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ilium-ilia · 4 months ago

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Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Nine: ichthys

tw: arguing, religious talk

“I think I’m hungover.”

Soap’s voice is hoarse and gravelly as he pokes at his can of beans with his spoon. The night did not fare well for him in terms of healing, as his left eye has swollen a considerable amount through his slumber, dotting his skin with a deep purple and hyacinth blue. His grumbling is drowned out by Riley’s crass chuckle.

“Reckon your headache is more from all the fists you tried kissin’ last night, not the alcohol,” he teases.

“At least I didn’t get my lip split open.”

“Still can’t believe you all managed to get into trouble without me,” Kyle huffs, feigning hurt emotions as he sips on his coffee.

Soap grins. “That’s what you get for leaving early, Garrick.”

While the men compare the wounds they obtained from the night before, you sit in eerie silence as your fingertips prod at your lower lip. Though the events at the saloon feel as if they happened ages ago, you still feel the sordidity of it all taint you. Teeth in flesh. Hands on your waist. A content hum into your jaw. Not even a good night’s sleep is able to cleanse it all from your mind. It lingers like the sting of a stick on your knuckles—like the acidulous bite of words from your father.

The only thing strong enough to pull your attention from it is John’s unwavering gaze from across the dying morning fire.

“You’re quiet today, Lamb,” he casually notes.

Looking up from your hardtack, you muster a small smile. “Just tired,” you dismiss.

It’s not an entire lie. Your sleep was far from restful as you were intermittently interrupted with strange dreams and an overall anxiety from the man who forced himself on you. Really, you’re not sure you’ve had any proper repose since you left your sleepy little Penmosa.

John nods, but the lingering incredulity in his gaze screams that he doesn’t fully believe you. “We’ll be at Grand Hollow in a few days. We’ll get you in a proper bed in no time, little lamb.”

You hum in agreement as your teeth crack into the salty hardtack that dusts your palms—you’re unsure if a soft bed will be enough to quell the aches in both your body and mind, but for now you decide to take his word for it.

Camp is packed up and stored away within a few minutes, and there is no sign that anyone was here besides the smouldering remnants of the fire at your feet. The men are quiet as you ride along wild, untraveled terrain. Their aches buzz through their bodies loud enough for even you to hear over the soft trampling of the horses’ hooves. As you trot along, you notice that John gives Little Wood a wide berth instead of traveling through the heart of town—you imagine he isn’t too keen on treading through the very place he and the boys caused trouble in only a couple hours before.

Your new hat offers excellent cover from the sun dancing well above you. Without golden rays blinding you, you find yourself squinting less often, and you’re fully able to enjoy the bosky land in all its verdant glory. Lush trees bloom in the distance by the time the group hits the trail again, and the moisture in the grass is so thick you can feel the water condensing on your skin in thick droplets. Even Jester whines, uncomfortable with the sweat permeating through his thick hide.

There is little reprieve to be found as the pack travels into the woods, slicing through thick bellied trees as you keep close to the trail. A playful zephyr toys with Jester’s mane, causing him to wiggle his head with a pleased huff. Deciding to join him, you knock your hat back until it’s hanging by the cord around your throat, and you hum as the wind cools your sweat-soaked brow.

Just as your stomach begins to growl, Soap eagerly points out the sight of a lake. Crystalline azure cuts through the fallen trees and berry bushes, and your ears perk enough to hear the faint sound of water lapping at the edges of a shore. None of the horses enjoy trampling over the bramble—Jester, least of all, who you have to coo to in order to convince him not to buck you off when a branch brushes against his stomach—but they are pleasantly surprised when you drop them off to enjoy the algid water of the lake.

It’s one of the largest lakes you’ve ever seen, spanning for at least a few miles in diameter. The water is clear enough for you to make out curious fish darting through the water as they nibble at wild undergrowth and algae. Kyle eagerly retrieves a folded up fishing pole from his saddle pack, all while muttering something about trying the far side of the lake before vanishing into the wilderness. John does the same, though he doesn’t wander too far from the group while Riley and Soap prepare a fire for lunch.

With his pants rolled up well above his knees and his shoes and socks discarded along the shore, John wades out into the water with his fishing pole in hand. You watch his muscles bulge through the cotton of his shirt as he rears his arms back, then flicks the pole forward, casting the line far towards the center of the lake where the fish roam in quieter waters.

Closing your eyes, you bask in the obstructed sunlight as nature crescendos around you. Robins chatter as they hop between branches; geese honk as they soar through the air high above your head; a bumble bee rests in a patch of wildflowers next to a fallen log. It’s a far cry from the wailing of cows and bleating of sheep you’re accustomed to in Penmosa. It reminds you of the picnics your mother used to take you on when you were little—very little.

Before she got sick.

Before she was put in the ground.

“The water is nice, Lamb. You ought to join.”

John’s invitation catches you by surprise, and your eyes flutter open. Your surroundings feel too bright all of a sudden. Everything fluoresces beneath saffron rays, and a sudden wave of lassitude hits you worse than the back of a hand. Thinking that dousing yourself with a fair amount of water might be a good idea to keep you awake, you find yourself kicking your shoes off, stockings along with them.

