel you. i swear i can feel it. just let go. cum for me, azzi. finish for me, princess.”

azzi’s climax came like a storm breaking over both of them: hot, shaking, with a cry strangled against her bedsheets as she slumped into them. paige held her through it, fingers still deep, her heart a cathedral to the holy ruin she’d just witnessed.

when she finally collapsed atop azzi, panting and spent, they just lay there, anchoring one another. the knight and her charge. the sinner and her altar. 

paige with her princess, her lady, her future queen. 

she laughed, the sound half-cracked with disbelief. then, slow as ritual, she raised her fingers to her mouth and lapped up every syrupy drip of cum from them. her tongue buzzed with the sticky lash of azzi’s orgasm against it. it was still warm, still fresh and sweet from her body.

azzi was quiet for a long time. she watched paige eat of her. it wasn’t simply watching. it was a measuring of something she clearly had been considering, but might not have dared name before this moment.

“i think,” she declared, voice hoarse, “that i will never marry.”

“have you always been this decided?” paige asked, a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself.

her head listed to the side so that she could see the satisfied cut of azzi’s face. 

“no,” azzi said. “i only knew when you walked into my room that first morning.”

paige’s breath caught. something old and fatal curled inside her.

“princess—” she started.

“azzi.” again, the familiar correction. 

“azzi—” she began again.

“no one,” azzi cut her off, “could ever inspire in me the affection i feel for you. there is nothing more perfect than when my hips are a bowl for your head to rest.”

paige could think of nothing to say. then, “i’d rather drink from your hips if they are to be a bowl for me. i can lie in your lap.”

azzi giggled this time, pleased by paige’s crude joke, and it was then that paige knew she could never give her up. she would be cruel in that way, always keeping azzi to herself through any means she could think of. 

and still laughing, azzi reached down, carded her fingers through paige’s hair, and gently cupped the back of her head. she held her there, against the softness of her stomach, against the flush-warm skin between her thighs. as if paige were not just wanted but necessary.

azzi shifted so that she could lie on her back, her hands coming to clasp over her stomach. their bodies were beginning to cool. azzi’s curls clung to her neck. paige’s shirt hung in tatters. but the air between them was still molten, almost war-touched.

“you’ll stay with me,” she said, low, fierce. not a question.

paige realized azzi wasn’t looking at her because she was scared of her answer. she reached up, turned azzi by the chin so that their gazes met.

her reply was immediate.

“until death.”

© hcneymooners.

[rafesangelita]

really really loved the john b drabble, it’s like ur in my brain xoxo — but i wanna know what ur readers got for xmas!! hope u had a good one <3

: 🧸

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bambi!reader:

a hefty barnes & nobles giftcard, calico critter sets, a fawn patterned throw blanket, lace lingerie tops, brown mascara, rilakkuma blind boxes (bakery keychains), a handmade dollhouse for her little trinkets to live in, and an apple pencil so she could start sketching on her ipad

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 sheep!reader:

babydoll dresses + stockings and frilly socks, vintage barbie dolls, poodle figurines for her vanity, vinyls for her record player, old beauty magazines, hair rollers, ‘marie antoinette’ on dvd so she can watch it whenever she wants, rose scented candles, and some yarn for crocheting

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 latina!kook!reader:

lots of chunky jewelry, cruise tickets, some embellished dresses she’s had her eyes on, lace-up floral heels, shimmery eyeshadow palette, a pair of sunglasses, some stuff from kali uchis’s ‘homebody’ line, bikini sets for weekssss, and pink tory burch sandals

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bitchy!kook!reader:

chrome hearts wallet (in both pink and black), dior heels, black chanel bag, customized chain, black fur coat, leopard print undies + bra, some wildflower phone cases, black silk pj’s, dior lippies, she definitely got some makeup pr, fancy furniture (she spoils herself too ofc)

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bitchy!pogue!reader:

she’s been begging so she finally gets a pole installed in her room, bedazzled platform heels, playboy bunny necklace + matching bracelet and anklet, juicy couture baby tees, victoria’s secrets sparkly lipgloss, glittery makeup bag, fuzzy slippers, pink rolling papers and a little something something from dealer!rafe

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 kook!sweetheart!reader:

lots of scrapbooking material, pink ugg boots, new hair curler + flat iron, chanel hair accessories, new digital camera, vintage chanel heels, her favorite foreign chocolates, swarvoski rings, new bed sheet set + comforters, dainty tea cup set, a few skirts, bath bombs and shower gels

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 farmer’s!daughter!reader:

a new hat, boots with flowers embroidered on the sides, bootcut jeans, a belt buckle to add to her collection, an old doll that she thought she lost, pig plushie, baby chickies, quilted blanket that was made just for her, cherry chapstick + red nail polish, and a new lana del rey vinyl

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 pogue!sweetheart!reader:

a new mixing machine, cutesy cookware + more baking dishes, customized apron, cupcake stickers, some added upgrades to her bakery, two new pairs of kitten heels, a charm bracelet full of goodies, pink lingerie sets, decoden picture frame, and some customized press on nails since she can’t wear long nails consistently

[twst-aceofhearts]

A Hunter's Prey

𝖆/𝖓: long awaited rook fic @waterthatsmoe hre you go lol

𝖙𝖜: poison/assassination attempt, death

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: rook x snow white!reader

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 1568

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx

The forest whispered your name.

Its branches reached for you like curious fingers, sunbeams slipping through tangled leaves like golden threads. You ran—bare feet brushing moss and fallen petals, heart pounding with every beat that echoed Vil’s last command.

"She must be eliminated."

You had overheard it, hidden behind the grand velvet curtain in the throne room. Vil’s voice was honey-dipped poison, beautiful even in cruelty. And though you had once loved her as a sister, the Queen’s heart had turned colder with every glance cast into her ornate mirror.

"Rook, you will be my arrow. Hunt her."

You stumbled into a clearing, gasping for air, and there he was.

Rook Hunt.

The Queen’s favorite hunter. A man cloaked in green and gold, as elegant as he was dangerous. His eyes were a piercing green, sharper than the knives strapped at his belt. A smile played at his lips, serene, unreadable.

“My dear princess,” he greeted with a low bow, his feathered hat sweeping the grass. “The forest has welcomed you warmly.”

Your back hit the trunk of a tree. “You’re here to kill me.”

He didn’t deny it. “Oui.”

Silence stretched. A breeze stirred his blond hair.

“But you haven’t drawn your blade,” you whispered.

“Non.” He stepped closer, eyes trailing the frightened tremble in your shoulders, the light in your eyes that still glowed despite the fear. “You are radiant, like morning dew kissed by dawn. Even the cruelest arrow hesitates before such beauty.”

You shook your head. “If Vil finds out you disobeyed—”

“He already suspects my heart is too soft,” he said lightly. “But it is not softness. It is admiration. I do not wish to end a song before it is sung.”

Rook knelt before you, pulling from his pouch a carved box.

“He desires your heart in this,” he said. “But I will give him a lie.”

You stared as he opened it—inside, a perfect rose carved from stone, stained crimson. It was an imitation. Beautiful. Believable.

“He will be satisfied... for now.”

Your voice was a whisper. “Why are you helping me?”

Rook rose, gaze burning like sunlight through leaves. “Because I hunt only the most wondrous prey. And you, ma chère, are not meant to be slain. You are meant to survive.”

He leaned in, brushing a lock of hair from your face with the gentlest touch. “Run deeper into the forest. There are friends there. A cottage of curious souls who will guard you well. And when the Queen learns of my deceit, I will lead her astray. For the fairest one of all deserves more than a tombstone.”

You stared at him, heart caught between awe and fear.

And then you ran—into the trees, into the unknown—while behind you, the Huntsman stood still, watching with reverence, as though he had just released a dream into the wind.

The day had been warm.

You had just finished sweeping the front step of the little woodland cottage—the one Rook had guided you toward before vanishing back into the trees. The forest had been kind. The birds sang your name, deer nuzzled your palms, and the cottage's tiny inhabitants had welcomed you with wide, curious eyes and gentle hearts.

It almost made you forget the fear that once shadowed your every breath.

Almost.

Until she arrived.

An old woman, cloaked in faded lilac and tattered lace, bent-backed with a basket of gleaming fruit.

“Good afternoon, dear,” she rasped, smiling through cracked lips. “Such a lovely young girl. May an old traveler rest here a moment?”

You hesitated. But kindness was your nature, and you nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”

She sat gratefully, setting her basket beside you. “You must be lonely in this forest. A pretty thing like you deserves a treat.”

She held out an apple.

It was the color of velvet blood. Shiny. Perfect. The kind of red that belonged in storybooks, in dreams. Or nightmares.

You blinked. “That’s very kind, but—”

“Ah, don’t be shy,” she crooned. “A single bite, and you’ll taste happiness itself.”

Your fingers brushed the skin of the fruit. Cold. Too cold.

Still… it gleamed like something forbidden and divine. And for a moment, you imagined sharing a slice with Rook, laughing under a golden sun.

You raised it to your lips.

A crisp sound.

The bite crunched between your teeth, sweet and sharp all at once.

Then—

Agony.

Your throat burned. Your fingers spasmed, the apple tumbling to the ground. The world tilted, spun, darkened.

You gasped for breath but none came.

And as you fell, skirts fanned around you like a wilting flower, you saw the old woman straighten. Too tall. Too graceful. Her disguise dissolved like mist, replaced with beauty too perfect to be human.

Vil.

Eyes like shattered mirrors stared down at you, glittering with triumph and something darker.

“The fairest one of all,” he murmured coldly. “No longer.”

Darkness bloomed in the corners of your eyes. The last thing you saw was Vil’s silhouette turning away—flawless, unbothered, victorious.

And the shattered red of the apple glinting beside your still hand.

It was the silence that told him.

Rook had always known the forest by its song—the rustle of leaves, the gossip of birds, the heartbeat of life. But today, the silence clung like mourning veils, too still, too heavy. As if the forest itself were holding its breath.

When he reached the clearing, he stopped breathing too.

There you lay.

A coffin of glass nestled in a bed of moss and violet petals. The woodland creatures had gathered—silent witnesses to beauty preserved and a tragedy unfinished. Seven small figures stood in solemn vigil, heads bowed, eyes damp.

You looked untouched by death. Frozen in the moment of slumber, lips still parted from the last breath you took. Skin pale as winter’s first snow. Hands folded over your chest, one lock of hair curling against your cheek like the gentle brush of a lover’s hand.

Rook fell to his knees.

“Mon trésor…” he breathed, voice cracking with a sound he had never made before. It was not poetic. It was not elegant.

It was raw.

He touched the glass with trembling fingers. “No... this is not how your story ends.”

They told him what happened. Of the old woman with eyes too sharp, of the apple’s gleam, of how you crumpled to the earth like a fallen star.

And Rook knew.

Vil.

His Queen. His muse. His cruel perfection.

He clenched his jaw until it ached.

But he did not shatter the glass. He did not scream.

Instead, he knelt beside you for days.

He spoke to you in soft murmurs—verses from songs he once sang, stories of hunts you never heard, promises left unspoken.

“You were never prey,” he whispered once. “You were the moonlight. And I... I was too late to follow its path.”

The forest wept with him.

But still, your lips remained still. Still red. Still parted.

Still waiting.

The coffin lay untouched beneath the flowering tree.

Each petal that drifted from above kissed the glass with reverence, as if even nature mourned her. Within, you lay—still, unaging, as if slumber had preserved your beauty just as it had your breath.

Rook Hunt had never feared silence until now.

He stood before the glass, boots soaked with dew, cloak heavier than before. His bow was slung over his shoulder, forgotten. In his hands, he carried a single white lily.

He laid it beside you.

The dwarves had said the spell was unbreakable. That nothing—no magic, no potion—could draw breath back to your lips.

But Rook, hunter of beauty, believed in more than logic.

He believed in love.

He knelt.

“My princess,” he whispered, voice like a prayer. “You still steal my breath, even now, in your quiet sleep. But I have grown selfish. I wish to hear you speak again. To see you smile and know that it was not a memory.”

He placed a hand against the glass.

“It should have been me,” he murmured. “I was meant to protect you. I was meant to defy her, not just with words but with action. I was a coward with poetry and no sword.”

The forest held its breath.

“And yet… if the stories are true, if even one tale holds a grain of hope…”

He stood, leaning over the coffin. His fingers unlatched the cover with the gentleness of snow melting in spring. A soft creak broke the stillness.

He bent forward.

“This is not a goodbye,” he said, brushing his lips to your forehead. Then, to your lips—warm despite the stillness.

A kiss.

Not one of grandeur or ceremony. But a kiss filled with all the words he had never said. All the hunts he would have abandoned just to keep you safe. All the silent sonnets in his heart.

And then—

A breath.

Your fingers twitched.

Rook’s eyes widened, breath catching as you gasped—like surfacing from deep water. Your chest rose, lashes fluttered, and your lips parted as a trembling whisper escaped:

“...Rook?”

Tears blurred his vision.

“Oui,” he choked, gripping your hand with both of his. “Oui, mon cœur. I’m here.”

You stared at him, dazed but alive.

And Rook Hunt, the hunter sent to kill you, the man who once walked with shadows, now wept in the light of your awakening.

The curse was broken.

Not with a blade.

But with love.

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

[fixated-cookies]

Milk, Vanilla, and The Witches Pit.

Pairing: Witch!Reader x Shadow Milk Cookie, Witch!Reader x Pure Vanilla Cookie, (past) Witch!Reader x Burning Spice Cookie Word Count: ~2k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Tentacle kink, soft dubcon elements (aphrodisiac influence), magical manipulation, possessive behavior, emotional breakdowns, light worship kink, humiliation (non-cruel), voyeurism, orgasm denial, forced arousal, non-canon worldbuilding (eldritch witch magic, enchanted maze, sacred ritual spaces), power imbalance, Pure Vanilla corruption, oral fixation,, dom!reader dynamic, emotionally compromised cookies, pure vanilla point of view, burning spice kinda mentioned hahaha

part one

COMISSION

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

At first, it was only whispers. Unconfirmed, scattered, and strangely poetic.

A baker passing through the Vanilla Kingdom had spoken of a scent he couldn’t place—berries steeped in lust, he’d said, half-joking, eyes twitching. Another Cookie from the outskirts claimed they saw the stars shift over the southern hills, as if pulled down toward something hungry.

And then there were the dreams.

He’d received three letters in as many days. Each from a healer he trusted. Each confessing the same thing: they woke gasping, wet between the thighs or legs, after visions of a throne carved from mouths. They wrote with trembling hands. They asked if he felt it too.

He hadn’t. Not until today.

Pure Vanilla stood in the study of his sanctum, sunlight curling softly across the glasswork. A low thrum echoed at the base of his skull—magic, old and unclean, threading its way through the air like perfume from a broken bottle.

He pressed his fingers to his Soul Jam.

Something has awakened. Not evil. Not quite. But… wrong. Beautifully, dangerously wrong.

By dusk, he had already departed. No fanfare. No speech. Just a quiet command for the court to carry on and not follow.

The land of Beast Yeast was thick with mist by the time he arrived. And there—where once lay scorched earth and memory—stood a castle that should not be.

It rose like a mirage built from lust and grief: obsidian stone slick with dew, towers shaped like talons, rivers that shimmered red as pomegranate wine.

And something else.

The maze.

It stretched from the castle gates like a serpent’s jaw, rows upon rows of blackened rosebushes twisted into arches and curves. The petals gleamed wet, as if sweating in anticipation. The thorns pulsed.

Pure Vanilla stepped forward slowly, quietly. His robes trailed behind him, a hush in the overgrown silence. The closer he came, the louder the maze breathed.

That’s when he saw him.

Shadow Milk Cookie.

Standing before the mouth of the maze, dressed in ceremonial black and sapphire. He looked... different. Cleaner, almost reverent. His coattails had been brushed and pressed. His crown-jester hat removed, tucked under one arm like a sacred offering. In his arms: boxes. Dozens of them, wrapped with trembling care.

He was checking his reflection in a glinting goblet. Wiping sweat from his upper lip. Adjusting the cuff of his left sleeve. Breathing hard. Like someone preparing for a confession.

Then—

He smiled.

A grin more sincere than any Pure Vanilla had seen.

And then… he bolted.

Straight into the maze.

No theatrics. No backward glance. Just his silhouette swallowed by the red-black roses and the twisting mist.

And Pure Vanilla—heart tight, Soul Jam humming uneasily—followed.

Because the rumors were true.

Because something had returned to Earthbread.

And it had called him. The moment Pure Vanilla stepped past the first arch of thorns, the air shifted. It wasn’t sudden. No sharp burst or slam of magic—just a slow, insidious tilt. Like the floor of the world had been set on a slope and his balance hadn’t caught up. The scent hit first. Not the saccharine rot of rotting fruit, but something deeper. Thicker. Heavier than air had any right to be. A haze that clung to his lungs with every breath, sweet as nectar and just as dangerous. He tried to purify it on instinct, a soft glow emanating from his Soul Jam. But the mist simply curled around the light—mocking, amused—and whispered back.

The roses pulsed as he passed. Not just the petals—the stems, the thorns, the roots. Like they were watching. Like they knew he didn’t belong. Yet nothing reached for him. Not yet.

He walked in silence at first. Left, right, straight. The maze wound in spirals, designed by a hand not meant to obey geometry. Every path looked the same. Red and black. Red and black. But the deeper he went, the warmer it became. Not oppressive heat, but something more bodily. Wet warmth. Breathing warmth. Like the inside of something living.

And then the whispers began.

Not words, not yet. Just sounds. Breaths that weren’t his. Laughter without mouths. Echoes of sighs. A voice he thought he recognized—just at the edge of memory—moaning faintly into the velvet air.

He kept walking.

The gift boxes Shadow Milk had carried appeared along the trail like breadcrumbs. One by one, discarded. A ribbon tangled in a rose. A box crushed by what looked like trembling hands. A silk handkerchief spotted with something viscous and glimmering faintly under the mist. The deeper he went, the more disarray he found. Until finally he heard it—not a whisper, not an echo—but a sound so real and close it stopped his heart mid-beat.

A sob.

Choked and wet. Followed by a moan.

His steps faltered. Not from fear. From confusion. The mist was thicker now. And it did something to him. His thoughts grew slower. His body… warmer. His clothes clung too tightly. His fingers twitched, grasping at the staff he barely remembered drawing. It pulsed faintly in his grasp, the flower ornament blooming without light. The air tasted like sugar and want.

A voice broke through the haze, soft and low, drawn out like a sigh at the end of a prayer.

“You made it…”

He turned. No one. Just the roses breathing.

Another sound. A wet one.

Something was happening up ahead. Something rhythmic. Deliberate.

Pure Vanilla kept moving.

The last arch gave way to open air. Not light. There was no sun here—only the low thrum of magic humming like a heartbeat beneath velvet clouds. The courtyard stretched wide and obscene. Petals littered the slick stone, red and black, glistening with dew. Obsidian statues rose in rings around the center—mouthless angels, weeping roses, serpents wrapped around limbs locked in ecstasy.

And in the center—

A throne made of nothing but silk and sin.

He saw them before they saw him.

Shadow Milk Cookie was on his knees. His arms hung limp at his sides, palms twitching against the stone. His mouth was full—latched to the breast of a stranger, lips slick, tongue greedy. His eyes were rolled back, one of the hidden ones in his hair blinking in delirious rhythm with every suck. His body convulsed slightly as her hand jerked his cock in smooth, precise motions—each one pulling a cry from him that echoed off the rose-drenched walls.

The gifts lay scattered at her feet. Torn ribbons. Crushed boxes. The effort of devotion trampled beneath lust.

She looked down at him with a gaze too calm, too cold. The Witch had not changed. She didn’t have to.

Pure Vanilla did not speak. Could not. The tentacles writhed behind her—some brushing across Shadow Milk’s thighs, others coiling lazily near her lap. The air reeked of sex and magic. It curled in his lungs like incense lit on a grave.

Then her eyes flicked up.

Saw him.

The air did not change.

Shadow Milk whimpered at her chest. She spoke to neither of them.

Not yet.

She simply let it continue.

Her thumb slid over the head of Shadow Milk’s cock just as her nipple left his mouth with a pop. He cried out—high and pretty—and spilled into her hand with a force that knocked his head back. His hips jerked once, twice, his thighs trembling. The orgasm tore through him like prophecy, and she held him steady through every shudder.

Only when he stilled did she finally speak.

“Watching is not a crime.”

Her voice cut through the haze like a slow knife.

Pure Vanilla flinched.

A single tentacle slid toward him across the stone. Unhurried. Confident.

“You came for truth, didn’t you?” she asked, gently brushing Shadow Milk’s hair back. “You always did prefer it clean.”

The tentacle curled around Pure Vanilla’s ankle.

He moved to resist—then didn’t. His fingers trembled.

Another tendril coiled at his waist.

She turned her head slightly—one breast still wet with Shadow Milk’s spit, her fingers stained with seed—and beckoned him with a smile that was not kind.

“Come closer,” she said. “Let me show you what devotion looks like.” The moment the tentacle coiled around his thigh, Pure Vanilla’s breath hitched. He tried to step back. He didn’t. Couldn’t. His limbs felt heavy—clouded—not with fear but with warmth. A dangerous warmth. The kind that started low, between the legs, and spread outward like molasses poured too slow. The aphrodisiac mist wasn’t thick here—it was concentrated. Refined. Meant to soften even the hardest conviction.

He blinked, and the throne felt closer. Another tendril hooked under his arm. Velvet against his wrist. A subtle tug. He didn’t resist.

Not because he wanted this. But because his body had forgotten the word no.

Shadow Milk whimpered beside the Witch’s leg, cheek pressed against her thigh, his spent cock twitching, lips still parted around phantom pleasure. He didn’t even lift his head when Pure Vanilla was dragged across the marble.

“You look tired,” she said sweetly. Her fingers twitched, and more tentacles came.

Pure Vanilla gasped as silk bound his ankles. Not cruelly. Not tightly. Just enough to hold. Enough to part him. His robe bunched at his waist. He could feel the air on his thighs.

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

She tilted her head—and then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Another figure. At the edge of the circle.

Slumped forward, mouth gagged by some glowing spell-silk. Body flushed and gleaming with sweat. Muscles trembling with denied release. Crimson marks bloomed along his chest, his arms, his throat—where tentacles had kissed and left their claim.

His eyes were glazed.

He did not look at Pure Vanilla.

He only thrust weakly into the air, hips grinding against nothing, rutting against a pleasure just out of reach. A ruined shell of a warrior. His hair was different. His expression empty.

Pure Vanilla didn’t recognize him.

Not as Burning Spice Cookie.

Not as anyone.

Just another sinner in the altar’s glow.

He turned back to the Witch—

And her hand touched his chest.

Light bloomed from her palm—not burning, not blinding. Inviting.

It bled through the fabric of his robes like oil through lace. His Soul Jam flickered—once, twice—and then dimmed.

She smiled.

“You can leave,” she whispered, voice soft as syrup. “You always could. But you haven’t.”

A tentacle brushed his thigh. He trembled.

Her lips leaned to his ear.

“So let me ask, little light... what are you really here for?”

And then her fingers drifted lower.

The first moan that left Pure Vanilla’s lips wasn’t his.

It slipped from his throat like it belonged to someone else—soft, breathless, humiliated. Her fingers had only grazed the edge of his Soul Jam, and still his cock stirred, twitching against the air, his thighs tensing in shame. The tentacles didn’t restrain him, not tightly. They only held, cradling his body like something precious. Like something offered.

His breath trembled. His vision swam. His crown sat crooked on his head.

“Ohhh…” came a voice. Lazy. Liquid. Mocking.

Shadow Milk stirred from his place beside the Witch, one eye opening beneath his tangled bangs. He looked ruined, dazed, lips still red from suckling. But he grinned through it. Theatrical. Drenched in bliss and spite.

“You’re quite the picture, mmm,” he murmured, voice laced with cracked glee. “Our dear beacon, all fogged up and twitching. Tsk, tsk… Is this what it takes to peel back those holy folds?”

“Quiet,” Pure Vanilla rasped.

But his voice was thin. Barely present.

Shadow Milk only laughed—a low, fractured chuckle that dissolved into a whimper. “Still playing saint, even while your thighs tremble? My, my. You’ve missed quite the show.”

A tentacle slid along Pure Vanilla’s inner thigh. He bit back a gasp, his head tipping back. The mist licked at his lips, syrup-sweet, heady. His cock throbbed now—shamelessly.

The Witch watched.

She didn’t touch him again. Not yet. She let him unravel.

Shadow Milk crawled closer—not with the grace of a predator, but the limp, sensuous drift of someone who had given in. His fingers brushed the edge of Pure Vanilla’s robe, gaze half-lidded.

“You came here for answers,” he whispered. “But I think you just wanted permission.”

“Permission…?”

“To fall.”

He chuckled again. It cracked in the middle.

“Don’t worry. I did too.”

Pure Vanilla’s breath hitched. A tentacle brushed his tip—barely. He gasped, whole body twitching, stars popping behind his eyes.

“I… I won’t,” he hissed, but his hips lifted of their own accord, chasing the contact. “I can’t.”

“You already are,” Shadow Milk said sweetly, resting his cheek against Pure Vanilla’s thigh. “And you look so pretty doing it.”

The Witch leaned forward, her lips just inches from Pure Vanilla’s jaw. Her breath was cool, her eyes deep. Not cruel. Not kind.

Just waiting. He tried to hold it in.

Even with her mouth near his ear, even as the tentacle curled around the base of his cock like a gentle promise, even as Shadow Milk suckled at his throat with lips still wet from the Witch’s breast—he tried.

He did.

But the pleasure didn't beg for entrance. It slid in—sweet and low, like fog under a locked door. Her magic didn't command him. It coaxed. Her fingers didn’t tear at his robes. They simply pressed, so lightly over his Soul Jam that the echo of it ricocheted through his spine like a lover’s sigh.

"You're trembling," she whispered.

“I know…”

"You don't want to leave."

“I… can’t.”

"You never did."

Pure Vanilla’s knees buckled. He would have fallen had the altar not already cradled him, held him in its velvet grasp. His thighs parted without a word. His cock leaked shamelessly against his belly. Every twitch, every breath was a confession.

Shadow Milk kissed his collarbone. “You taste like surrender,” he crooned.

The Witch watched. Silent. Steady.

Then, she moved—just a little. Her hand slid between his legs, not greedy, not fast. The tentacles wrapped around his hips, lifted him just enough to tilt his body forward, exposed and open. Her touch was like fire wrapped in silk.

Even though

He came undone like a vow broken at last.

Cum play

Shadow Milk clung to his side, pressing kisses to his temple, his jaw, his lips. “Beautiful,” he breathed. “So good like this…”

The Witch didn’t speak.

She simply cupped his face.

And he—soft, ruined, light dimmed but not gone—nuzzled into her palm.

He didn’t ask what came next.

He didn’t want to know.

He was no longer a visitor.

He had entered.

And the maze… would never let him leave.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

CoD!Widow AUs make me cry and I love it

Like imagine being married to Price, and he dies in action.

The guys only find out he's married because as they are waiting for evac, they know he won't make it. The silence is thick as he goes into his chest pocket and pulls out a polaroid of his wife that he's kept hidden for for the past two years. It's a picture of them eloping at the courthouse, posed in front of the courthouse steps. She's got on a short white wedding dress, and he's dipping her back in a classic romantic kiss.

The next polaroid he shows them with shaky hands is of her and a little baby boy, and he has their captain's eyes and her smile and a head full of curls. John tells them they named him John Jr., but he's affectionately called JoJo.

John tells them that he was going to invite them all home for the leave after this mission, the Wife's been begging to meet them all says, "Who are you to deprive JoJo of his uncle's? They can keep their mouths shut about us." But now he's sad because he's dying, and he should have listened to her, and he won't get to see either his wife or JoJo meet his boys for the first time.

John makes Simon, Kyle, and Johnny swear on taking care of his wife and son. He was all they had. He wants them to hug her tight, always send her flowers, she likes pink garden roses the most, but is just as happy with any flower. He tells them that her favorite holiday is Christmas, and since JoJo was born, John has always dressed up as Santa so the boy could sneak downstairs and 'catch him' setting out presents. They are a colored lights on the tree and stockings above the fireplace kind of family, hot cocoa with whipped cream with sprinkles, not marshmallows type of family. Snow days spent making snow angels and snowmen type of family.

In the end, he just tells them to make sure his little family knows he loves them and let his wife know he wasn't alone when he took his last breath. That was always her biggest fear, him dying in the field alone.

It's actually Kyle that is able to bring himself to knock on the red front door to the sweet little country side house. The home is perfect it looks like it is big enough for a family of at least five. There's an apple tree out front, the grass is manicured, and there are well-kept and well loved flower boxes on the windows.

Kyle feels sick to his stomach, and he doesn't want to be holding his Captain’s hat, dog tags, and under it, the British flag. He's the one that does it because Johnny can't form words because he spent the previous night crying so badly he lost his voice, and Simon has been at his worst with shutting down, he hasn't even taken off the gloves and mask he was wearing since they still had Captain’s blood and scent on them, Kyle suspects he's still in shock. Kyle is the only one even halfway put together out of three to speak with their Captain’s Widow.

The front door opens, and it's her. She's wearing a pink apron, a smudge of cake batter on her cheek, and on her hip is Jojo. Kyle could have choked and died when he noticed the small bump in her middle. It's clear that Captain didn't know, or else he would have said something about this, too.

Her eyes are bright for a second as she swings open the front door, "Finally he lets you off base" She goes to laugh but that sound dies in her throat when she sees what he's holding. Kyle watches as the light dims in her eyes and her smile slowly drops.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Price." Is all he's saying before she's wailing in heartache.

Part 2

[sixosix]

summary you take it upon yourself to make it up to lyney when he couldn’t perform on the night he looked forward to the most—and lyney falls a little harder.

or, sickfic, basically, but it’s more than that

warnings wc 3k, mentions of injuries and blood, fluff!!! and a bit of angst oops

A/N @hiraethsdesires wanted to get tagged so here u goo!!! hope u like reading it <3

“For the last time, Lyney,” you sigh, shoving one more macaron in the small, red box with the same shade as the accents of his hat, “I can’t attend your show.”

It’s a stroke of luck for him that you don’t have a line right now, or else you would’ve kicked him out the moment you saw him enter, fully expecting he doesn’t intend on leaving right away.

Lyney droops dramatically, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Seriously? Not this week either?”

“Not this week either. Not ever, I’m pretty sure I told you.” You push the box against his chest, to which he responds eagerly by situating his free hand firmly over yours.

He keeps his grip firm when you try tugging your hands away. He bores his eyes into yours, too sincere and open for a performer such as himself—you feel a bit of your will chip away. “That night is special to me. Won’t you consider again?”

“Why is it special?”

Lyney’s lips curl into a smirk, striking right when you’ve faltered. “Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You jerk your hands out of his grip as he laughs. “Bold assumption,” you say, smiling a little when Lyney cries a ‘come onnnn’. “Lyney, I already said—”

“—That you have no one else to take care of the shop if you leave, I know, I know,” Lyney interrupts with clear disdain. “But don’t you think I deserve a bit of compensation? Surely you recognize my efforts in being this bakery’s most loyal customer. Most purchases and most compliments to the prettiest owner.”

You roll your eyes, but you do give it a bit of thought. Lyney has been the reason why your humble little shop tucked in some hidden corner of Fontaine’s city has been gaining attention. You’ve definitely increased in customers ever since Lyney took it upon himself to come over every day with a Rainbow Rose and a dream (and Mora).

“If I attend to one, will you promise it’ll be the last?”

Lyney’s expression shifts instantly. He beams, leaning close enough until your noses are touching. You swear you can see the sparkles in his eyes. “I can’t promise anything if you enjoy it so much you keep coming back for more.”

“Don’t push it,” you say.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Lyney murmurs, his smile turning softer. “You’re not joking around, right? That’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes, I guess.”

He kisses your hand three times, saying, “I’ll make it the best night of your life, I promise,” between them.

You look forward to it. You wouldn’t tell it to his face, but if he were to look closer and see the tremble of your hands to the smile on your face, he’d know anyway.

Lyney doesn’t come over the next day.

You will yourself not to feel too disappointed. You have no right to be. Every time he does visit, he’d just invite you to one of his shows under the guise of ordering whatever you tell him is the best seller of the day, and every time, you’d reject his offer. Yesterday was an exception—on a whim.

Maybe he got a revelation, thinking that he'll find it boring when he finally got you in his grasp.

It certainly doesn’t help that Lyney still hasn't come to visit the day after that, which happened to be the same day of the performance.

They canceled the show, you hear them say, from outside on the streets and even in the walls of your bakery. What a shame; I was looking forward to it.

So was I, you want to say through gritted teeth.

You knew their fame knew no bounds, but it was only then that embarrassment crept in when you realized that the show star, Lyney himself, frequented your small shop with a bouquet in hand to invite you personally. And you had the gall to reject him.

You also learn that the bakery feels much more empty without his blazing presence.

The moment you finish watching the customer exit the shop with two paper bags in their arms, you rush to fling your apron off and flip the sign to ‘CLOSED’.

You don’t often leave the bakery in fear of missing out on what could be busy days, but this is more important than that. You can’t handle working idly for another hour with guilt in your stomach urging you to do something.

You must look like a sight: speeding through the pathway with a bit of flour on your clothes and a determined glint in your eyes. Only when you spot a familiar house overhead do you pause to take a deep breath.

You can do this. You need to find out what happened.

“He got sick?”

Lynette nods, sighing in defeat. “Would you like to come in? I’ll explain as I make tea.”

You glance around unsurely, feeling a little out of place. You occasionally break the heart of the brother of this woman currently inviting you inside their home. You can only hope that Lyney hasn’t been lamenting his bakery troubles to his sister.