The lake water is brisk against your bare feet, but you grit your teeth and bear the sensation as you roll your pantalets up and hold your skirt above your knees. The sun has warmed the more shallow parts of the water, but you feel the depths grow more algid as you wade out as far as your clothes will allow.

“Still tired?” John asks.

He stands a good couple of feet in front of you. You slosh your legs through the water to remind him how close you are. “A little,” you concede.

“I reckon all the excitement from last night made it hard to get any good sleep,” he muses. “You’re not still thinking too much about what happened at the saloon, are you?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You haven’t realized how dry they’ve gotten since you’ve left home. “A little, maybe. I don’t know. It’s all frustrating.”

John hums, then falls quiet when he feels something pull on the line. He begins to reel, and the ticking sound of the rod drowns out the flies buzzing along the waterline, but then curses when he feels the fish go free.

“Well, he won’t be bothering you again, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he sighs. It takes him only a short moment to reset his cast, flinging his pole as hard as he can so that the hook goes flying.

“I’m not really worried about it as much as I’m just… well…” You cut yourself off with a huff. “Well, my life just isn’t really going the way I planned.”

“Is that so?” John asks with a poorly hidden chuckle.

“No,” you say tartly. Your eyes pierce daggers through the back of his head, and you pray he can feel the burn. “When I was a kid, I always figured I would have been married by now. I’d be settled down, I’d have a kid or two to tend to. Someone to love. Someone to love me.”

Looking over his shoulder, John throws you a cheeky smirk. “Someone to go to church with every Sunday?”

You hold back the urge of rolling your eyes. “I guess.”

Once again, your tongue wets your lips, and as you wiggle your toes in the muck of the lake bottom, you feel acrid bile bubble in your stomach. Teeth dug into this very same lip last night. You wonder if that bone has the feeling of your mouth memorised just as much as your flesh does.

“But after last night, I’m starting to think that’s never going to happen,” you admit, and though you are wary of John’s snippy response, you find yourself not caring too much about it.

“What? That you’d ever find yourself in some godly matrimony?” he goads.

“That I’d ever find myself in love at all,” you correct with a snap.

This frustration is new. It feels foreign as it bubbles beneath your skin and lurks in your joints. As your fists tighten around the fabric of your dress, you wonder if this is how your father feels. You wonder if this is the very same emotion that drives him into doing what he does best—hate.

“Daddy’s always displeased with me. I know you think I’m stupid, but I’m well aware that a good father doesn’t beat his child,” you say, forcing your anger to melt away as your tone takes on something more somber. “I don’t want love because it’s what’s Godly, or what I think Daddy wants, because I know he couldn’t care less, I just… I want it because I always thought it was going to save me.”

John nods his head as if he understands you. His body twists in the water, keeping his pole straight over the lake, yet his torso turned to you. The brim of his hat shades his eyes from what little sun pokes through the trees, but his irises illuminate through the darkness. Their color is comparable to the lake water kissing your ankles, and you find your tongue aching for the refreshment.

“Love is powerful, little lamb. It can make smart people do stupid things. It can bring a nation to its knees. But if it’s salvation you want, I’m afraid you only have yourself to count on,” he shares bluntly. “Not even your god is strong enough for that.”

Eyes narrowing at John, he jerks his head away from your gaze the moment something tugs on his rod, and this time he’s able to keep them on the line. Expert hands reel in the fish with sharp tugs, and it isn’t long before John’s pulling a small, flat sunfish from the water. It wiggles and writhes on the line, but the hook curves through its cheek too violently to free itself.

“God offers salvation,” you correct. “He sent His son for us.”

“Oh no, sweetheart, don’t get that twisted in your sweet head. Your god didn’t do shit for you.”

John’s crass words shock you to your very core, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss of a response. His fingers weave the hook out of the fish’s mouth before he begins to walk past you. Each step he takes sends water splashing around his knees until a few drops manage to soak your skirt.

“Jesus Christ died on the cross to absolve everyone of their sins!” you say just as he reaches the shore.

“That boy died on the cross because his daddy told him to,” John chuckles sourly. Holding the fish by its tail, he leans his pole against the fallen log before retrieving a rock from near his feet. “If it weren’t for his all-powerful father telling him to kill himself, he would have much rather lived. He never would have died if that cruel man hadn’t demanded it. That’s not love. That’s dictatorship and self obsession.”

Your eyes widen so far you fear they might pop free from your skull. “What?”

After placing the sunfish against the log, John raises the rock over his head, and just like Cain did to his brother Abel, he crushes the fish’s skull in with a single blow. No longer flopping, he’s now free to cut it behind its gills, letting it bleed slowly and without pain.

“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me,” John quotes with bile. He stares down at the dead fish before wiping the blade of his knife on his thigh. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Still standing in the shallow water, you stare at John with parted lips. Your eyes flicker to the gore on the log for only a short moment before you’re looking back up at him. “I didn’t realize you knew The Bible.”

Foggy eyes land on you as John brings his attention away from the fish. “Go dry off by the fire. Take a nap, if you can manage it. Don’t need you falling asleep on the back of your horse while we’re trying to ride.”