Lynette directs you to the loveseat of their small living room before padding over to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says in her endearing ever-monotone voice.

“I’m okay, thank… you…” Your gaze catches on a picture frame on the desk beside the seat of Lyney, Lynette, and what you can only assume from stories he’s shared is Freminet. Lynette is far from the camera, staring into the distance and sipping tea. Freminet is smiling awkwardly with no teeth, and the one eye he has visible isn’t even staring at the camera. Then Lyney sits in the middle, holding the camera with two arms and a wide grin, eyes screwed shut and his face so open.

You feel as if you’ve just caught a glimpse of something so personal, and the thought of that twists your heart and pushes it to beat twice as fast as normal. You’ve never seen him smile like that before. (You briefly wonder what it would be like to see it happen personally.)

“I’ve never seen him get this high of a fever before,” Lynette says, rousing you from your trance. She hands you a cup of tea, steam emanating from the cup.

“How did he even get sick?”

“I’m not sure… It could be because of the thunderstorm yesterday—he was out at that time and came home like that. He seemed really excited for tonight, too. Lyney kept telling me that this one would be special.”

“Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You nearly choke in your first sip because of your own thoughts.

Lynette looks back up at you over the rim of her cup. “With the stress of not being able to perform tormenting him, I assume he wouldn’t be getting better in time for the show. Or at least, not tonight at all.”

“Ah,” you voice lamely. You can’t even imagine the look of pure distress on Lyney’s sweet face—it hurts to even think about it. He’s done so much for you and even promised a whole show, only to fall sick before he could make it come true.

Will he think he’s at fault for this?

With your fingernails digging crescents on your palms, you quietly ask, “…Can I come visit him? Or would that be too much?”

Lynette’s gaze sharpens a little. “Has my brother told you the truth of our identities?”

“Most of everyone found out after the trial,” you answer without missing a beat.

“And still, you choose to care for Lyney?”

Is this a shovel talk? Are you experiencing a shovel talk right now?

“He makes it hard not to,” you say weakly; it’s the truth. You’re here because Lyney, throughout his little visits, has made you care so deeply for him that you started to look forward to each visit. “…Is that a no? Was that too much of a request?”

Lynette has a ghost of a smile on her face. “It’s perfect.”

The room is silent as you enter. You feel shame for visiting someone’s room without them knowing, even though you’ve been given complete permission by his own sister. Still, your face burns the closer you reach Lyney’s bed.

“Hey, Lyney,” you murmur as you kneel beside the bed. “I brought some of your favorites.”

He doesn’t respond, much to no one’s surprise. You wonder why you feel so disappointed that those lilac eyes aren’t looking at you, begging you, wooing you. Defeated, you place the bag of macarons on his bedside table, mostly an excuse to inspect his face closer.

His brows are furrowed, and a thin layer of sweat is on his forehead, even in his sleep. He looks nicer in casual clothes and his hair free from products.

A bowl of water is near his head, with a towel sitting in the bottom.

“You get really sick when you get it, huh?” you muse to no one in particular, gently wiping the sweat off his forehead. Then to his neck, where the warmth of his fever nearly burns you just by hovering close.

Lyney shifts a little. You pause with bated breath. Still, he doesn’t wake up.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, taking the bowl in your hands.

His nose is really red. You shouldn’t be finding it cute—really, what’s wrong with you recently?

But your movement brushed against the blanket over his torso and, with it, came revealing the side of his waist. His stomach is wrapped with bandages, and a spot of dried blood is seeping in on the bandage on his side.

Your eyes widen in horror, nearly making a loud, indecipherable noise before you catch yourself.

You rush to the door, finding Lynette in the same spot of the loveseat where you left her. Her eyes flick up to you, brows arched in surprise.

“Lynette, he—”

She catches on quickly. “He’s alright,” Lynette says, though her ears are curled back in distress. “He’s been given help. We knew of someone affiliated with Hydro and its healing properties. He’s alright.”

Well. Of course, she knew; she’s his sister. You can’t bear the thought of Lyney in the middle of a thunderstorm, finding himself in front of Lynette, bleeding. You feel sick just thinking about it. You can’t possibly imagine what Lynette has been going through, having to take care of her brother by herself.

You hesitate. “Can I come back here tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Wait—really?”

Lynette pauses. “Should I have not said yes?”

“I just thought you’d be a little more stern with me because of… you know…”

“I respect those who put my brother in his place,” Lynette says, then: “And those who don’t run from us when they find out what our identities are,” and that’s that.

“You brought a flower,” is the first thing Lynette says as soon as she opens the door the following morning.

“He gives me one every visit,” you explain, and you’re not quite sure why it’s humiliating to do so. “So, I want to pay him back at least this once.”

“Rainbow Rose,” Lynette notes as she shuts the door softly. You follow her into Lyney’s room, but she halts before you two can reach the door at arm’s length. “Do you know what this one means?”

You look at the Rainbow Rose nestled in your palm. It's been well taken care of since he gave it to you—all of them had been. “No, I can’t say that I do…?”

“He’s given everyone else Lumidouce Bells because this flower is a little more special.”

Lynette reaches for your hand, gently pushing the Rainbow Rose until you’re holding it against your chest.

She looks into your eyes. “That flower is like him giving his heart to you. Please, take care of it some more. Don’t give it back, okay?”

And as you mull over her words, she leaves. And left you standing in front of Lyney’s room alone, with your entire face feeling as if it’s been burnt by the sun.

But this is no time for distractions, no matter the implications. Lyney still hasn’t woken up yet, and it’s time to pay him back. He deserves that much.

“You finally feel better?”

Lyney blinks. Or, at least, he tries to, but his eyes weigh heavier than usual. He lays back down and chooses to close them back again. “Ugh…” he rasps out, “Lynette. My side is still hurting a little, but it’s much more bearable than yesterday. I thought I was about to die!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Lynette says, handing him a glass of water. “You already caused quite a scene.”

“Hmmm?” Lyney answers absentmindedly, finding himself ready to fall asleep again.

“You didn’t get injured yesterday. That was five days ago. And the bakery shop owner kept coming over every day.”

Lyney’s eyes definitely open at that. “What did you say?”

Lynette’s tail flicks. “The bakery has been closed for about four days now, and no one else but I know that it’s because the person responsible for it has been here in this room instead, taking care of you. It was even on The Steambird.”

Lyney’s finding it difficult to catch up. “Wait… wait. Are you saying…”

“You made Y/N, Freminet, and I worry so much, you know,” she chides.

Lyney’s heart shatters. “Does that mean—my wound—”

“I wasn’t the one changing your bandages,” Lynette says with a tiny smile as she watches her brother’s face explode in red. “Do you still feel tired?”

“Not at all!” Lyney springs up from his bed, his grin wild and insane. His side will most definitely punish him for this, but that’s far in the back of his mind. “Ah, so Y/N does care. All my efforts weren’t in vain!”

Lynette sighs, but still stays to listen.

“And—bandaging my wounds? While I was out cold? How intimate… My heart is racing at the thought of it.” He clutches his chest, because it’s true despite his dramatics.

“I’ve never seen Y/N before; I’ve only heard of what you told me every time you came back from the bakery,” Lynette starts, urging him to lie back down. She presses a towel on his forehead, and he yelps because it feels ice-cold. “But you seem wrong about every assumption, Lyney. I know the face of someone who cares.”

Lyney falters, his expression softening impossibly. “Y/N’s not mad I missed out on the show I promised…?”

“Y/N was worried about the same thing, but in your shoes.”

Lyney hides his face with his hands, but that’s a fruitless attempt. Lynette has a clear view of his red ears. “I can’t tell if I’m elated or mortified,” he groans. “Both, perhaps?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Lynette says, getting up at the same time the door swings open.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” you exclaim, though hushedly. “Lynette, I brought food to eat. Here, help yourself. Has Lyney woken up yet?”

“Oh, he…” Lynette takes your handmade lunch and glances down at her brother, briefly surprised to see him with his eyes shut and his breathing as steady as it had been when he was sleeping. “Excuse me, I want to eat.”

“Wait, Lynette—” you start, but Lynette is already walking away and eventually shuts the door. She must be very excited to eat her food.

You turn to Lyney, and the world falls silent. Lyney doesn’t know why he’s terrified of you finding out he’s awake. Was it guilt? Shame for a promised night in ruin, or humiliation for seeing him at his lowest point? He grips the sheet under the blanket tighter. His heart racing seems like it’s neither of those.

“Hello again, Lyney,” you say in a low whisper, and all of a sudden, his grip loosens, and his shoulders lose tension. “You should wake up soon. I promised Lynette I’d bake your favorite dessert if you do.”

You're not expecting any reply, ceremoniously reaching for the towel on his bedside table, like you’ve lived here as much as he has been.

The steady beat of your heart calms him, and he wonders how you aren’t hearing how fast his is beating yet.

Lyney finds himself enjoying being under your tender care, until the warmth on his side disappears and he panics instantly. His eyes fly open just in time for him to see you leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Lyney slips, instinctively reaching out to hold your head in place.

You both freeze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

His thoughts race. Four days. You’ve closed the bakery shop you swore to him you wouldn’t ever abandon just for anyone—yet you did for him. You’ve been taking care of him. And kissing his cheek, for god’s sake. Four days you’ve been caring for him so sweetly, and he wasn’t awake enough to experience all of it himself.

“You’re—you’re awake!” you exclaim, your hands on both of his cheeks. “Lyney, oh, you’re— Wait, how long have you been—”

Lyney silences you with a kiss on the side of your mouth. He smiles at your dumbfounded expression. “You shouldn’t promise my dessert,” he says, and he winces when his voice doesn’t come out as smoothly as intended. “I don’t want any more promises to break.”

“You didn’t break any promise, Lyney,” you say softly, and he blinks when your eyes glisten. “You’re awake right now, aren’t you?”

“Then,” he straightens to sit up, grinning, “let me make it up to you. I promised you a night you would never forget, didn’t I?”

A/N not another lyney fic...

[17020]

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'RE A MOTHER.

With no actual babies or children, you still manage to become a mother. The Blue Lock men have given you the gift of motherhood. Fem!Yn, some characters are missing i'm sorry.

A huge, colorful bouquet with tulips, roses, baby's breath, and lilies carefully sat on the coffee table inside your shared home. He was sitting on the couch behind it, a box of chocolates in hand, at his side lays the child you have spent the last few months caring for, wearing a party hat which was now crooked from its movement. Its tail wagged in excitement, and it sprung from its seat as you came near; your boyfriend pulling out a small card from behind the box.

"It's not much" he smiled, handing you the card, "but it's your first, and mine too." The card is beautiful, in the cover being an oddly shaped heart—drawn by him—filled with red glitter which had spread all around the card. Inside was a picture of the two of you, of the day in which you first saw your 'baby'.

It was nostalgic, the passage of time. What had started as a small, timid puppy was now the happiest, most brilliant canine the world had ever seen. The other side contained his handwriting, which spelled out a sentence you were once sure you would never hear at this point in your life. As if he had been reading your mind, he reads it aloud. "Happy Mother's Day, my love." Buckle up! A journey with a four-legged friend is one to cherish forever. With him, you are the proudest dog mom.

YOICHI ISAGI, Meguru Bachira, Rensuke Kunigami, Oliver Aiku, Jingo Raichi, Shido Ryusei (let's be honest, his hard would probably say "Happy day, ma"), Chris Prince.

A nice, candle-lit dinner is what awaits you at home. You stepped inside your apartment, and to your surprise, your lover is sat at your dinner table, arranged with a floral centerpiece, lit votive candles, freshly plated takeout (as he could not cook for the life of him), and a furry feline sitting on his lap. The cat's sparkly red collar had heart-shaped balloons tied to it, the balloon almost completely covering your boyfriend's peaceful expression.

"Happy Mother's Day, babe. (Cat's name) and I figured you'd like a family night to celebrate." He smiled, with you walking towards him and picking up your cat, cradling it in your arms. You placed a quick peck on its forehead, and your boyfriend excitedly pointed towards the seat on his side. On his side? There were three seats now—

"Since this is family night, (Cat's name) will be joining us. The catnip hasn't been served yet, I was waiting for you to come" he explained. You softly placed the feline on it's chair, earning a meow in return. Family dinner had gone by much too quick to your liking, the kitchen walls echoing with laughter as you and your boyfriend spent the rest of the night browsing clothes for your cat, sharing a few pecks now and then, because "moms need to replenish themselves with kisses." Congratulations on motherhood! With him, you will become the best cat mom.

REO MIKAGE, HYOMA CHIGIRI, Tabito Karasu, Jyubei Aryu, Rin Itoshi (though his affection would be much more reserved, we still love cat papa Rin), Eita Otoya.

He waited for you inside of your room, sitting on top of your desk. Beside him is an unfamiliar new decoration, a new accessory to your room. To him, though, it's much more than that. "You're back" he states, "I got you something while on the way home. This old lady was selling plants and I thought I'd get one for us, y'know? For our home."

Our home. It had such a nice ring to it, you thought. Taking a closer look at your desk, you noticed the small, brown pot with green growing out of it. It was a jade plant. You thanked him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into your embrace. Naturally, his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, with him burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"You know what the lady told me?" he questioned, "She said this could be like our child." You could feel warm breath on your skin as he let out a small chuckle, with him pulling away to capture your lips into a sweet, quick kiss. "So, does this means we're parents now?" you asked, wiggling your eyebrows in excitement. He nods, "I bought some of your favorite sweets, y'know, to celebrate, I guess." His cheeks, as well as the tips of his ears, were now a familiar shade of pink. "Happy First Mother's Day, angel." As long as you take turns with him to water it, he's more than happy to make you a plant mom.

SHOEI BAROU, Nagi Seishiro (a sibling to Choki? mayhaps), Yo Hiori, Sae Itoshi (HEAR ME OUT.)

[ode-to-melpomene]

Stray

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader Synopsis: Jason doesn't believe in good intentions. Word Count: 2313 Warnings: Stalking, but no ill intent. Minor depictions of gore and injuries.

The first time Jason saw you, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Enamored was too strong a word to describe the way his gaze followed your figure far below him. Captivated, maybe? Yes, captivated by the nervous way you sidled into Crime Alley, moving like an anxious cat as you hugged the wall and kept to the shadows. Skittish, and clinging tightly to the box in your hands as if it might grow legs and run away.

He watched you closely from his perch on a fire escape. The nearby flickering neon light cast a glow over you and the dirty street. Your breath fogged in front of your face.

Jason climbed to the edge of the fire escape, then stepped off onto a windowsill. He moved across the face of the building that way, clinging to sturdy drain pipes and window ledges as he loomed over you. You turned right onto an open street, and his brows furrowed beneath his helmet.

His eyes narrowed when you scampered across the open street and towards a dilapidated overhang that shadowed the entrance to an abandoned building. That was a squatter house, one he frequented on his patrols. Pretty bird in his territory, clothes too nice for this part of Gotham… what were you doing here?

His question was answered when the door to the building swung open with an echoing creek. A man with a thick beard and a knitted hat met you at the door. The warmth of a fire inside the building backlit him, obscuring his scowl.

You outstretched the box in your arms to the taciturn old man. He pulled back the cardboard flaps and looked inside, delivering a curt nod of approval in response. He snatched the box from you unceremoniously and quickly shut the door to the biting cold and your lingering gaze.

It was beginning to snow when you stepped out from under the building's cover. You rubbed your hands up and down your arms, then scampered back across the street and hid in the shadows once again. Jason watched you go, unmoving from the ledge he perched on in the darkness. When you were finally out of sight he dropped to the ground.

The light dusting of snow crunched under his boots, turning to dirty slush as he crossed the street. His gloved hand rose to rap against the creaky door. A curse came from inside, followed by shuffling.

The old man opened the door. Red Hood shouldered his way past the man and into the den, lit by the warm glow of fires in metal trash cans. There must have been twenty people inside, three or so up and moving and passing out… blankets?

“Got yourself a new delivery person, Roger?” Red Hood asked as he turned to face the old man, the firelight glinting off his helmet.

The man, Roger, crossed his arms over his chest and glared a bitter, distrustful glower. “That a problem?”

He paused for a beat, glaring at Roger through his helmet. “I need to know who’s coming in and out of the Alley,” Red Hood retorted, a mean scowl hidden on his face. His helmet turned on a swivel, taking in the state of what used to be a restaurant. “Thought I told you not to start fires in here. Don’t want you to get-”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning, yeah, heard you the first fifty times,” the old man answered with a dismissive wave. He moved around Red Hood on achy knees and snatched the now empty cardboard box from the ground. “Not much other options. You saw the snow coming down out there.”

“I won’t let you freeze to death.”

Roger scoffed and tossed the box into one of the makeshift fire pits. The flames sputtered a weak ‘thank you’ and hungrily consumed the cardboard. “Look, kid. We appreciate the bravado, but you can’t help all of us.”

Red Hood huffed out an angry breath. “I can’t clean up the Alley if-”

“You can’t clean it up at all,” the old man snapped, catching Jason off guard. He ground his teeth together when Roger turned away and marched across the open room. Jason followed close behind, teeth digging into his cheek. “It’s just how things are, kid. You’re too wrapped up in this filthy cesspool as is. We can’t exactly afford to repay you.”

Jason halted beside a fire pit. Roger froze several steps ahead of him, sensing the vigilante’s hesitation, and turned back to him with a raised brow.

“That goes for your delivery person, too?”

Roger shrugged and buried his hands in his coat pockets, chasing away the burning pink that blossomed across his cold fingers. “You’re not the first one I’ve told to not bother. It’s nothin’ malicious, I’d reckon, but self satisfaction is still a hell of a drug.”

Jason’s knuckles were bloody beneath his gloves the next time he saw you. 

The canvas of his gloves rubbed the split skin raw each time he opened and closed his fist. His eyes were wild beneath his helmet, darting across the rooftop he stood on for any other signs of life–well, life beyond the one figure who seemed to still be struggling to breath. The man leaned against the wall, face bloody, hand pressed over his abdomen, eyes closed. He looked better off than his companions.

Drug dealers. Jason lifted his helmet high enough to spit on the corpse a few feet from him, the rapidly dissipating heat of the pooling blood steaming up the cold night air. Served them right, he told himself.

It was when he looked down at the street below, gauging the drop, that his gaze zeroed in on you. A familiar figure weaving through the shadows. Your gait was burned into his memory. He knew it was you, despite the thick wool shawl wrapped around your head and shoulders to protect from the biting wind. Another box in your arms.

Jason stepped to the ledge with narrowed eyes. What were you doing this time, so close to the center of the most crime-ridden district of Gotham? The tips of your boots kicked up dirty, slushy snow, piled an inch thick on the scarcely used backroad. He walked along the ledge, following you from easily fifty feet above. His shadow fell in behind yours, looming like a wolf behind an unsuspecting lamb.

You turned left. Left, towards the red light district side of town. Jason scoffed and hopped down from the ledge, his boots crunching on gravel–if you wanted to get yourself killed, that was your own prerogative. You didn’t belong in Crime Alley anyway. Not his problem.

Jason carefully tugged on the gloved tips of each finger, slowly releasing the fabric. With a grunt, he yanked the canvas and shook his hand at the sting. His broad, scarred hands were dappled with bruises along his knuckles. Green met red in tender circles, purple blooming at the peaks of his bones. He clenched his fist, watching the skin split along the ridges, crimson rapidly filling the valley. The damage wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. His fingers pried open the glove, surveying the inside. Maybe he should invest in some gloves with better lining…

He twisted to look over his shoulder, lower back popping twice at the change in angle. He was stiff, his broad shoulders sore. And yet, he held that angle as he stared down the side street he knew would only spell more trouble tonight. He’d already accomplished what he intended for the evening. It was risky to stay out any later. Who knew what sharks were lurking in the waters?

But…

Jason turned forward again as he tugged his glove back on, stretching his fingers inside the rough material. His hands were so cold he hardly noticed the sting against his knuckles. Snow touched the black fabric, held steadfast for a moment, then melted away. He watched a perfect snowflake, fully intact, touch down on his glove in one instant and fade away in the next.

He sighed as he turned back to the ledge, stepped up, and jumped.

It didn’t take him long to spot you wedged between a dumpster and a side door that led into a less than reputable strip club. He perched on the ledge of a nearby building with his elbows planted on his knees.

He didn’t have to wait long. The door swung open and a woman stepped out. Blonde, although the color didn’t look natural, with lips that color of his helmet and strappy heels to match. A pink beaded corset, and a feather boa wrapped around her shoulders. The woman stepped into the alleyway and unceremoniously dropped against the brick wall a few inches from you.

Jason narrowed his eyes as he watched you try to pass the box to the woman. She waved dismissively and instead pulled out a pack of cigarettes from where she held it tucked under her arm. A lighter was snatched from the edge of her corset and quickly replaced when the cigarette between her teeth was lit. She stared through heavy lashes at the cherry red end, took a drag, and began to speak.

The dancer talked for several minutes, taking periodic drags of the cigarette between words. She occasionally tipped her head towards you, gauging your reaction despite the thick shawl that obscured your face. She laughed in response to something you said, then dropped the butt of the cigarette and stomped out the light.

You tried to hand her the box again and this time the blonde woman accepted. She hefted it into her arms and balanced it on one as she rifled through the contents. Jason scowled when she withdrew a soup can and presented it to you with a wide smile and a giddy laugh. She replaced the soup can and used her free hands to pat your veiled cheek affectionately.

Then she was gone, back into the shadowy, smoke-filled club. You stood by yourself outside the door, hands limp at your sides as you stared at the door. You looked so small.

Jason’s heart stopped when you turned on your heel and looked right at him. Your eyes scaled the building slowly, almost as if you were tracing his shadow until you finally settled on him with a weighted stare. A predator’s stare. Jason wasn’t used to feeling like prey.

His skin crawled, and the feeling stuck even when you turned from him and stomped through the growing piles of dirty snow back the way you came. His heart thundered in his chest as he watched you drag your heels through the slush.

Jason followed. He knew he shouldn’t, but curiosity wormed itself deep between his ribs and egged him on. He walked along the ledge above you, no longer feeling like a wolf tailing a lamb. Suspicion brewed–sure, maybe you were just being a kind person, if there even was such a thing… but how often did people spot him like that?

So, he followed, despite the way it made his teeth grind and his skin itch. Jason kept the shadows, leaping from rooftop to rooftop and scaling walls while you skittishly meandered through the streets of Gotham. Your stride shortened when you finally exited Crime Alley. The warm glow of cleaner streets blanketed you in a golden haze.

Jason jolted from his thoughts when you climbed the steps of a brownstone apartment building, your cold hands fumbling at the door knob for just a moment before you slipped inside.

So that was it. You were gone, snatched from his vision as quickly as the snowflakes that melted on his jacket. He knew he should leave, that his hunt was over… so why did he stay rooted in place?

Jason found his answer when a light flicked on in a fifth story window. Warm, golden light slipped from your window invitingly. He wondered… Jason crouched on the balcony he stood on. Yes, he could see inside. It was a sparsely decorated apartment that hardly looked lived in, a simple sofa against one wall and a foldable table with three chairs in the center of the living room.

His skin crawled.

He flinched when you reappeared, your hands carefully unwinding the thick scarf from around your head and shoulders. He was right, you were the person he had seen before. He recognized the downturn of the corners of your mouth and the crinkle in your brow as you toed your boots off.

Enamored, maybe. Yes, enamored was the right way to describe how his eyes greedily followed you shucking your coat. Enamored by the way you dropped it on the floor without a care. Enamored by the way your nails raked your scalp and your lips split in a yawn.

Sullen when you once again disappeared from view.

Jason’s mind screamed at him to move. This wasn’t something he should be watching–this was a private, domestic moment for your eyes, not his. He was no better than the men he put down.

And yet his heart raced when you reappeared. You opened the window that led to your fire escape, heat fogging up the chilly air. The curtains around the window drifted around you in the subtle, crisp breeze. Jason watched you with bated breath as you turned, bent down, and gathered something in your hands.

His brows furrowed in confusion as you held a mug of some steaming liquid in each hand. You took a sip of one, then set the other down on the ledge outside the window.

The window slid shut with a deafening click, and you disappeared. The golden lights of your apartment were snuffed out minutes later.

The steam wafting from the mug eventually faded. Jason remained frozen in place.

Masterlist ✴ 'Stray' Series ✴ Next Part

[j0ysyndr0m3]

LIFE OF SIN, stack x oc! reader

rosetta ‘rose' thornton finally returns home to the delta after touring for nights as a singer and is surprised to see her former lover, elias 'stack' moore has returned after 7 years in chicago. as the bitterness subsides and past feelings still linger for each other, unbeknownst to them, an even greater evil follows them back home.

chapter warnings — talks of violence (threat), use of the n-word, time-period drama, word count — 1,674

masterlist | chapter one

PROLOGUE st. louis blues

Thursday October 13th, 1932 St. Louis, Missouri

"My man's got a heart like a rock cast in the sea,Or else he wouldn't have gone so far from me."

Through the crowded train station, Rosetta Thornton sat alone on the bench, singing under her breath a tune she sang just the night before ― sorrowful and full of bitterness. Remnants were still in Rosetta's mouth. Her body lightly swayed against the warm Missouri wind, watching people passing by, rushing to their trains, dust picking up their hurried footsteps.

"If I feel tomorrow, like I feel today,I'm gonna pack my trunk and make my getaway."

Rosetta bowed her head to her lap. A white box with a red satin bow was lightly placed above her bag, which was sitting heavily on her lap. Her gloved hand slowly slid the card from under the bow.

The night before.

After a night of singing at yet another speakeasy, Rosetta settles into her hotel room, where the smell of smoke, sweat, and liquor the night still lingered. Rosetta washed her body of it before slipping on her white night dress and heading to bed. Her tight coils pinned back, protected in a scarf. Just as her body got comfortable against the fresh, cold sheets, there was a knock at the door.

"Miss. Rosetta?" a bright voice calls behind the door, " 'Dere’s a box here for ya."

A soft groan, escaped from Rosetta's lips, forcing herself to leave the safe haven she needed, rest. She strolls towards the door, each floor creak louder than the last with each step. She cracked the door open, peaking her head to see a young man, no older than 16, about taller than Rosetta's already tall figure. His denim coveralls and scally cap were covered in spots of the day's work and grime. He shared the same burnt umber skin as Rosetta's, but he was darker. The boy held a box almost half of his height, red satin wrapped around the box, creating a large bow, with a small card peeking out from underneath the bow.

"Y'know who dis from?" Rosetta asks softly. The boy shrugs, "No ma’am, we found dis on da front desk, waiting for ya."

Worry started to form in Rosetta's stomach, unsure of who this gift could be from. It could be from her family, Rosetta knew that for sure. Could it be from a secret admirer? Impossible what crazy man wanted her.

Not wanting to have the boy hold the box for so long, Rosetta requested for the boy to leave the box at the door. The boy followed through before politely tipping his hat at Rosetta and leaving. Rosetta swiped the white box from the floor, taking it into her hotel room. She made sure to lock her door, before tossing the box onto her bed.

Had she had a secret admirer without even knowing? Worry became excitement in Rose's tummy. It's been a while since she had someone admire her the way...

The way Elias Moore did.

She shakes the thought of him as she sits on the edge of the bed, next to the white box. Her fingers slid the velvety card from under the satin bow. There was a message on the other side. She glanced at the note and immediately regretted it. Sucking in her teeth, Rosetta flicked the card to the floor, an annoyed groan leaving her lips, "Speak of the fucking devil and he shall fucking appear."

To my songbird,  From your Stack.

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

Her white-laced fingers pinched the corner of the bent-up card. She kept re-reading the message, each time, with bitterness growing within her. Rosetta’s jaw tensed, a faint tsk leaving her lips, "This nigga..." She muttered, drowned out by the rowdy train station, "From Your Stack, my ass."

Elias Moore. A name that was so sweet against Rosetta's tongue, but left a painful pang in her heart every time he was mentioned. The way he touched her made her feel alive, and free. Like she was the only woman in his world. The Delta fearfully called him Stack, except Rosetta. To her, he was her 'lias and her 'lias only.

Or so she once believed.

"Next Stop, Clarksdale, Mississippi!"

The conductor's voice rang out, snapping Rosetta out of her thoughts. She grabs her belongings, box included, and heads to her rightful train, to home.

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

Clarksdale, Mississippi

Rosetta felt her heart swell with fondness at the sight of the Clarksdale station. She was finally home after what felt like years, despite it being 3 months. Singing blues at speakeasies, juke joints, or places the devil comes to visit, she remembers her father saying. The pay wasn’t too well, but Rosetta couldn't complain too much. She was grateful for the fact that she was able to sing whatever blues song she wanted, free from her father’s control or judgment from her older sisters.

Stepping further away from the train, bag in her left hand, box carried with her right arm, she hears the honk of a car, followed by a high-pitched voice screaming.

"ROSETTA!!!"

Rosetta giggled, whipping her head toward the direction of the noise through the crowd. She spotted her sister June sitting beside her husband in the driver's seat of their car, both of them waving excitedly at her. 

June was the only person who never judged Rosetta growing up, never scrutinizing her just for existing and liking the blues. It broke Rosetta's heart when she had to leave home. 

As if she had any choice in the matter.

Rosetta waved back as she happily strolled in their direction.

But her footsteps slowed at the sight of a crowd gathering, with music echoing from within. She approached closer just as the music ended and people began clapping. 

Then, she heard a voice. A smooth voice her body immediately recognized. 

A voice that is too commanding, too intoxicating to forget. 

“Y’all ready to eat?” the voice calls. 

“Yea!” the crowd shouts

“Y’all ready ta drank?”

“Yea!” 

“Y’all ready to sweat ‘till y’all stank.”

“Yea!!”

“We gon get funky like a Mississippi donkey, y’all.”

Rosetta's body froze in her spot, once she got a closer look, her lightened expression dropped. She held onto that white box so tightly, that she could feel it crumple.

"Get a drink on the twins when y'all get dere."

Holy shit.

It was him.

Elias Moore looked even better after all these years. From afar, his pinstriped suit was tailored perfectly to his body. His burgundy fedora couldn't hide his bedazzling smile that excited the crowd even more. Rosetta stood there as the crowd dispersed, begging her body to keep walking to her sister and her husband, resisting the pull of someone who should’ve remained a distant memory.

Her legs did the exact opposite.

She felt herself moving closer and closer to Elias' direction, she could see him even better. She could see that he was talking to somebody. 

She gently pushed past the crowd of people leaving. He was speaking with a smaller figure, a woman dressed entirely in pink. A pale woman with dark hair cut to her shoulders, its color perfectly matched Rosetta's dress. 

Mary. 

Rosetta felt as if the wind had been knocked from her body. The familiar feeling in her chest that she felt when she first saw them together returned as if it had never left. Rosetta's body finally listened as she started to walk away.

"Rose?" Stack shouts out.

"Fuck.." She muttered as she kept walking, bumping past people, a soft 'scuse me leaving her lips with each person she passed. Hoping, praying that Stack doesn't come near.

"Rose!" Stack called out again. This time, he was closer. She kept on walking until she felt a hand wrapped around her arm, gently pulling her back. Rosetta gripped the handle of her bag, ready to swing and knock somebody out, her voice raised as she turned around, "Getcho muthafuckin' hands off me-"

It was Stack. His fedora was off, and Rosetta could see him better. Through his facial hair, he looked just like how Rose first saw him when they were 18, from his tall statue to his hair down to the way he still chews that damn toothpick in his mouth.

Though his expression was unreadable, his eyes examined Rosetta, his Rose, questioning whether she was truly in his presence.

God, She wanted to hit him with her bag. But she couldn't and that pissed her off.

There was silence between the two until Rose finally spoke, breaking away from her trance, "Getcha hands off me 'lias." Her tone was harsh. Stack's grip on her arm loosened, "Not until you talked to me ‘na." Stack's voice softened. Smooth like honey.

"There ain't shit to talk bout-"

"I see you got my gift." The corner of Stack's mouth rose into a grin, his eyes were down at the box in Rosetta's arm, the arm he held. Still had that boyish charm that had Rosetta weak to her knees. That pissed her off even more. He still had a way in her heart. Rosetta can't let that happen again.

Rosetta grimaced, feeling her face heat up -- years worth of sadness, embarrassment, and anger surged through her body, "You left for seven years without a fucking goodbye or even a 'letta, but you think gifts 'posed to make me feel betta? Make the pain any less? Boy, I oughta kill ya." Her voice was heavy, but her chest felt light.

Stack couldn’t reply.

He smacked his teeth as he glanced away, his eyebrows furrowed. His sly smile disappeared.

Rosetta looked past Stack and caught Mary far behind. She was looking at Stack longingly. Stack wasn't even paying attention.

Elias Moore finally came back to the Delta after so many years. Knowing how Elias and his brother operate, it was no surprise to Rosetta that they didn’t leave willingly.

Rosetta huffed a bitter laugh, “But I bet ‘dem crackas from Chicago probably gonna get chu first.” She gritted, pulling away from Stack's grip, and rushing away towards her sister's car.

So, I had to practically rewrite this like 3X so, hopefully this sticks. Reading @nahimjustfeelingit-writes and @nire-nacheal-writes got me wanting to step my cookies up🤣🤣 so i hope I didn’t disappoint

🏷️— @queenofklonnie22, @blk-afrodite , @heauxtales , @slyy-foxx , @happilycoralbird, @zomqiez , @whysoceerious, @bluejay2503 , @jackierose902109 , @monbebe-monstax , @hihellogoodbyebruh, @cerya , @bxrbie1 ,

(if you would like to be tagged in the next chapter, pls fill out this form -- also comment your favorite part of the chapter, critiques are welcome, but please be respectful)

[onlineflowercompany]

Luxury 50 Red Roses Bouquet Hat Box

[pinkexpertnerdghost]

Watch and Be Amazed!