The fire is a pitiful thing. Made of nothing more than mere twigs and tiny sticks, it doesn’t exude much heat, but you suppose it doesn’t have to. Riley and Soap keep tending to it as you nestle yourself against the trunk of a tree, feet faced towards the flames. Sleep takes you for only a little while before you’re roused awake with a display of dead, gutted fish waiting to be cooked and eaten.

Kyle informs you that most of what they’ve caught are bluegills, and you’re impressed at their flaky texture and tangy flavor. They’re not like the fish you’re used to the local anglers back in Penmosa catching, though you doubt you’ve ever eaten any fish this fresh in your life. You pick at the flesh with your fingers and shove bite after bite onto your tongue. It melts. Rich oils disperse along your tastebuds, and you find yourself humming, content.

“Can’t wait to get to Grand Hollow,” Soap muses halfway through lunch.

“You’re just thinking about Lottie’s food, aren’t you?” Kyle teases.

“Might be,” Soap grins. He lets the comment sit for a moment before he’s tilting his head. “I bet I know what you’re thinking about.”

Unconvinced, he raises a brow. “Oh?”

“Don’t play dumb, Garrick. It’s written all over your face. You’re excited to get back to Sofia, aren’t you?”

Kyle attempts to retort, but the moment he opens his mouth it snaps back shut again. Chewing on the inside of his tongue, he shoves a bite of bluegill past his lips before palming at the back of his neck.

“Aye, look at him, all bashful like a school boy,” Soap says with a roaring laugh.

Innocently blinking back and forth between the two men, you wiggle your toes as the fire roasts them. “Who’s Sofia?”

“Oh, just some girl he’s sweet on,” Soap says flippantly.

“I am not,” Kyle defends.

“Sure, it’s why you always wander off to the bakery while we’re there—because you’re not sweet on her.”

The two men bicker back and forth for a short while, leaving you to giggle and titter while you toss aside cleaned bones and stray scales. While they take turns stabbing each other with words, you find your mind wandering as the fire captures your attention.

Grand Hollow. The Twin Rose.

It’s on the way to Blackpeak, which is where we’re headed.

“So, after we’re done in Grand Hollow, what do you guys plan to do in Blackpeak?”

Your question reverberates like a gunshot. It silences the four men around you, and yet none of their eyes dart to you. Riley pokes at the fire with a twig, Soap and Kyle continue to eat—but John looks at you with a hum as he shoves his thumb in his mouth to suck it clean.

“There’s nothing for you in Blackpeak. You’re staying in Grand Hollow,” he says nonchalantly.

“Well, I know that. But when we first met, you said that you all were headed there, and I guess I’m just curious as to why you would want to go to a place where the law wants you,” you explain cautiously. “At least, that’s what Mr. Beckett said… that you’re wanted in Blackpeak.”

John’s tongue swipes along the front of his teeth; you can see the way it moves his lips as they prod against them. “Well, that’s none of your business, now is it, sweetheart?”

His blatantly sharp tone kills the curiosity in your heart, and you find yourself huffing. Shame should be poking at your heart, but for once you feel nothing of the sort. “I suppose you’re right. Nothing you do concerns me at all, John Price.”

After you’re finished with lunch, your small, makeshift camp is quickly swept away so that everyone can hit the road again. Jester still dislikes walking through overgrown bushes (despite the obnoxiously tall legs he has to carry himself with) but you fare better exiting than you did entering.

The next three days are grueling. It consists of nothing but early mornings, and late evenings, with short breaks to eat in between. Jester’s saddle rubs the insides of your thighs until you’re sore, and you find angry welts building on the tender skin. The thin cotton of your pantalets offers little comfort compared to the men’s jeans and riding gear, and by the second day you find yourself so desperate that you place a blanket over the saddle to try to comfort your angry skin. It does little—if anything at all—but you tell yourself it’s better than nothing.

Everyone is quiet for the most part as you wander along the trail, except for short conversations every now and then. Sometime’s Soap will hum a song in a language that sounds old and dead, but otherwise everyone leaves the talking to the coyotes.

Your mind does plenty of talking, though. Ideas and lost conversations weave through your brain as you stare at the dusty road ahead. You think of your father and the last supper you had together; you think of the moon; but mostly, you think of John.

It’s uncomfortable to admit how often you think of him—how his words echo in your mind as if your skull is a cavern made only to repeat what you hate to hear. You think of his words at the lake, and his vagarious behavior. In one moment, you’ll have the wolf nudging at the palm of your hand to lap at you with wet tongue—the next, he’s nipping at your wrist as if you struck him.

In the end, you always seem to recall the scars that dance along his spine. The way they sprawl out like limbs on a tree along his back, slicing through his shoulders and along his flank. Every now and then, you’ll catch him pawing at the back of his neck, and you’ll see pink, raised skin peek out from above the collar of his shirt. A part of you expected them to fade since the last time you saw them in that abandoned barn.

They’ve done no such thing.

In the early morning on day four, you notice the path you travel grows more firm. Fixed with wooden boards, or even stone in some cases, there are less tree roots for Jester to trample over and no rocks for him to get stuck in his hooves. There are countless small towns that you quickly blow through, but John doesn’t seem to care about stopping at any of them despite your voiced discomfort.