Lyney x Gn!Reader

Synopsis: As a simple person with a boring job, you set out to travel the nations. You attend a renowned magic show only to be suddenly placed in the shared spotlight with the magical duo.

GIF by @c6jpg

 { i'm still exploring Fontaine but quick heads up on mentioning new locations, dw its spoiler free about the archon quest}

General: SFW, fluffy, magic tricks, Lyney being extra and sneaky, feat Lynette 

A/N: i love him. Cheeky little guy with his equally cheeky little grin mulkin cat- I didn’t think I’d like him this much but he easily sneaked himself into my heart already also because I recently got him- I just wanna squish him (endearingly)

“ Voila! And now in its place are our feathered friends taking flight!” The magician exclaimed as a small swarm of doves flew out of his hands. Just seconds ago, he held a gorgeous bouquet of arranged daisies and prisma like roses, complete with adorned white ribbons and lace. The small bush of green and flora had simply vanished and transformed into a mass of white feathers. 

Your awes become a droplet in the sea of gasps and astonishment from the people around you . Pushing yourself to the end of your cushy seat, you stare ahead in amazement and curiosity.  

Even though you sat some rows away from the front seats, you were mesmerized by the trick. You were certain the bouquet had practically melted and shifted into the cocoon of feathers. At least, that’s how it appeared to your eyes.  

Trailing the doves as they flew above the audience, you unconsciously let out a small laugh of joy like that of an entertained child. The doves flew around freely, some reaching high atop the Opera House’s stretching ceiling and some flew closer to the audience barely grazing above their heads. 

You had been traveling for weeks, as you were lacking some excitement in your mundane life as a simple shop clerk. It had a well off pay and the owner was kind. Yet every passing day became more boring than the last. Soon enough, the days would weld and mend together in your memory as a tapestry of a lackluster pattern. You were afraid it would overshadow a great portion of your lifetime. 

As a shop clerk, you had seen many travelers coming and going, talking about the beautiful sceneries across the rest of Teyvat they have witnessed, varies dishes you’ve never tried before being described as mouthwatering, the wonderful cultures, festivities and traditions people from around this world took part in. It had always left you in a state of entrance and jealousy for them, as they would have the freedom and determination to see the worlds wonders with their own eyes.

Seeing your yearning gaze and saddened expression when the travelers or adventurers left through the front door, your employer had generously given you some vacation time. You were one of your boss’s most dedicated workers, often swooping in for a fellow coworker if they fell ill or couldn’t make it otherwise. You have done more than enough to earn yourself this time off. 

And so, you took your life by the rings and were off into the road. Traveling from one nation to the other and to the now where you were. In the seat in one of the most impressive buildings you have ever seen. 

From the moment you boarded off the Aquabus; the little guides being one of the cutest beings you’ve ever seen; you oogled and awed in the splendor around you. Fontaine had been one leap of a cultural shock for you. Sure, sometimes you moved boxes of bits and bobs of Fontaine imported trinkets onto shelves, but seeing this much advanced technology was a bit exhilarating as well as a bit imposing

However, something there was something that immediately caught your eye when walking about. On a bulletin board was an array of multicolored posters and newsletter, but the bright red one with a grinning cat in the hat caught your gaze immediately. 

“ Come and behold A magical performance performed by renowned Magicians Lyney and Lynette! ” 

The names struck a cord in your memory. Ah, that's right! You had heard a great deal about a very specific Magic show in Fontaine. You remembered it being brought up a good number of times back in the shop. The way people would sound excited and how they could barely contain themselves trying to describe a magic trick as best they could. 

Since you were in the area you had managed to investigate it and wound up purchasing a ticket to go see.  

“ Back to the stage my feathery entourage!! Being in the presence of such a wonderful audience is indeed riveting, but I’m going to need the spotlight back to preform the next trick, haha!” The magician Lyney said with a pleading laugh. The doves seem to have understood them as they all flew back onto the stage. From either side of the giant velvet curtain, the flew behind it disappearing into the shadow. 

“ For this next trick, I’m going to need a hand!” He exclaimed while putting his hands on his hips. He then put a hand on his forehead and looked around the area while squinting his eyes. From the right side of the stage came another person. She had on a similar uniform to her twin brother, adorned with teals, blues and grays. It was a counterpart to the reds, pinks, and plum Lyney wore in his intricate performer’s outfit. 

Yet they both had the motif of that same toothy grinning kitty you saw tagging the corner’s of the promotional posters. 

Lynette had walked behind Lyney and tapped his shoulder twice with a stoic expression. Lyney had turned dramatically around on his heel, immediately stopping his dire search for help.

“Ah, It seems as though Lynette has come to the rescue!” He cheered and with a grateful hand gesture divided the audience's attention to Lynette. She stood there facing the crowd with a curt expression. Lynette seemed to be the polar opposite of her brother. While Lyney was loud, extravagant and energetic, his assistant and sister was quieter, docile and seemed unmoved with the theatrics. However, to you she was as equally impressive as the red Magician. 

In an earlier trick where they’d pull objects directly out of flat cards, Lynette had elegantly swiped off a parasol, a tea cup with piping hot tea given the steam, and an adorable hat with that grinning black cat. All while keeping a calm disposition as if she knew everything and anything that was to come. It boggled you how she managed to slip the illustrations to real physical objects.

But then again, the Magicians never reveal their trade secrets.

Lyney tapped his cheek before he spoke again. “It seems as if we will need a little more help to perform this magic trick, wouldn’t you agree Lynette?” 

Lynette simply nodded.

Lyney’s shoulders relaxed as he twirled around to face the audience. He held his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth. His eyes never leave the audience.

“ For this trick, It will require three people.”

There were very quiet, almost inaudible murmurs and whispers in the crowd. You paid them no mind and kept your eyes focused on the stage. In your mind, you were guessing how the next trick would go.

Lyney stopped center stage.

“ I can see your enthusiasm and excitement! In that case, I shall pick one person from the crowd who will help Lynette and I out!” He said with a jovial grin. His cat-like eyes scanned around the crowd. After this, many people kept their eyes on the Magician scoping out for an available assistant. 

Seeing as you weren’t in the first row or a local, you have settled that your chance of being picked was slim. So instead of paying attention to the main stage and spotlight, you turned your head from side to side. Envisioning the lucky person who would be fished out of the ocean of filled seats. Perhaps it would be the beautiful woman with quite the attractive headpiece sitting a row down from you. Or maybe, it would be the little boy three five seats to your left practically bouncing in his seat chanting to let it be him. 

The choice could be anyone but yourself.

“ You my dear! Could you help Lynette and I out with this trick?” Lyney’s voice resounded once more.

Your eyes squirted suddenly as a bright source of light was now trained above you. Sinking back onto your seat, you turn to face the stage. 

Those cat-like lilac eyes stared directly into your own [E/C] ones. Alongside with the deep royal purple eyes belonging to his assistant Lynette. Looking around and behind, you noticed the two people beside you glance at you with slight surprise. 

You pointed at yourself just to make sure. You didn’t know if you made a face with the sudden surprise of the spotlight, but Lyney chuckled in amusement. 

His eyes crinkled slightly as he nodded, his hair bobbing along with his head and sturdy hat. His laughter made you feel a bit fuzzy in the chest. Maybe you were just starstruck. 

“ Yes you. If it is alright, could you perhaps follow the staff by your row to escort you on stage?” He said, extending a hand to a person in a theater mask and green vest standing at the end of the row. His lilac eyes never left you. 

It was hard to say, but you could assume he was silently communicating with you. His soft eyes were patient and still, unlike his theatrical energy he demonstrated earlier. 

‘ Are you okay with this? ‘ 

He didn’t mind the sudden recess of silence, in fact it only added to the build up to the magic trick. It wasn’t long until you blinked, breaking yourself out of your star-stricken surprise. 

You nodded at Lyney, to which he gripped the brim of his hat quietly tipping it to you with a satisfied grin.

“ Very well, please follow the staff down the aisle while we set up on stage!” 

After squeezing down your row and next to the staff member with the mask, you followed them as they led you towards the stage. The staff member was kind enough to guide you through the dimly lit place, your eyes were examining the person. Their mask is what stuck with you, you’ve never seen anything like it. It was both beautifully crafted yet it gave you a small chill of danger and mystic. It was probably made for this purpose of the show. 

No elemental magic of those who wielded visions, but instead a tightrope thinly strung between reality and fantasy.

The stage was elevated but after climbing up the stairs onto the polished stage. Lyney beckoned you to come up next to him. You shuffled closer, both your hands behind your back fidgeting in a nervous manner.

The spotlight was now back onto Lyney and Lynette and now you as well.

“ Might I know the name of the new assistant I’ll be working with temporarily?” He asked as he now faced you. Lynette came to his side, her violet eyes glazing over you with relaxed attentiveness. 

You felt your mouth become a bit dry. “ I’m [Name].” You spoked normally. 

Lyney bowed, taking off his tophat bringing it close to his chest. 

“ It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear [Name]” He bounced back up, flipping his hat back onto his head. 

You shifted on your foot and that seemed to have caught the attention of the magical duo. 

“ Hmm, are you perhaps nervous?” He asked. “ It is quite alright. Whenever the light is trained on you, the feeling of stage fright comes at you like the onslaught of tidal waves.” He said, in a non projecting voice. He still sounded loud enough for the audience to hear, but his words weren’t exaggerated in a way to make you feel queasy. Instead, it sounded like he was cheering you on, a little push of confidence he would share with you.

Maybe you were overthinking it. He is a performer so its his job to turn up the charm towards the audience.

Lynette had subtly sent you a reassuring little smile. She walked up next to you and stood by you now.

 “ Perhaps, you may just have some butterflies in your stomach. It happens to the best of us!” He spoke. His gloved hand came up to you.

“ May I have what’s in your side pocket?” His eyes shifted down to your right pocket. Confused, you reach down into your pocket and feel around. There was a smooth and flat object that you didn’t remember having there, so you slipped it out. 

In your hand was a playing card. It wasn’t an ordinary playing card. It looked to be one of the card props that belonged to the two Magicians. Figuring he wanted it back; without you having the faintest Idea of how it got there in the first place; you handed it to him. 

He grabbed the card and raised it up to his face to inspect it.

“Aha! Just as I thought. You had made a bundle of these pesky little butterflies.” He slipped the card back to his palm. He twirled back to face you with a triumphant smile as if he’d found a treasure chest. “ Fear not, for I will rid you of this troubling kaleidoscope!”

With that being said, he tossed the card over your head.

Or at least, a zipping card was what you were expecting.

Instead, a small little tornado of little butterflies escapes from Lyneys hand. They fluttered around you in a tunnel-like pattern. 

Completely forgetting about the audience, you craned your hand up and stared in awe. Looking closely, some butterflies had little trails of violet shimmer. The butterflies themselves didn't seem to be real butterflies. On some you managed to see the wings to be made out of the back of playing cards. 

The butterflies dispersed out onto the crowd, until each one vanished without a trace. 

“Now then, are you feeling better?” Lyney asked, both hands on his hips.

You nodded with a smile on your face. The small pit of nervousness was now reduced to a grain. 

“Wonderful! And, it seems as if you have magic in you yourself, what luck!” Lyney exclaimed. Lynette all the while silently side eyed her brother and his antics. 

“Now then if you may follow Lynette, she will guide you to this next trick or a trio.” he smiled. 

Lynette had raised a hand to you in order to take it. You complied and took her hand as she led you behind the curtain.

“ Are you okay? I know Lyney can be a bit over the top, but if at any point feeling bad, let us know.” Lynette spoke calmly to you.

“ I’m alright now. I just wasn't expecting to get picked.” You said honestly. 

Lynette nodded. “ It's like that for most who get chosen.” 

She guided you towards a little box which was decorated with a little four pointed gold star in the center. The box was relatively small, reaching from the ground to knee level

“ When they take the box you’ll have to stand on it. I’ll stand in my own box next to you. Just follow Lyney’s instructions.” She said, 

“Also, brace your feet after the curtain falls.” 

You listened closely and nodded.

“Alright. Got it.” 

Lynette hummed.

 Behind the big red curtain you heard the crowd laugh and clap. 

“And now for the anticipated trick, shall I have my two assistants step back into the light?” 

Lynette and you came back onto the stage. Again in the limelight, you noticed the two boxes parallel to each other. 

“ For this next trick, both my assistants shall switch their places before your very eyes.” Lyney spoke calmly.

“But wait a moment. This is a simple trick one could accomplish by simply walking across the stage to the other boxes. This trick is sounding more like a runway show than magic.” Lyney sighed in defeat. In a quick one eighty mood switch, Lyney perked up and raised his chin high.

“ But no, dear spectators in the crowd. This trick shall be done with neither of my assistants leaving the confines of their one by one area!” Lyney exclaimed, flapping his little side cape in the process. 

Lynette turned and gave you a look, a very specific look. You took it to get on the box and you walked over to the one closest to you. 

“ Now then, a little tent shall fall on top of both of them. Switching places without jumping, walking or running is a lot more exhausting than it sounds.” As soon as he said that, above you began to descend a festive red tent. 

It slowly descended until the dark velvet of the inside tent obscure your vision of the crowd and them of yourself. You could only hear the echoing voice of Lyney as the crowd was now fully silenced in anticipation. 

The words of Lynette rang in your mind, as you looked down to your feet.

“ For you see, the most can happen within the blink of an eye.”

You felt the box underneath you dip slightly. Barely enough time to even gasp, you had fallen through the solid box beneath you. Quickly you bent your knees and positioned yourself to be able to absorb the momentum of your fall. 

Once landing soundly, you looked up to see how you had fallen. In the ceiling was a rectangular indentation of a trapdoor.

You heard a ‘psst’ to your right. There you say Lynette making a quick hand gesture to switch places; motioning to you and the spot beneath her feet. 

Speeding over to her, you took little but key notice in your new surroundings. The walls were barren, the air had slight dust, and light from the stage lights barely made it through the miniature nooks and crannies of the floorboards. You were underground. 

Once getting to where lynette last stood, you waited. Looking around where you stood there was a small ladder behind you. 

Suddenly a similar trap door like the one where you initially stood, swung open. 

Taking this as a new signal, you climbed onto the ladder trying to make as little noise as you could. Once above ground, the trap door that was once open shut, making the ground below you stable enough to stand on.

 “ As such, a walk across this stage could be reduced down to none!”

You heard a harsh step down onto the floor followed by a snap of a finger. 

The tent around you was pulled back up at lighting speed leaving you stunned in place. The crowd ahead was looking back and forth between the place where you once were and to where you are now. A roar of whistles and claps was heard. 

Looking to where you once were, stood Lynette waving at the crowd. The same stoic expression on her face. 

Lyney came skipping up to your side. 

“ How are you feeling dear [Name]? I hope you aren't too disoriented by the little trip you took.”

You looked at him, he had a proud grin on his face. The light shown down was overshadowed by the brim of his top hat. And yet, his eyes and distinguishable teardrop mark on his right cheek made you feel all sorts of flustered all over again.

Then again you noticed just how packed the Opera is. You had forgotten momentarily that there was an audience. The showers of cheers came down like a bolt of lightning striking the still water. 

“I’m fine, just a bit perplexed.” You shook your head trying to process what had just happened in what felt like a fraction of a minute.  

“ Oh my, it seems you may have been slightly shaken when vanishing from one spot to the other.” He hummed. 

“ That's it! I shall make it up to you! But I’ll have to get you back to your original box.” He said tapping his curled up hand onto his open palm. 

He stood up onto the tips of his toes, as from your height atop the box managed to put you at a larger distance from him. Figuring he might tell you something , you leaned down slightly.

“ When the tent drops on you once more, close your eyes. Don’t open them until you hear me say, Hat. Trust me, I’m sure this trick will put a blinding smile on your face.” He said quietly, a hand placed by his mouth blocking it from the audience ahead.

You weren’t sure what he meant or what would happen but somehow, you trusted him. Maybe it was his pretty face, charming personality, or simply because a famous and professional performer. 

A little breathy chuckle escaped him before he leaned away and waltzed back to the front and center. Something about him smiling and laughing made your heart almost pop.

You internally battled these pestering thoughts; You were just starstruck! A celebrity crush, don’t let it get to you. Especially in front of a massive crowd watching your every move! 

You took some short breaths in and faced ahead onto the wall behind the audience. You didn’t want to let this confusing feeling consume you.

“And now, one final trick before our amazing temporary assistant bids adieu.” He sighed. From his chest he pulled out a white handkerchief he blew into. The crowd laughed at his little mopping gag.

“ It was a pleasure to have you on stage with us, [Name].” He said before swiping the used hanky away. It disappeared into red and white sparks into the air. 

The tent above you descended once again, and the moment you found yourself in the shaded confines you closed your eyes. You could only listen to what was happening around you.

“Now then, why don’t we send our new friend off with a grand finale?”

The surrounding noise of the crowd murmuring came through as buzzing. You felt the ground once more give out underneath you. Holding in your breath you prepared for what may have come next. 

Something, or someone caught you. You felt the sudden mass underneath you, and suddenly there was a small breeze passing into your face. Your eyes squeezed shut the entire time. 

Suddenly, you felt your feet touch a solid floor. You stood up, the person letting you go as you stabilized yourself. 

“ And so, they shall appear where they once were at the drop of a hat!” 

You heard it. Cracking open one eye you see once again a velvet curtain of a tent. Blinking, adjusting to the light, the tent was pulled up.

This time there was some cheer for a few seconds. The sudden Huhs? And murmurs slowly began to take a hold of the audience. Curious as to the mood shift you look around you. 

Lyney, no longer wearing his signature tophat that had been left sitting on the floor. 

Where Lynette was supposed to be, she was no more. Instead, there was a small top hat lying top down on the box. 

Lyney, surprised, went over to the hat. 

“Lynette? Oh Lyneeette? Where did you vanish off to?” He took the hat and looked inside of it, as if his sister were inside the hat. 

You were slightly puzzled at first. Where on Teyvat could she have gone? Your doubts were suddenly clouded by an obvious truth.

This had to be part of the show. 

So you kept your eyes on the male twin, anticipating what he will do next.

Giving up in calling out to his sister, still holding onto the small hat in his hands, he walked over to where you stood. 

“ It seems that she won’t show herself unless we make her appear out of this hat. [Name], if you would.” He then extended the small hat in my direction. 

You delicately grabbed the brim area closest to you. Lyney let go, and you looked inside the empty hat. The material felt slightly heavy but the intricate seamless pattern woven into the pitch black fabric made you closely look at it.

You heard a small tapping noise, you looked back to the magician as he tapped the back of his hand. Putting two and two together, you quickly flip the hat upright. 

You mimicked Lyney’s motion on the hat’s top about three times. 

The first tap, colorful feathers floated to the ground.

The second tap, petals of flowers twirled on their way down.

The final tap, a deck of prop cards spilt out and crashing against the stage floor with clicks and claps.

“Looks like she isn’t in there.” Lyney quipped. You were once again thrown into utter confusion. The comedic way the crowd gasped after one object came after another object from the empty hat. At some point the reactions of surprise slowly turned into snickers and giggles of amusement. 

Lyney placed a hand on his hip and scratched his chin. “ Try doing it again with the hat upside down. Maybe, a different approach will convince her to come out.” 

So, you turn the hat over. Sneakily taking a small peak inside, and as you suspected it was empty. 

How does he pull these things off? Seriously! How?!?

Replicating your previous action, you tapped the brim. 

A small puff of smoke and confetti made you step back. Out of the hat a cat sprung!

Or was it a cat?

It was a big cat face attached to a coiled spring.

It was cute! It had the signature toothy grin the show’s mascot had, yet it had it turned upside down in a frowny face. One eye has a teal star and the other has a teal teardrop. It even had a little bowtie making it a very fashionable cat creature.

It turned to face you as its ears twitched. You’re eyes locked with its own strange one and you found yourself in a staring contest….with the giant cat head on a spring of all things.

“ Oh dear, it looks like Bogglecat seemed to have answered instead of Lynette” Lyney laughed. 

Tip Tap Tip Tap 

You and Lyney turned to face Lyney’s hat that had just shook slightly on the floor. 

Poof!

The hat had blasted up into the air and below the hat there was Lynette. Slightly obscured by the turquoise colored fog. 

“ Here I am.” Lynette spoked up.

Grabbing the brim of Lyney’s hat she tipped it and bowed before the audience. The audience clapped and some people even stood up from their seats. 

The Bogglecat in the hat leaped from your hands and jumped over towards the spotlight where Lynette was. Lyney came running over to you and carefully grabbed your now free hand.

“ C’mon, the audience is waiting for the final bows.” He hushed at you with that permanently charming smile of his. His pale blonde hair bounced along as he urged you to join him and his sister. With no reason to refuse, you ran along with him. You felt the corner of your mouth curl up in a giddy smile. Now unafraid of the public you stood in the bright lights with your chest held high.

Lynette tossed Lyney’s hat into the air, landing it perfectly on Lyney’s head. The cat in the hat jumped right into Lynette's hand. Once she caught it, she twirled it around in her hand like a skilled juggler. The cat suddenly vanished inside the hat, and the small hat now was held against her head.

“ This has been Lyney and Lynette’s Magic show! Thank You all for watching!” The three of you held hands; Lyney at the center, Lynette to his right, and you to his left. Lifting your hands up, you three did a dramatic bow. This audience applauded one final time for the performance. It was the loudest applause you had heard during your time in the Opera Epiclese.

Slowly people had started to leave the theater, with the front entrance reopened many people had started to trickle out into the lobby. This left fewer and fewer people in the main room, the Opera house becoming 

You were preparing to step down the stage staircase until you heard someone call out to you.

“ Wait, [Name]! If you could spare a moment?” It was a voice you had quickly grown familiar with. 

The top hat with the plum colored ribbon, the pale blonde tuffet that covered just above his right eye, and that teardrop marking beneath the same right eye. Lyney came speedily towards you, his sister Lynette following a bit behind. Unlike him, she calmly walked over and that stoic expression on her face felt a bit more done than what you had seen. 

“Hm? What is it Mister Lyney?” You stopped and asked politely. Looking over the male twin you glanced at his sister “Miss Lynette?” 

“That was a splendid performance you made on stage! You went along just swimmingly with our act.” Lyney gushed. 

Once again you felt flustered. Out of all things, a professional magician complimenting you on a magic trick? You scratched your cheek. 

“ I was just following you guys. Really, if anyone should be taking compliments it is you two!” You spoke with enthusiasm.  “ The way Miss Lynette pulled out the items right off the cards, or when you made my ‘ stomach butterflies ‘ disappear. It really was a treat to see!” You felt your face getting a bit warmer as you continued to spill your excitement into words.

“ This will definitely be a nice memory I won't be forgetting any time soon!” 

Lyney chuckled and even Lynette’s eyes grew slightly larger with interest. 

“ You’re too kind!” Lyney chuckled, his pale face getting the slightest bit pink in the cheeks. “  I don’t believe I’ve seen your face in our crowd before. Are you maybe a tourist coming from a distance to see our show?” 

You nodded. “ I am as a matter of fact. I don’t get out much to say the least.” You confessed. 

“ I’ve heard about your magic show for some time now, traveling groups have brought it up time and time again. Fontaine was my next destination so I took the opportunity to come see it myself.”

You smiled gently. “ This was my first legitimate magical performance I had the fortune of attending. Not to mention getting randomly selected to participate! Thank you for the fun time, Mister Lyney and Miss Lynette.” 

Lyney and Lynette listened with great interest.

“ I see. Thus, making this show a memorable experience for you was all the more rewarding then.” Lyney took off his hat and brought it to his chest. 

“We are both happy to have put a beautiful smile on your lovely face!~” Lyney very gently lifted your hand. Bringing it close to his face, he placed a small almost ghostly peck. 

Okay. Now you definitely felt your face may have caught on fire. 

Lyney might have noticed your sudden flustered face. The sneaky magician sent a very brief wink with a smile. Not just any smile. This smile had a more feline nature to it; as if he enjoyed seeing such a reaction from you. 

 He lowered your hand back down, and flipped his hat back onto his head. That cat-like smirk was nowhere to be seen anymore. Innocently smiling at you, he laughed. It sounded slightly nervous. 

“ Well, if you will be around Fonaine for a while longer, find us by the Aquabus station. We might just have spare time to show you around!” 

Slipping your hand behind your back, you tried to reply to his friendly invitation.

“ Mhm! Aquabus station. Go it!” you spoke in broken segments. 

Oh dear, maybe it's time you’d step outside for some fresh air.

“ I think I should get going now. Who knows how long the people traffic is in the lobby now. It was great meeting you. Your cat mascots are cute and now I shall leave” You had begun to word vomit as you were shuffling away.

 “ Bye bye!” 

Facing away from the magic duo, you speed walk down onto the carpeted floor. Not daring to look back, you heard the sound of an amused giggle and an exasperated sigh.

“ Are you proud of yourself? You almost made them faint with your antics.” Lynette tipped the back of Lyney’s hat. It fell forward and off but he had quickly caught it before it hit the ground.

“ Hey, I just wanted to make evening a little more magical is all. It was the most I can do from withholding them back from leaving" 

"Right. And you had to tease them until they were red in the face."

Lyney stared at his sister for a moment, until he thought.

He felt a small hitch of embarrassment in his chest realizing something.

"I- Uh, didn't go to far with the card letter, right?" He nervously asked.

Lynette sighed and shook her head.

"Brother, most of the time you don't even need the spotlight to be over dramatic."

Once you were outside and looking up at the sky. The skies were different in every spot you had been. Here in Fontaine, you could barely see the twinkling stars. 

As you sighed contently, you made your way over to the hotel you had planned to stay in for the time. As you shifted you felt something shift alongside you in your sleeve. It was cold and smooth.

Surprised, you dug into your sleeve.

It was a playing card. A prop playing card. 

“ I hope you had a magical Evening, [Name]. Meet me by the bench near the potted flowers by the station at noon tomorrow. If you show up, best prepare for I still have tricks up my sleeve that will leave you dazzled! “ 

There was a little doodle of a toothy grinning cat.

A/N: Should I make a part two? Idk maybe. EDIT: PART TWO HERE

[hezzabeth]

There was someone singing in the greenhouse, someone with a pitch-perfect deep voice. Revati closed her eyes, pressing her ear against the glass door.

In a field where the paper daisies grow,

Underneath the sun's harsh glow,

I wander through, light and free.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The smoke coils in the sky far above,

But your petals still dance around me.

Don’t be afraid; soon the rains will come.

Everything lost will grow again.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The stars begin to rise,

My hands scooping your seeds.

Soon you will take flight

Towards the soft moonlight.

There was an old, prop piano in the abandoned Holly Bush Tavern. The only person who could play it properly was Mr. Gupta. During holiday festivals, he would coax melodies out of the sticky keys while Mrs. Gupta sang in a nasal voice. This was different. The singer’s voice filled Revati in a place she didn’t know was empty. The singing stopped abruptly as Revati’s weight caused the door to creak. Of course, the door creaked. The greenhouse was a wobbling claptrap box made out of welded-together old windows. Miss Grassroots, a tourist who had been dead for almost six years, had built it. Inside lay the heart of Baker Street. The heart had begun as a rose garden. Nanni was the one who began picking up the fallen red petals, drying them, and turning them into tea.

Revati only had vague memories of the first day of the invasion. Mrs. Grasston and Dusk had invaded the kitchens and gift shops. Together they managed to pool together seeds and cuttings in order to grow a small food supply. There was a wall of tomato vines, grown from several seeds found in old slices left in the bin. There were the garden beds where the potatoes and carrots grew. In fact, the potatoes were what kept Baker Street from starving to death. Next to one of the largest windows, the herb and weed boxes grew. Revati’s father was the one who ripped open gourmet tea bags in their home, discovering dried seeds inside. Bridgadeiro Bun was sitting under the lemon tree. “You’re a pretty good singer,” Revati said gruffly. “I was just trying to cheer up Deshia; she’s been feeling a bit depressed lately,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree's trunk. “Who’s Deshia?” Revati asked, faintly confused. “The lemon tree, of course! She said nobody's chatted with her for years,” Bridgadeiro said. Suddenly, the tree shook its branches, causing a fresh lemon to fall into Bridgadeiro’s lap. “Thank you for the gift, sweetheart,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree again. Revati stared at the lemon tree, not quite sure what to think. Could a tree really be depressed? It would explain why the lemons were so withered and small.

“All Buns speak plant; it's the same gene that causes our pink hair," he said. Revati glanced around, her eyes briefly falling on the giant pumpkin vine near the door.

"Are the plants talking right now?" Revati asked curiously.

"Most of them fell asleep hours ago. When they were awake, they just kept jabbering on about a golden lady," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"So, the lemon tree is depressed? I could get Aurora to come in here and read to her," Revati conceded.

"It's more than that. She misses the lady who planted her; she doesn't understand why she vanished and never came back," Bridgadeiro remarked. Revati found her hands stroking the book of fairy tales nervously.

"If she's talking about Mrs. Grassroots, she died," Revati replied flatly. Six years ago. Six years ago, there were over a hundred tourists living on Baker Street. Nanni, who had spent years living with mother, insisted on moving into an abandoned hat shop near the edge of the park.

The day the tornado hit was the same day Nanni decided to tell Revati all about her family history.

"I always carry the death stone in my handbag, along with everything else I'd ever need in an invasion," Nanni pointed out. Technically that was true; Nanni's giant handbag was filled with almost anything.

Outside, Revati could hear her father trying to roll down metal shutters. There was the sudden horrible roar, and Nanni's wall exploded in a cloud of rubble.

"A lot of people died," Revati finished, her voice trailing off. First came the tornado that caused a gap in the mirror walls. Then the trickle of automatic vegetable cleaners who decided to exploit the crack. Finally, the battle on Mansfield Park between the cleaners and a group of tourists.

"The lady that planted this tree was actually a member of the Lost Princess rebel army; she convinced a bunch of tourists to fight with her," Revati remarked, shaking her head. Then she firmly opened the book of fairy tales.

"It looks like some people survived," Bridgadeiro replied.

"I don't want to talk about it; I just want to read! Here, you can read with me; you might like this story," Revati replied.

Once long ago, in a lost village near the foot of Mount Raya, there lived a special little girl. She was known for her kindness and her deep love for nature. Everyone in the village called her Naisha. Naisha had a special gift; she could talk to plants. The villagers often saw her whispering to the flowers; they adored her magical gift.

One day, Naisha learned about a legendary tree called the Kalpavriksha. The old ladies in the village whispered that it had the ability to grant any wish. Drought, fearsome and terrible, had swept through the land. Flowers withered, no longer able to whisper. Trees forgot their songs. Naisha decided she must seek out the tree and wish for one thing alone: rain.

"Wake up," a voice screeched, and Revati's eyes snapped open, the book of fairy tales tumbling onto the ground. Aurora was standing above her, the bright morning sunlight making her hair glow.

"Morning," Revati yawned and then jumped when she realized Bridgadeiro was asleep next to her.

Bridgadeiro slowly awoke, smacking his lips together.

"Juniper said you were in here; she never mentioned the boy," Aurora remarked coldly as Revati slowly stood up.

"Anna made him sleep in here; I must have passed out while reading," Revati said.

It was then that Revati realized Aurora was holding a tray filled with fresh strawberries.

"Hmph," Aurora said, shooting Bridgadeiro a suspicious look as he also stood up, patting the tree trunk.

"Let me guess, Queen Victoria sent these with an apology?" Revati asked.

"Yes, and a request to fill her vodka order," Aurora said, placing the tray on the ground.

"If she was really sorry, she'd give us a strawberry plant," Revati pointed out.

"Oh, you don't need one of those! You have the fruit," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"You can't just shove a strawberry in the ground and hope for the best; it rots," Revati replied. Bridgadeiro merely leaned down, examining the strawberries. After a few moments of careful examination, he picked up the biggest, brightest berry.

"You can; you just need the right formula," he said. He vaguely walked towards one of the empty garden beds that was going to be turned into an onion patch. Carefully, he dug a small hole and placed the strawberry inside before covering it in earth. Then, he reached into his massive jumpsuit pocket and this time pulled out a small vial of portable perfume.

"One pump should do it," Bridgadeiro remarked before pumping a cloud of perfume onto the soil. The earth began to twitch and vibrate, and Revati gasped as greenery sprouted from the soil. The plants quivered and then twisted as white flowers bloomed. The petals then shriveled and fell off as the center of the flowers grew into green berries. A few seconds later, the berries blossomed into a deep red.

"They shouldn't be doing that! Strawberries take two weeks to grow," Aurora gasped.

"I suppose they would in the wild, but I just gave them a pump of my Gene Grow fusion serum!" Bridgadeiro said, leaning down to examine the strawberries.

"They should produce fruit every day, but only if you talk to them nicely," Bridgadeiro added as he picked a strawberry and handed it to Revati.

Revati sniffed it suspiciously before taking a tiny bite. It tasted just like a strawberry.

"Does that stuff work on all plants?" Revati asked curiously.

"It tends to go a bit haywire when you spray it on legumes; you end up with giant beans that have no nutrients," Bridgadeiro said.

"I saved your life; think it's only fair you spray all the plants in here," Revati said firmly.

"It would be better if I planted their seeds outside and created new crops; otherwise, the rapidly growing plants could burst outside the walls," Bridgadeiro replied. Revati nodded crisply.

"I'll be sending someone to check on your efforts later today; I'll be far too busy working," Revati replied with as much dignity as she could muster in a sleep shirt before marching out of the greenhouse. The book of fairy tales lay abandoned on the ground.

Revati carefully changed into her work uniform. When she was a child, her wardrobe consisted of souvenir t-shirts from the gift shop fashioned into dresses. Now that she was almost an adult, Revati had to get creative.