You quickly learn why that is as lamp posts begin to line your path as your trail slowly morphs into a proper road. It’s wider than any other you’ve ever seen, and your eye catches carriages for both transport and luxury being pulled by large, shire horses. You take note of strangers with well kept suits and women with dresses larger than you’ve ever seen with frilly hats to match.

Just as you open your mouth to ask where you’re at, you see it. It looms just up the road on a big oak board adorned with paint and the neatest script you’ve ever seen.

Welcome to Grand Hollow the Golden Heart of the United States

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acupofqueercoffee · 1 year ago

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“Beneath the Dragon’s Eyes”

Rhaenys Targaryen x Female Reader (+Meleys)

wc : 2700+

cw : older woman x younger woman // also, they make out in front of meleys, hence the name // a touch of fluff and a sprinkle of spice

finally took matters into my own hands muahahaha 😈 i love my red queens so gotta include both of them, and ofc, rhaenys speaking high valyrian 😮‍💨

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Zephyrs in Driftmark can be unforgiving at times, especially in the break of dawn. It crawls through little gaps from the castle’s stone walls, running its frigid fingers over every part of your body that is left exposed by your thick covers. One cursed touch of it, and immediately, the shivers come in a tidal wave, iciness crashing down your frame the way waves break the sandy shore.

Peeved to be so rudely awaken, you burrow deeper into bed, pulling the covers over your head to hide in your warm, little cocoon. Still, the trembling persists as though your early morning visitor has left a piece of itself behind in the very depths of your core, for coldness continues to swell from within. On your temples, your blood throbs so fiercely in your veins to the point that you think they may pop any moment now, an awful sensation that is well-nigh torture.

A part of you is inclined to believe that such is the punishment for the sin you have committed yesternight, but even if it is to be the case, the better part of you harbour not a dot of remorse. Why should you when there still lingers traces of her presence, subtle but certainly detectable on the delicate piece of fabric that is presently held close to your chest, a keepsake. Admittedly, not willingly given. Rather, stolen in a moment of irrepressible desire. But a keepsake nonetheless. The handkerchief is simply a square piece of cotton cloth, elegantly lined with lace, as white as milk, but her initials, in blood-red cursive, are embroidered on one corner of it.

Pressing the soft material to your nose, and drowning in the faint scent of sea breeze and firewood that is uniquely and so undeniably your Princess Rhaenys’s, conjure up memories from last night. Within the secrecy of your room, one of the privileges of being the Princess’s Handmaiden, with the stolen little piece of herself nestled over your nose, your fantasies have gone uncontrollably wild. Teeth biting lips, fingers journeying south, sweat blooming into beads, body writhing in ecstasy. Suffice it to say that by the time you drift off, you are thoroughly drained. Only the sea scented breeze catches wind of the name that sweetly, thickly drips down your lips in a sacred whisper, and the moon, the sole witness to the rivulets that shimmer on the inside of your thighs beneath its silvery light.

A cascade of warmness that envelops your body at the mere thought of your lady is all it takes to fend off the cold. Cheeks rosy and ears buzzing, you suddenly feel very feverish. By the side of the bed, a window sits on the wall, the clouds beyond the frame drenched in artistic reds and oranges at the hands of the slowly rising sun, and in need to cool off, your fingers curl around the latch to push it open.

Your respite is fragile, short-lived, shattering like a glass on impact, once an eddy of wind, strong and sudden, swirls into your humble dwelling. The intruder leaves everything untouched other than your little keepsake that is stolen right under your nose. Slipping through your fingers, it flutters akin to a bird preparing for take off, before being escorted through the window, and you watch, a gasp on your lips, while the relentless breeze sends the precious piece of your lady flurrying down, and down, and further down. Your heart drops along with the handkerchief by the time you realise where it has disappeared into.

In your haste to retrieve your prized possession, you have forgone, or rather completely forgotten, the decency to slip into something more suitable for the weather. With a simple nightdress precariously hanging on your frame, your bare feet pad through the winding halls and down the grand staircases as you slip past bustling servants, too engrossed in their respective works to pay you any mind. By the time you reach the entrance to the crypt, you observe from behind a pillar. Only when you have made certain that the two dragon-keepers are locked in an animated chatter do you emerge from your hidden spot, running past them in a blur of movements.

The bowels of the castle are off-limits to many servants save a handful of guards and the dragon-keepers. It is after all home to Meleys, the Red Queen, Princess Rhaenys’s beloved dragon.

Amidst your descent into the foreboding darkness, the beast inside your chest pounds against its cage, wild and frantic. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of dragon, and there, in the shadowy depths of the cavern, you can outline the form of Meleys, her scales shimmering like rubies in the faint glow as she appears to be slumbering, coiled and relaxed. Granted, you have feasted your eyes upon the dragon from afar with no small amount of wonder whenever your Princess takes her out for a flight across the ocean, but it is only given that you will be hypnotised by such a spectacle right before your very eyes, the sheer magnitude and majesty of the Red Queen filling you with intense awe.

A sudden, swift whoosh of her tail sends something aflutter into the wind, and the sight of it spills ice along the length of your spine. Caught on a jagged stone, between you and the dragon, is your lady’s handkerchief.