Most of the gift shop sweatshirts had been swiped long ago. Instead, Revati put on the top half of the cafe's old uniform. It consisted of a magenta and purple striped waistcoat with a navy blue blouse covered in tiny clocks. The bottom half should have been a matching bustle skirt. Revati switched it with the men's purple trousers. Revati then carefully redid her braid and applied some more soot lipstick. Aurora, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, was waiting for her in the kitchen.

"You're wearing your second best outfit," Aurora remarked.

"I suppose I am," Revati replied as she grabbed her coat.

"I thought you said you were done with romance after that whole mess with Little Hardi last summer," Aurora said, and Revati stopped walking.

"I am!" she protested, and Aurora pressed her thin lips into a disapproving frown.

"You were sleeping with him."

"God forbid I fall asleep next to another human being," Revati said as she marched through the cafe past Nanni, who was sewing something.

"You kept him! You gave him a job," Aurora added knowingly.

"I didn't keep him! He's not a feral child; he can leave whenever he wants," Revati snapped as they stepped outside, and she put on her sunglasses. Olde Landon was always at its worst in the morning. Like all major tourist attractions and cities, Old Landon had an atmospheric blanket high above the park's surface. It meant that nobody in the park froze to death at night, but it also meant the morning light was far too bright.

"Is that Little Hardi and Queen Victoria standing next to the fountain?" Revati sighed wearily.

"They both arrived at sunrise; I told them you were busy, so your mother made them breakfast," Aurora remarked.

"Sunrise; of course, they sacrificed sleep so they could get here first," Revati remarked, marching towards the two other leaders. Queen Victoria was wearing one of the park's costumes, a stained white lace wedding dress. Little Hardi, on the other hand, was wearing a deep blue doublet with a ruff collar and matching tights.

"Little Hardi, is your brother still unconscious?" Revati greeted him.

"We took a vote last night, and he played Macduff," Little Hardi replied.

Revati, who knew fully well what that meant, had to stop herself from flinching.

"You killed him? That's a little harsh," Revati pointed out.

"It was for the best; we need a strong leader during a time of invasion," Little Hardi remarked practically.

"Time of invasion? Isn't that a little dramatic?" Revati had to ask.

"There must be another crack in the wall; thank Jane, it's probably not too big! You two would be far too young to remember the vegetable cleaner invasion," remarked Queen Victoria.

"I was twelve," Revati said dryly.

"I was fourteen; the tornado destroyed the Hamlet's haunted castle ride, and the appliances killed the actor playing Ophelia," Little Hardi pointed out.

"You're both still tiny children as far as I'm concerned; I can't believe this is who I have to work with," Queen Victoria replied, and Revati brushed past her with annoyance, heading to the dress shop across the street.

The shelves of the dress shop had long ago been stripped bare. All that remained were the three Penny Farthing Bicycles that had been part of the shop's window display. Revati wheeled her Penny Farthing outside only to see Queen Victoria having a heated discussion with Aurora.

"What do you mean she's going to ride to the wall by herself? All representatives from all towns should go!" Queen Victoria was screeching, slapping Aurora's shoulder with her fan.

Revati parked her bicycle and marched towards Queen Victoria, grabbing her hand.

"Slap my assistant again, and I'll break your fingers; you know I can do it," Revati growled.

Little Hardi, who was now sitting by the fountain, laughed.

"I was just speaking the truth! We have a treaty; during times of crisis, we unify," Queen Victoria said, her voice tight and a little frightened.

"I don't see Lady Morganna here," Revati pointed out, referring to the ruler of Medieval faire.

"You know perfectly well Medieval faire cut us all off after the tornado hit! They probably all died off years ago," Queen Victoria snapped back. Queen Victoria was right. Medieval faire was located in the center of a massive fake castle complete with a drawbridge. After the invasion, Lady Morganna had yanked up the bridge and refused to speak to anyone. Anna and Nanni had tried to visit several times with baskets of dried lemons. They were horrified when someone from above threw the contents of their toilets onto the streets.

"My new friend said he saw naked people in the wilderness dancing around a murdered television! Sounds like Lady Morganna to me," Revati merely replied, pointing to Bridgadeiro. Bridgadeiro, who was in the middle of taking several pumpkins out of the greenhouse, waved.

"Could be a coincidence; regardless, you are not going to the wall! We need to have a proper group committee meeting first! Then a vote," Queen Victoria's.

Revati just rolled her eyes and released Queen Victoria's hand, causing her to stumble and fall onto the floor. Revati then reached into her jacket, pulling out her stun gun, shoving it into the queen's stomach. The Queen made a faint whimpering sound as her eyes rolled backward, and she collapsed again. Revati then aimed the gun at Little Hardi, who held his hands up, protesting.

"I'm not going to stop you! I came here to propose marriage," Little Hardi insisted.

"Marriage? To me?" Revati asked dubiously.

"All kings need a consort, and I'm not interested in Big Hardi's husband," Little Hardi said, slowly getting down on one knee.

Revati stared at him and shook her head.

"I'm seventeen," Revati pointed out.

"Well, the wedding wouldn't be for another couple of years," Little Hardi replied.

"I thought we agreed to keep our relationship professional after the handkerchief incident," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi held a hand to his heart.

"I told you dozens of times I had nothing to do with my brother's plot," Little Hardi insisted.

"He accused me of cheating on you using an old prop handkerchief as evidence, and you believed him despite it being the exact same plot of the play Othello," Revati pointed out. The entire incident occurred over a year ago and ended with Revati kidnapped and tied up on the stage in a white fluffy nightgown.

"I'm a very insecure person," Little Hardi pleaded. Dating while trapped in a fun park during the apocalypse was difficult. Before the feral children came along, Revati was the youngest person on Baker Street. All the teenagers in Whistleton were raised to be incredibly prissy. Most of them refused to do anything more than dance or hold hands. Little Hardi had been a fun, age-appropriate choice. Little Hardi was happy to do far more than hold hands.

"No," Revati said firmly.

"No? Really?" he asked, sounding faintly surprised.

"First of all, your legal system involves killing criminals on stage in the middle of plays, which is horrifying," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi shrugged.

"Secondly, I'm not an idiot! You just want to marry me so you can take over our greenhouse," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi gasped as if looking deeply insulted.

"That's not true! If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks," Little Hardi pleaded as Revati climbed onto the penny farthing.

[rosemaze-reveries]

― enclosed with love

spending valentine's day with you eli, mary, michiko, naib, norton, percy, philippe

i adored this year's vday café designs so i wrote some hcs for them ^^

⚠️ modern AU

♡ Mary

With a delicate and highly sophisticated palate, Mary is always searching for something new to satisfy her. For Valentine's Day, she books a private tour at a high-end champagne house.

Her driver is scheduled to pick you up in the early afternoon. She arranged your date so “late” to give herself ample time to settle on an outfit. Her room is littered with hat boxes and empty hangers and piles of ‘maybes’. Everything must be perfect for you. But, every second without you feeds into her restlessness, and she ends up calling you to fill the time. Hours go by on the phone & she still refuses to hang up until she pulls outside your residence.

When she first greets you from the backseat of her car, her hands are on you immediately. She smoothes out the collar of your jacket and peppers a couple of warm kisses all across your face, somehow never quite landing on your lips. She quickly dabs away all the lipstick stamps she left with her handkerchief and apologizes for being so forward,,, only to end up doing it again.

Mary takes high pride in her outfits and never compromises on looking classy. But somewhere in the back of your head, you think: All white? To a wine tasting? What if she gets red stains on her dress? From anyone else, this comment would insult her ― she doesn't take kindly to the insinuation that she's a klutz. Coming from you, she laughs it off saying she's always looked better in red anyway.

She waits until arriving for your tour to present her gifts. Mary gives VERY generously. There's an entire table prepared for you. Mountains of roses, desserts, tickets to that trip you've always wanted to take, luxury spa packages -- she has everything.

♡ Norton

This Valentine's Day is the first Norton will be spending with someone. He'll act like he's not that invested in it, that he's just indulging you.

He keeps up a haughty smirk when you first meet for your date. You had a love letter delivered to him that morning, and he's 100% taking the opportunity to tease you about it. You wrote some pretty embarrassing things about him. How's the real deal living up to your expectations? Dying to bring some of those thoughts to life already? Unfortunately, you insisted on having a traditional date for Valentine's, so you'll have to keep yourself in check until tonight. ← He knows he makes you crazy & he loves having that effect on you.

He gives you chocolates as a gift. They're clearly homemade, shaped like rocks of various sizes with a little gold-dusted heart hidden among them. But just in case you wouldn't be able to recognize them as rocks, he also provided a little toothpick "pickaxe."

Presenting something homemade is a little embarrassing, even if he hides it with that big grin of his. He gives your present a little too fast before switching back to teasing you again.

♡ Philippe

As a perfectionist, Philippe starts planning for Valentine's Day very early. He experiments with all sorts of gift ideas. You're not sure what's going through his head, but he has a highly specific vision and won't rest until he achieves it. He seems to find it important that he gives you something handmade.

Matching photo lockets? A decoden case (if you're into fun phone cases)? Not meaningful enough. A flower vase modeled after his own hand, to sit on your desk? Too tacky. A wax figure? Maybe, but that's too predictable on its own. Maybe he should learn guitar to serenade you.

His final choice is ambitious, but Philippe always is. He builds a little table out of resin, and preserved inside it are your favorite flowers, with detailed wax figurines of you and him dancing among them. It sits in a corner of his favorite room, where he often does dance with you ♡

On the day itself, Philippe would prefer to stay home. It's one of the rare times he gets to have you to himself free of work constraints.

He's the type that always needs to be doing something with his hands. He'd enjoy making chocolate sculptures together -- it's a cute idea, he thinks, to watch you make something so passionately. Whatever your skill level, he loves anything you make.

In the evening, he'll take over all the cooking. A quiet night with steak and good wine (or your preferred drink) is a little cliche, but you both deserve it. Plus, he loves nothing more than casually chatting with you while he works in the kitchen.

♡ Naib

Naib isn't really into the idea of Valentine's Day. He might not even realize it's coming up unless you tell him about it. You'd have to be explicit that you're looking forward to spending the day with him, and even then, he's totally unprepared.

Gifts have never been his forte. Neither have grand romantic gestures. But he's good at working his pragmatic side into the little things: so rather than push himself to be this lovey-dovey, chocolates-and-roses type of lover for the day, he focuses on being 'present' for you.

He brings you breakfast in bed. He's a mean cook, and knows all your favorites. Everything he makes tastes like home, warm and full of love.

Most couples give each other flowers, he knows that, so he goes shopping for one. You're surprised when he presents you with a bouquet of lemons. In his mind, they're cool and refreshing like you, everyone could find a use for some lemons, and personally he finds the colors to be appealing. It doesn't occur to him that lemon bouquets might be an unusual thing to give.

He relies on you to direct the date. Whatever you say, he'll agree. In public, he never leans in for kisses but wouldn't oppose yours. You can try to stand closer to him & he'll slink an arm around your waist briefly, as if to reassure you that he'll always have a secure hold on you, but he'll pull away again before long.

♡ Percy

In spite of all of his eccentricities, Percy is surprisingly traditional when it comes to romance. He invites you to a nice dinner date & arrives much earlier than you, waiting with a bouquet and chocolates. When he first sees you, he wraps a secure arm around your shoulders to tenderly kiss your forehead.

Getting to see this side of him is the payoff of building such a deep relationship with him. Percy is a difficult person to get through. He's obsessive to a fault and cloisters himself away in his studio for days at a time ― no one else would have been able to breach his heart like you have. He will take proper measures to express your importance to him.

His first real kiss leaves tiny particles of something on your lips, but they're sweet in taste. He laughs at the startled look on your face and reassures you it was just a sugar cube. At first he says he was just fishing for a reaction, but later confesses: he was afraid the lips of an undead man might have an odd taste, so he crunched a sugar cube to sweeten it.

♡ Eli

Eli spends the morning delivering roses to other couples on his bicycle. People tend to get especially flattered when their flowers arrive via owl, so his services are very popular this time of year.

He enjoys the little bouts of happiness he can bring to others, but of course you are the one he wants to spend this day with most. With every bouquet he delivers, his mind wanders to you, imagining your reaction when he finally gets to deliver his gift.

He asks you to meet him at an ice cream parlor when his shift is done, around noon. Before you even see him, Brooke Rose flies over to tuck a thornless rose behind your ear, and you turn to find Eli already waiting at a table.

He gives you a small homemade cake and a letter he won't let you read until he's gone. He's a pretty sappy guy even in person, so you aren't sure how his letter will be much different. But having something to be excited about, even after you have to say goodbye, makes it worth it.

His bike rides have left very familiar with all the best spots around town. After splitting ice cream, he takes you for a ride to all the little places he thinks you'll love. A flower meadow, a bridge with a superstition attached: if you whisper the name of your love while crossing it, you'll be bound for life. Part of you suspects he made that up, but the way he says your name over and over makes your heart skip a beat.

Once the sun goes down, he brings you to a forest. Somehow he manages to time it just right. He gestures for you to stay very quiet, gently takes your hands, and suddenly you're encircled by hundreds of fireflies.

♡ Michiko

Since losing her ex-husband, Valentine's Day has become a bitter thing for Michiko, especially since it's so close to their anniversary. She has treated it as a day of mourning for some years. Of course, she keeps up a smile for you ― it's not in her character to impose her struggles on others.

The morning goes by slowly and comfortably. You wake up to a gentle massage and the smell of fresh baked pastries. She writes you a sweet letter in her neat script, and she adorns her letter with pressed flowers & a mini bouquet of your favorite candy.

She makes sure to get you a proper gift, too. She follows a rule of getting 1 indulgent and 1 practical thing: a box of luxury chocolates alongside a fine new coat.

Her ideal date would be something intimate and relaxing. Maybe the theatre, in a box reserved for two, or a shaded flower garden where you can enjoy a cup of tea.

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

Ao3

Nine: Sirius

Pascal’s

Amsterdam

Remus wasn’t in the car. James wasn’t in the car. Sirius’ two captors sat across from him in the sleek, black backseat. The dark-haired one knocked on the divider to tell the driver to go. Sirius eyed the gentle shapes of guns beneath their jackets and took some faith in the idea that they hadn’t bound his wrists. They hadn’t even taken his own weapon or checked him further for any others that might be concealed.

“Having a good Christmas?” the curly-haired one asked.

“Saint,” the buzz-cut said, his tone scolding.

“What?” The one called Saint grinned. “I’m just making conversation.”

Sirius ignored the question altogether. “Where’s James?”

“He’ll be waiting for you,” Saint replied. “You can stop glaring at us. We’re not your enemy.”

“Saint.” Another warning from the buzz-cut.

“Luke,” Saint replied mockingly.

“Will you quit telling him things?”

“Sure, cowboy. I’ll quit.”

“Where’s Remus?” Sirius asked.

“Huh. Interesting,” Saint said. His strong features mocked a frown. “Asked about James first. I would have bet money on Remus. Good money, too.”

Sirius sat forward in his seat. “If you don’t tell me—”

Sirius heard the familiar sound of a gun clicking towards him and looked to see that the buzz-cut, Luke, had subtly turned his weapon on him.

“Luke doesn’t like when people threaten me,” Saint said. “Even when they don’t quite finish their sentences.”

Slowly, Sirius leaned back. It was too hot in the car, even after the bitter cold. The heat dried his throat out and made his skin itch.

“Who’s Pascal?” Sirius asked.

“Who’s Pascal?” Saint rolled his eyes. “Oh. Just the person who’s going to save all of your lives.”

+++

Sirius was allowed to keep his weapon even as he was led up the front steps of a very narrow townhouse. If he had to guess by the canal at his back, he’d say he was at the heart of the city. The building was made of brown-red brick, and in the heavy snowfall it almost looked like gingerbread. The roof sloped with delicately curling designs that looked as white as frosting, covered in the powdery flakes as they were. In the fading light, the tall windows glowed—Sirius wouldn’t say invitingly. Most light looked warm, sometimes deceivingly so. It didn’t mean much.

The entrance hall was as narrow as Sirius had expected, but the house seemed to make up for it with very tall sets of stairs that rose beyond where Sirius could see. Shining hardwood floors, pocketed by doorways, extended back a long way. Sirius had expected an office of sorts, not a house, and so the normal entrance hall surprised him. There were coats on hooks and boots on a mat. A mirror, spotted at the edges, hung to his left. He caught a horrible glimpse of himself in it. He looked tired and angry, with snow melting in his hair. Maybe this was all Remus ever saw. Tired. Angry. There was worry there, too, so sharp it stung.

Saint and Luke took off their coats and Sirius, reluctantly, did the same. He stuffed the hat and gloves Remus had stolen him in his coat pockets before hanging his coat on one of the hooks. He shouldn’t be sentimental about them. They weren’t gifts, just necessities. They felt like one, though. When Remus had first disappeared, Sirius had been alarmed by how few reminders he’d had of him. The agency had gone through Remus’ apartment, cleaning up any give-aways before Remus’ family arrived. By the time Sirius had forced himself through the door, the flat was empty and up for sale. Not many photographs. It was just a habit among their kind, but Sirius had never regretted anything so much.

“Let’s get a move on, then,” Saint said. “Shall we?”

“Don’t tell me I have to take my shoes off,” Sirius said.

The one called Luke snorted softly. “As if we’d ever ask that of a your sort.”

“My sort?” Sirius had been under the impression they were the same.

“There’s paranoid,” Saint said. “And then there’s you, Sirius Black. You’re a box of suspicions tied up with a ribbon.”

They led him up one great staircase to a second floor. A large, abstract painting met them on the second landing. The gray and whites of ice. The dark of something like a forest. Sirius was tempted to fall into it and stay in that cold oblivion until someone reached in and grabbed him back, but only to tell him Remus knew him again.

“Sirius.”

Sirius turned sharply at his name. James stood there wearing new clothes. A soft looking blue sweater and dark jeans. His glasses rested on his face like they always did and his hair was its usual disheveled mess. The relief in Sirius’ chest hurt.

They walked forward to each other at the same time and James put both his hands on Sirius’ shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he assured him. “You?”

“So far,” Sirius said. “What happened?”

James sighed. “Someone snuck up behind me. Still can’t figure out how.”

“Who?”

“Sweet reunion and all,” Saint said, brushing passed them both and gesturing to another set of stairs. “We’re not there yet, so if you could—”

“I can come to them,” said a voice from above. “No worries.”

Sirius looked up through the stairs’ curling wooden banisters. Brown, polished shoes appeared first, then light gray trousers. The man himself had dark hair that was parted and held in a gentle curl over his forehead, and a short beard that would have appeared scruffy had it not been so neatly trimmed. He smiled at Sirius as he descended the stairs.

“Hello, Sirius.” A nod to James. “James.”

“Pascal,” Sirius guessed.

“Yes. Sorry for the mystery, but better careful than not. Now that Salazar has tried to kill you, I figured it was finally time the three of us met.”

“How do you know they tried?”

“You went offline,” Pascal said simply.

Sirius touched the healing cut on his neck. “What do you want?”

Pascal paused on the final steps, seemingly taken aback by the harshness. Sirius didn’t care. He’d never been one to smooth contacts over with false flattery and charm. That was James’ job.

“Your Salazar blood runs thick, Sirius,” Pascal said. “Your great grandfather. Grandfather. Your father. Your younger brother. Regulus is there now, isn’t he?”

Sirius would not talk about Regulus with this man. “How do you know me?”

Pascal came to a stop a few paces away from him. “What I want, as you say, is to get to know each other. I would like you to listen to what I have to say. I knew you especially, Sirius, wouldn’t be easily swayed. Not even by what Remus and Logan knew.”

“Knew,” James repeated. “Do you know what happened to their memories?”

“I share your theories about Salazar,” Pascal said. Saint and Luke fell back a few steps but stayed close. “Logan and Remus knew something and Salazar didn’t want it going any further.” He glanced at Sirius.

“You thought I wouldn’t listen to something my own team told me?” Sirius asked.

“I think,” Pascal said quietly. “That there are some roots which run very deep.” He glanced between him and James. “What do you know? Before everything happened, I had begun to worry Remus would tell you too soon. He thought it would pose no problems.”

Remus had wanted to tell him something. It explained every moment Remus’ eyes had gone far away. It had explained the lingering silences, and that last day, when Remus had put a hand on Sirius’ neck. I need you to know—

Sirius couldn’t escape that touch. He didn’t want to. It had been filled with such panicked, sudden urgency.

“Nothing,” Sirius said. “He never told me anything. He never got the chance.”

James’ shoulder brushed his in silent sympathy, then he looked back to Pascal.

“Logan said your name,” James said. “When we first found him, he had a split second of clarity and told Finn your name. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that’s the only reason either of us is still standing here.”

“Then I will have to thank Logan,” Pascal said. “When Leo Knut allows him to be found, that is.”

“You found Finn through Leo’s tracker,” James said. “You just admitted to tracking us.”

Pascal laughed lightly. “And Mr. Knut does not make that easy. Especially now that he’s discovered the back door we came through and locked it up tight.” He gestured through a doorway. “Will you sit?”

The sitting room Pascal led them to was just as nice as the rest of the house. Low-backed, simple couches of brown leather and a gleaming, dark-wood coffee table already set with a french press and thin ceramic cups.

Sirius and James glanced at each other as they sat down. Sirius looked down briefly at James’ waist, and James nodded. He’d been allowed to keep his gun, too.

Pascal smiled slightly as he poured the coffee. “You don’t have to drink it, I won’t be offended. I know how this must feel.”

“Where’s Remus?” Sirius asked.

“He’s here and he’s safe,” Pascal said, sitting across from them. “I’m not keeping him from you, or you from him. I would like the chance to talk to you first, if you’ll allow me to. I’m sure you have questions, and I’d like to answer them without influencing Remus one way or another.” Pascal hesitated, pressing his hands together. “I…Greece did not go as planned. And I don’t know exactly what happened to him after he and Logan ran from us.”

“Ran from you,” James repeated.

Sirius sat forward. “Who were we following in Greece?”

“Salazar,” Pascal said. “There was never any real mission. They wanted you running in circles, chasing your tails, so they could kill Remus and Logan and turn the blame on some third party. Mission gone wrong. An old trick of theirs.”

“You were part of Salazar?”

Pascal didn’t answer, but no answer and the shadow in his dark eyes was enough. Sirius tried to place his face. He was about as old as his own father, a few years younger perhaps. Sirius never seen a record of him. He’d never heard his name.

“So the people in the boat, the people shooting,” Sirius said. “Those were other Salazar agents. Like Archer…”

He thought of Jack’s body, twitching once as his memories were wiped, then again as he was killed.

“No,” Pascal said. “That’s the way Salazar wanted it, but no. Those were my people in the boat.”

Sirius just stared at him. From beside him, James stopped breathing. “So you shot—”

“Stunning bullets. It had to be believable. But Salazar was also shooting—real ammo. They hit both of them, as you saw from above in the cliffs.”

Sirius tried to drag that image out of his mind and pin it down. Had he seen shots coming from two directions? He didn’t know. All he saw was Remus’ blood on the sand, Logan’s in the waves, and the boat speeding away.

“It was vital that we get to them first.” Pascal gave his head a small shake. “They were never going to die, but you could not come looking. Not yet. They both knew the risks.”

Air lodged in Sirius’ throat. They both knew the risks.

“What are you saying?” James pushed forward in his seat. “What the fuck are you saying, what did you just say?”

Pascal’s chest expanded with the breath he took. “James…”

“Are you telling us that they knew that was going to happen?” James asked. “Are you telling us…”

James trailed off in disbelief, but Pascal knew enough not to interrupt. Sirius wouldn’t have minded if he tried to look at least a little more guilty.

Sirius wanted to throw the steaming coffee in his face. “We thought they were dead. I thought he was gone, I thought I had killed him, I thought he was dead—”

“We didn’t know about the memory wipe,” Pascal urged. “We didn’t know. It was never supposed to go on this long, we were never supposed to lose them entirely, but they needed to disappear. Salazar had to think they were gone.”

“They needed help,” Sirius shouted.

“It was supposed to be a week. Then Logan and Remus would contact you, James, and Leo in their own time when they thought they could get you alone.” Pascal took a sip of his coffee like he was in no hurry at all, and James hit his palm against the table. Pascal looked at him but didn’t flinch. Only when he put the slightly shaking cup down did Sirius realize he was guilty. It was suddenly all over his face. “Just a week. That’s what they agreed to—and believe me, they didn’t like the idea of doing that to you for even that long.”

“Then why wasn’t it a week?” Sirius asked flatly.

“The trackers,” James said softly.

Pascal nodded. “We didn’t know about the trackers, we didn’t know they’d wipe their memory. Saint and Luke watched them forget themselves and acted quickly, thank God. Only, waking up and not knowing who you are and finding yourself shot and with two strangers cutting into your neck is not exactly the way to earn trust.”

“The boats they were on,” James said. “I don’t understand.”

“They fled. Logan and Remus,” Pascal said. “We thought, for a while, that they were together, and we were going to pick them up again in port, but…” He shook his head. “They might not have known themselves, but their skills of covering their own tracks are as good as second nature. So. That’s all I know. I couldn’t find them until Leo picked up Remus’ image. Now we’re here.”

“We don’t know a Saint or a Luke,” James said. “If they’re Salazar, why didn’t they know about the memories?”

“You didn’t know,” Pascal pointed out, eyes going to James’ own stitched-up wound. “It’s a new addition. That did not happen for me, or for them when they left.”

“I still don’t know those two,” Sirius said.

“You don’t know how large Salazar is.”

“Leo didn’t recognize them on the train.”

“Leo is young.”

Sirius tried to soak it all in. Remus, faking his own death. Remus not telling him. Logan, so calm, so calm that day, talking about taking Finn on vacation. Sirius got furious so quickly that he felt the world tip dizzyingly and he looked down at his hands, trying to steady his breathing.

“I wish,” Pascal began again, more softly, “that I could help them. But I’m not you.” He looked at James. “Or you. And I am not Finn, who was smart to come along, by the way. But know there’s no world in which he’ll be allowed to live now, not if he’s captured.”

“Why is that smart?” Sirius wanted to stand. He wanted to curl away from the world. He wanted to see Remus for himself. “I tried to stop him.”

“You’re not us?” James asked. There was a scoff to his voice, and Sirius knew he was about as ready to get up and walk out as he was. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Logan, Remus, and I spent time together, but mostly over the phone.”

“So?”

“So, memories have power,” Pascal said evenly. “They have a source. Love. Anger. Comfort. Sorrow. Listen carefully to me. Please.” He looked truly desperate for a moment. “They need to come back to themselves before they can come back to me. Otherwise, without knowing it, they could lead Salazar straight to us and all of the work we’ve done will be—”

“What are they to you? Why do you need them?”

“Witnesses,” Pascal said. “They’re the only witnesses I have against what Salazar has done. If we can riddle this out, this whole thing will be over in mere days. But I can’t do it alone.”

“And what’s that?” Sirius felt like he was right back in that cupboard with nothing but the dark. “What have they done?”

But Pascal only shook his head. “All I will say now, is that a witness is worth nothing if he can’t remember what he saw.”

“Tell us what you know.” James rose from his seat. “Tell us, or—”

Pascal rose, too. He was taller and broader than James, and for the first time since they’d met he used that advantage. “Okay, say I tell you. And then Salazar gets to you, let’s say.” His warm eyes narrowed. “They have Lily in a cold room somewhere. Talk, or she dies.”

“Don’t you fucking—”

“They bring her to you, let’s say,” Pascal cut in. “They put a gun to her head.”

“Stop,” James snarled.

“What would you say, James?” Pascal matched James’ volume. “If you want me to tell you so badly, what would you say to them if they were going to hurt your family?”

Sirius saw the dizzying waves wash over James. The anger. The grief. He fell back in his seat with one of his hands locked around his wrist, trying to hold himself together. 

“Anything,” James said softly. “Anything they wanted me to.”

Slowly, Pascal nodded. He retook his seat, glancing at Sirius. “Okay. Now, that is what I would need out of you. Loyalty. So, before I say a word, why don’t you let me make sure your family is as safe as my own.” James’ eyes flicked up to meet his and Pascal gave a nod. “Okay? Will you let me do that?”

For a moment, a flash of a moment, Sirius was jealous. So, so jealous of James for having someone who would let him protect them.

“Where is Remus?” he asked again. “Are you who he recognized outside the train station?”

Are you who he left me for?

“He recognizes you, too,” Pascal said.

He dreams of you.

  “You can help him, Sirius. Just like Finn can help Logan.”

Sirius shook his head. “It’s not me. I can’t. Remus doesn’t trust me, not even a little.”

Pascal’s sigh sounded almost resigned as he stood again from the coffee and leather. “You’ll be comfortable here, I promise. It’s my own home. One of them. Food, drink, whatever you like. But I’d stay inside as much as possible. I can protect you here. Let me know when you’d like to signal Leo, Logan, and Finn. Take your time.”

Before he left the room, before Sirius could put a hand on James’ shoulder and get him to clear that vacant, scared expression out of his eyes, Pascal spoke again.

“You can help him,” Pascal said. “Remus is not himself. And, if you don’t mind my saying, neither, at the moment, are you, Sirius.”

Pascal slipped out the door soundlessly. He left some sort of ringing behind in Sirius’ ears.

“James,” Sirius said, putting a hand on his back. James had his fingers beneath the lens of his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “Do you trust him?”

“I…” James sounded so tired. He kept his face half covered for a long moment. When he finally straightened, eyes red, he looked at Sirius. “Right now, I only trust you.”

“Remus will be in soon.”

They looked up to see that Saint had appeared. He held a tray of sandwiches and water bottles which he set down with a smirk. Sirius couldn’t tell if he’d heard that. “Hope you’re hungry.”

James ignored his words. “You were in Salazar.”

“Uh-huh. Before Pascal wiped me out of their existence.” He grinned in that odd way of his and began to walk away. “It’s nice to be a ghost. At least for a little while.”

“How did you get out?” Sirius asked.

“Piece of cake,” Saint called over his shoulder. “I took the only person I love with me.”

[stormsplurge]

if they woke you up, somebody better be dying

warnings: none!

pairing(s): seth jarvis x fem! reader

inspired by the interview he just did for spittin chiclets where he talks about how he usually wont fall asleep until 3am (and the title is from one of my favorite phoebe bridgers songs, halloween)

760 words

the clock on the bedside table blinks “1:00” as you slowly open your eyes. the only light in the room is coming from the moon shining between the blinds, casting a cool glow on the noticeably empty bed next to where you were lying.

seth wasnt in bed; same as last night, and almost every night before. 

you can hear the faint sounds of a seinfeld episode coming from the living room, letting you know immediately where your boyfriend was. sitting on the couch in front of the tv instead of in bed next to you. so you begrudgingly pulled on the first sweatshirt you could find, trying to beat the cold winter chill that had invaded the apartment, and tiptoed out of your bedroom.

“seth” you grumbled. “its one in the morning”

“i know, i just” he replied, pressing pause on the tv and turning to face you. “i couldnt sleep and i didnt want to bother you.”

“you should also know that if you cant fall asleep i want to help. you arent being a bother, im your girlfriend. this is the shit im supposed to be able to help you with” you said as you sat down at the far end of the couch. pulling one of the spare blankets you had all over the apartment over your lap.

“im sorry” seth returned, scooting closer to you and interlacing your hands with his. “can i get a do-over?”

“i guess” you giggled, amused by the sight of seth doing his sad puppy eyes in front of you.

“i cant sleep, can you help me?”

“of course i can, give me five minutes.” you said as you rose from the couch, gliding over to the kitchen and pulling out two coffee mugs. running your fingers over the design adorning the box holding the tea bags, you turned your attention back towards seth. “the sleepytime bear reminds me of petya.”

“the what?”

“you know, the bear on the boxes for all those non-caffinated teas. with the red hat and the nightgown.”

seth slipped into the kitchen behind you, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of the bear before sending it off to the group chat and spinning you around so your back was pushing against the counter.

“thank you” he said before pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

“you dont need to thank me.” you replied, snaking your hands under his shirt and hugging his waist.

“i know, i just wanted too.”

“youre so sappy.” you mumbled into his shirt, letting the sweet, woody, smell engulf you.

“yeah but you love it.” he mumbled back before pulling the kettle off the stove and pouring its contents into the mugs you set out. 

you released each other from the hug and grabbed your respective mugs before hobbling back into your bedroom. you pulled up the episode of seinfeld seth had paused before sliding in bed. 

making tea might have been a waste of time, seeing as seth was more interested in holding you than holding the mug. as soon as you got under the covers he’d wrapped his arms around you.

“youre wearing my hoodie.” he whispered as he traced circles along your thighs, letting the callouses on his palms graze the goosebumps on your skin.

“am i?” you murmured. “i just picked it up off the floor, it was the first one i found”

“my old blue bombers one.” he replied. “it looks good on you”

“you say that about everything i wear.”

“i wouldnt say it if it wasnt true.” he says before turning your chin towards him and pulling you into a kiss. 

the stubble growing in as a result of his budding playoff beard scratched at your face as you pulled him in deeper, and as you turned your attention back towards the sitcom on the tv you felt your eyes grow heavier. 

you fell asleep with the moonlight glazing over you and seth, and seinfeld playing on the tv. on a cool carolina night, with no care in the world. 

seth wasn’t far behind, wrapping his body around you before finally succumbing to his fatigue.

maybe it was having his girlfriend care for him that slowed his brain down enough to let him finally catch a semi-decent night of rest, maybe it was the reminder of unconditional love that put him at ease. regardless of the cause, you woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows, and a clingy, but well rested, boyfriend attached to your hip.