You have just barely plucked the delicate fabric between your fingers when a low, rumbling growl, seeming to come from the very bowels of the earth itself, shakes you to your core. Slowly, you unstick your eyes from the ground only to find twin orbs of molten gold locked onto you, burning with such malice and ferocity that the force of it alone sends you stumbling back. She rises, hackles raised, and only when a person emerges from behind her large body do you understand why the dragon is being so alarmed.

“Daor, Meles!”

(No, Meleys!)

You are in equal parts absolutely terrified of the doom looming over you, and ridiculously enamoured of your lady’s mother tongue reaching your ears in a tentalising caress.

“Ryptēs. Lykiri.”

(Listen. Be calm.)

One colossal wing unfolds, a protective barrier shielding her rider from you who she deems a possible threat.

“It’s alright. She’s not a threat.”

You can see from where you sit in a sorry little heap, still frozen on the ground, that Princess Rhaenys’s hand has planted firmly against her dragon’s side, offering reassuring strokes that seems to effectively pacify the massive creature. Little by little, her red wing lowers to fold gracefully against her side, and in doing so, reveals to you your lady, comfortably dressed in her dragon-riding attire. There is a steely edge to her face, lips pursed, and gaze stormy when she turns to look at you.

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing here?”

So, she demands, and you stand before you answer, or at least, you try to, but the suddenness of it encourages a dizzy spell that has you wobbling on your feet. That has been your foolish mistake for you have offered the doom, that is silently, solemnly observing you, one wrong move, and one is plenty enough of a sign for her to finally descend upon you. With a snarl, scary and sinister, the red queen takes a step forward.

“Lykiri, Meles. Rȳbās!”

(Be calm, Meles. Focus!)

Helplessly, hopelessly, you swoon over your Princess, who has placed herself between her handmaiden and her dragon, her body a firm wall of protection before your own.

“Lykiri.”

(Be calm.)

Once again, the delicious pulse of her voice flows in the form of High Valyrian, gentleness and authority intertwined as she quells the anger of the dragon with a string of melody that effortlessly spills forth her lips, accompanied by a delicate touch of her fingers on the dragon’s impressive snout. Despite your circumstances, you cannot help but stupidly find the gesture endearing.

“Demās.”

(Sit.)

As oblivious as you are to what your lady is saying, you hang on her ever word, enthralled, and so, too, is Meleys if the way she stops her grumbling to instead sit down on the ground is anything to go by.

“Hegnīr. (Good.)” And with a press of your lady’s fingers, elegantly long and delightfully lithe, that are bestowing gentle caresses along the plane of her cheek, the dragon emits a sound, not akin to the growls from before but a happy noise, supposedly the closest thing to a purr she can manage. “Hmm…ñuhys meles darys. (Hmm…my red queen.)”

Once her dragon is settled, you become the focus of the Princess’s attention, or rather, the object of her ire. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She scolds, her stony-eyed gaze pinning you in place. “And what have you got there?”

Following her eyes, you find that they are resting on your hand, grip, white-knuckled tight as fingers curl around the handkerchief, her handkerchief, for dear life. “It’s- I- uhmm-” Silently, patiently, she studies you as you try but fail miserably to stammer out an explanation, for the words get tangled in your throat.

One footfall of her boots brings her closer to you.

One more and you will be able to feel her breath on your face.

Her gaze, although just as intense, has begun harbouring a touch of softness as those fingers, which have served as one of the focuses of your fantasies, lock around your wrist, thumb of her other hand tracing the embroidered initials. “This is mine.” She speaks matter-of-factly. “Why do you have it?”

Your eyes are cast to the ground, roaming over every bump and ridge of rock, anything but her face, and so, with her hand still fitted around your wrist like a snug bracelet, she tugs you, not unkindly, merely as a means to draw attention. “Eyes on me.”

How are you to resist a direct command from your Princess? A command to feast your eyes upon the mesmerising planes and valleys of her face no less.

It comes to you as easily as breathing, admiring the little lines bracketing her lips and the delicate crow’s feet below her eyes, and enjoying every moment of it, but not so much having your soul laid bare beneath her hot scrutiny. The brilliance of her stare gives rise to goosebumps on your body, the little hair on the back of your nape standing when you hear Meleys in the background. The dragon levels you with those twin suns of hers, pools of liquid gold that shimmer with curiosity, in return for the peek you have sneaked. Her stare is both mesmersing and terrifying. A strangled little gasp tumbles out of your lips, whereas a thrill that simmers low in her maw seems to vibrate deep within your bones.

“Fear not.” Your lady’s face gravitates towards you, but a whisker away. “Meleys wouldn’t touch a hair on your head unless I say so.”

“But me on the other hand, hmm,” Middle and fore finger touch a lock of your hair as she whispers in your ear. “I’m not quite sure.”

“I- I’m sorry, my lady. It smelt of you,” You swallow, warm and fuzzy. “-and it was so inviting, and I couldn’t help myself.”

A pad of a thumb traces the bone of your cheek, before opting to pluck your chin between forefinger and a thumb. Gingerly, she angels your face until your gazes collide. “Oh, I bet you couldn’t.”

She watches you intently, her eyes roaming over every feature on your face, and despite the cheeks that are dusted cherry red and the sorry little thing swelling painfully inside your chest, you glory in her attention, soaking every droplet of it.

Dainty and delicate in appearance, her lips call out to you, a siren’s song, and just as you are entertaining the idea of throwing all caution to the wind to chase after the forbidden temptation, they fall upon you.

No amount of wildest dreams can hold a candle to the real experience. Smooth and soft, her lips are the sweetest thing you have ever had the pleasure of consuming, but underneath it all is an addictive spiciness, you quickly discover, once a velveteen tip of a tongue licks the swell of your lips. No sooner has the delicate bud unfurled like a flower in bloom than the ravenous snake slithers inside in search of sweet nectar.

An arm has twined itself around your waist, pulling you against her body, kiss intensifying as teeth nibble and tongue tangle, and with a choked little noise, your hand descends upon your lady’s shoulder.

In the haze of it all, you cannot help but appreciate her hair, a cascade of white satin falling beautifully down her shoulders, which you braid every morning and comb every night. A knit appears between your brows. Clearly, her hair is fashioned. Although, you do not remember putting these particular braids on her head.

“You didn’t send for me to have your hair done.” Fingers toy with a lock of hair, perpetually drenched in moon glow. “Who did these, my lady?”

“I can manage a few braids myself, dear girl.”

A nip on the delicate underside of your chin proves to be a dizzying distraction.

Meanwhile, blossoms of her kisses have branched off to your neck, lips closing around the little notch on your throat. Like dewdrops blooming on leaves on a misty morning, specks of perspiration has appeared on your forehead. She sucks once, and your spine arches. Another, and with a trickle of gasps down your lips, your body curves deeper into your lady’s.

“You’re trembling.” She breathes into the hummingbird flutter of your pulse, voice throaty and hot, and you feel it on your skin more than you hear it. “Is it the cold?”

“No,” Her hand tugs one part of your chemise down, and doing so leaves your shoulder bare. “No, Princess. It is you.”

“Hmm.” Lips glide across your skin, planting firmly on the slope of your shoulder, and sucking the flesh into the hot cavern of her mouth until it is red and rosy and deliciously raw.

Then, she arises, thumb outlining the fleshy swell of your lips, dewy and kiss-swollen, before opting to cradle your face in the palm of her hand. A ghost of a smile that blossoms on her lips is such a sight for sore eyes. You drink it in like a parched man.

A beautiful mess, the Princess has left you, and she takes her sweet time relishing her masterful craft.

“Gevie.”

Her mother tongue makes a delightful reappearance, this time solely for your ears, and you are but butter in her arms, melting from the sultriness of her cadence alone.

“What does it mean, my lady.” Your gaze, doe-eyed and love-struck, finds hers. Her amused little grin is not easily discernible, but all too familiar with the nuances of the Princess’s expressions, you find it in those enchanting browns, in the soft little lines on her face that becomes just a touch vivider. “Beautiful.”

“I’ve found myself wondering what my touch would do to you-” Her gaze moves to the stolen keepsake that still resides within your grasp. “-if this flimsy, little fabric was capable of making you moan my name so reverently in bed.”

The knowledge that she is aware of your deed breeds excitement, sends tingles down your spine. A twinkle of anticipation has appeared plain as day in your eyes, and to your pleasant surprise, a chuckle spills forth her lips, deep and dizzying.

“But perhaps another time.” She drops a kiss atop the little arch of your nose, and your eyes slip shut, full of bliss. “And keep the handkerchief. I’m sure it’ll be more useful in your hands than it is in mine.”

A feather light touch has found home on your naked shoulder, a gentle flap of a butterfly’s wings against the deep purple bloom that her mouth has so exquisitely painted on your skin. With a hum, she fixes the chemise so that the evidence of her doing lies hidden beneath the fabric, away from prying eyes and gossiping servants.

“Come. Let Meleys rest. She has had enough entertainment for one day.”

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#house of the dragon #rhaenys targaryen x reader #rhaenys targaryen velaryon x reader #rhaenys velaryon x reader #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys velaryon #rhaenys the queen who never was #character x reader #hotd s2 #hotd season 2 #fanfic #tv: hotd #hotd fanfic #meleys #meleys the red queen #dance of the dragons #eve best #high valyrian

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 2 years ago

Text

Airport Chaos.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - seeing how agitated that harry looked when he was just trying to get out of the car actually made me so cross, just be grateful that you got to see him, learn to give people personal space.

word count - 2.5k

in which, harry’s just finished his show in barcelona, and is en-route to madrid, but there’s one more hurdle that needs to be jumped when fans bombard him, you and your one year old son finley. this results in a very agitated harry, a tearful toddler and a wife that’s claustrophobic.

As the car glides through the vibrant streets of Barcelona, a serene ambiance envelops you and your family, casting a veil of tranquillity over the world around you. The bustling energy of the city has retired for the night, leaving behind an exquisite symphony of solitude.

As your car glides along the deserted thoroughfares, the city unveils its timeless secrets. The ancient buildings, guardians of Barcelona's rich history, stand tall and proud, their façades adorned with intricate details and ornate balconies. Illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, their colors dance in harmony with the moonlit sky, creating a spellbinding kaleidoscope of hues.

The streets, devoid of the usual crowds, are yours to explore, each corner leading you deeper into the heart of this vibrant metropolis. The gentle breeze whispers through the leaves of towering trees, lending a symphony of rustling whispers to the nocturnal symphony. Their branches reach out like gentle arms, swaying gracefully overhead, creating a celestial canopy above the cobblestone lanes.

Occasionally, you catch glimpses of life seeping through the silence. A few solitary figures make their way along the sidewalk, their silhouettes casting elongated shadows upon the ground. Some are still adorned in the attire of a long workday, their weary steps echoing the rhythm of a day well-spent. Others, just beginning their nocturnal duties, are cloaked in the promise of a vibrant night ahead. Their presence adds a touch of mystique to the ethereal scenery, reminding you of the shared humanity that underlies the city's nocturnal tapestry.

The intoxicating scent of the sea lingers in the air, carried by the zephyrs that dance through the city streets. It mingles with the aromas of nearby cafés and restaurants, teasing your senses and igniting a hunger for adventure. The distant echoes of laughter and faint strains of music beckon, hinting at hidden pockets of life that come alive when the sun sets.

The drive continues with you cradling your sleeping one year old son, Finley, in your arms. His tiny mouth remained gently attached to your breast, having drifted off while nursing in the backseat after Harry's exhilarating concert. The rise and fall of his contented breaths provided a soothing soundtrack to the journey ahead.

You, Harry, and Finley were en route to Barcelona–El Prat Airport, preparing to catch a flight to Madrid. The excitement of the concert still lingered in the air, yet a hint of apprehension crept into your thoughts. The prospect of manoeuvring through a bustling airport with a sleeping baby nestled in your embrace weighed on your mind. Your nails became the focus of your nervous energy, as you absentmindedly picked at them, a telltale sign of your discomfort in crowded spaces.

Aaron, the driver, broke the silence, his voice cutting through the air with concern. "There's quite a crowd near the parking area," he informed you and Harry. "It might be a bit tricky to navigate through when we arrive."

The words sent a ripple of anxiety through your body, tightening your grip on Finley. You couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability in the face of such a boisterous crowd. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, knowing that your partner, Harry, thrived amidst the adoring masses that followed his every move.

As if sensing your unease, Harry's gaze shifted from the passing scenery to your nervous gestures. His touch was a lifeline, lifting your spirits and grounding you in his unwavering support. He reached out and gently grasped your hand, lifting it to his lips.

With a voice filled with reassurance and tenderness, he murmured, "M’love, don't worry. Everything's going t’be fine."

His words echoed in your ears, resonating deep within your heart. Harry's touch, warm and comforting, conveyed a sense of security, reminding you that you were never alone in facing your fears. Even though he was accustomed to crowds, he understood your anxieties and was always there to offer solace.

A soft smile danced upon your lips as Harry pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his lips grazing your skin with tender affection. In that moment, the outside world faded away, leaving only the connection between the two of you—an unbreakable bond forged in love, trust, and understanding.

And as the car continued its journey towards the airport, you clung to the strength and reassurance Harry provided. The touch of his lips upon your knuckles served as a soothing balm, instilling you with a renewed sense of courage and confidence.

The car slowed down as it approached the bustling parking area, the clamour of the crowd growing louder. But in that moment, with Harry's kiss lingering on your skin, you felt a surge of determination. The chaos outside the car could not overpower the love and support that encompassed your little family.

Gently shifting Finley off your breast, you carefully disengaged him, causing him to let out a soft whinge in protest. Worried that he might fully wake up, you quickly began to sway and soothe him, hoping to lull him back into a peaceful slumber. As your soothing motions took effect, his eyelids fluttered, and he settled once again into a deep sleep.

Glancing up from Finley's serene face, you caught Harry's attention. His eyes met yours, and you could see the concern etched in his features. Taking in the scene outside through the tinted windows of the Mercedes, he turned back to you, his voice filled with determination and care.

"I'll get out first, sign a few things, and then I'll come back t’help you and Fin," Harry explained, his unwavering support shining through his words.

As he prepared to step out of the car, a surge of fans already surrounded the vehicle. They clamoured for a glimpse of their beloved idol, desperate to show their adoration. Harry's body shifted, one leg still anchored inside the car while the other extended towards the crowd, his calm demeanour serving as a shield of tranquillity amidst the chaos.

With a graceful balance of firmness and kindness, Harry skillfully kept the fans at a distance, ensuring their safety while maintaining his own. He exuded a rare sense of composure, navigating the sea of adoring faces with a genuine smile and a genuine touch, making each person feel seen and valued.

As Harry prepared to fulfill his promise of signing an album for a dedicated fan, the crowd's energy buzzed with anticipation. He stepped out of the car with a gracious smile, navigating through the throngs of adoring fans who eagerly stretched out their arms, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol.

Amidst the excited voices and outstretched hands, one fan appeared particularly adamant about getting close to Harry. They pushed forward, disregarding personal boundaries, driven by an overwhelming desire to be near him. Sensing the fan's persistence, Harry raised a hand, creating a barrier between them.

"Chill out, mate," he spoke firmly, his tone laced with a mix of assertiveness and exhaustion.

You observed the situation unfold from the comfort of the car, your heart filled with concern. As the encounter unfolded, you could see glimpses of Harry's fatigue creeping in. The long hours of performing, travelling, and constant interaction with fans were undoubtedly taking a toll on him.

His initial patience and composure began to waver, replaced by a growing agitation. Lines of weariness etched themselves upon his face, and his eyes betrayed a longing for a moment of respite. Despite his efforts to maintain his poise, the relentless demands began to chip away at his stamina.

And as the crowd's clamour continued, you sent a silent message of understanding and support to Harry, hoping he would find solace in your presence. In that moment, you yearned to offer him the calm and tranquillity he deserved, to shield him from the world's demands and allow him to simply be himself, away from the spotlight.

The image of Harry, his hand held up in a gesture of boundary and weariness, remained etched in your mind. It symbolised the delicate balance he maintained between his role as an artist and his own need for rest.

With a resolute expression, Harry addressed the persistent fans surrounding him, his voice carrying a blend of urgency and determination.

"I need to get m’wife and m’son out of the car," he asserted, hoping to convey the importance of their privacy and the need for a moment of respite. “Could y’please step back a little please.”

Some fans responded to his plea, relenting and creating a bit of space, while others continued to plead for photos and autographs. Recognizing the challenge at hand, Harry turned to the security team, issuing a request for them to create a pathway, guiding you and Finley safely through the crowd.

After ensuring that the security team was in position, Harry returned to the car, a mix of concern and weariness etched upon his face. Sensing his presence, you looked at him, seeking his guidance and reassurance.

"Is it okay for us to get out?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

Harry's gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting the immense love and care he had for his family.

“As okay as it can be," he replied, his voice holding a gentle understanding of the challenges that lay ahead.

Reaching out, he took Finley from your arms, his touch filled with tenderness and protectiveness. As Finley nestled his face in the crook of his father's neck, the exhaustion and overwhelm washed over him, causing tears to well up and spill forth. The flashing lights and the cacophony of the crowd became too much for the little one to bear.

Harry's embrace tightened, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other ensuring that Finley was cradled with care. His fatherly instinct kicked in, providing a sense of security amidst the chaos.

As the crowd pressed closer, their excitement reaching a fever pitch, one fan extended a hand towards Finley's tiny arm in hopes of capturing Harry's attention. But the innocent gesture had an unintended effect. Finley recoiled, pulling his arm back with a sudden jerk, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

Witnessing your son's distress, a surge of protectiveness welled up within you. Your heart ached for Finley, his innocence disrupted by the intrusion of a stranger's touch. At that moment, the proximity to the airport entrance offered a brief respite, as the number of fans thinned out. However, the incident had stirred something within Harry, a mix of concern and frustration that flickered in his eyes.

Harry, usually known for his composed demeanour, could no longer suppress his emotions. He addressed the fans, his voice tinged with a touch of agitation.

“Please, don't touch m’son," he implored, his words a plea laced with a protective urgency.

Rubbing his hand up and down Finley's back, Harry sought to soothe his distressed son. His touch carried a mixture of tenderness and firmness, a comforting gesture aimed at calming Finley's frayed nerves.

In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause, the weight of the situation resting heavily upon Harry's shoulders. The love he had for his son radiated through his touch, as he tried to ease Finley's unease and offer a sense of security amidst the unexpected turmoil.

As you finally made your way into the airport, the bustling atmosphere shifted to a slightly calmer pace.

“I’ve just got to go to the loo, quickly.” Your fiancé told you and the rest of the security who nodded their heads as he quickly handed Finley into your waiting arms. Fatigue and weariness were evident on his face, etched by the demands of the day.

In a tender exchange, Harry spoke softly to Finley, their bond evident in every word.

"I'll be back soon, little one." he murmured, his voice filled with affection and a touch of exhaustion. Finley looked up at his father, their connection palpable even at such a young age.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for Harry as you observed the tiredness etched on his face. He had given his all on stage, then faced the excitement and challenges of the crowd. Yet, even in his weariness, he remained attentive and loving, making sure to reassure Finley before attending to his own needs.

Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's cheek, a gesture of support and understanding.

“We’ll be waiting here for you," you whispered, letting him know that you were there, ready to provide the stability and comfort he deserved.

Harry swiftly made his way to the restroom, seeking a momentary escape from the clamour and demands that surrounded him. He entered a closed cubicle, the solitude offering a brief respite from the outside world. The heavy door closed behind him, enclosing him in a quiet space.

Seated on the closed toilet seat, Harry took a deep breath, his thoughts swirling in his mind. The facade of composure he wore for the public began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability that few had the chance to witness. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone, and with a trembling hand, he unlocked it.

The screen illuminated with a picture that held his heart captive—a snapshot of you and Finley when he was just born. The memory flooded his senses, the pure joy and love captured in that moment forever etched into his soul. The time displayed on the phone read 12:06 am, a reminder of the countless sleepless nights he had spent caring for his family.

Overwhelmed by a surge of conflicting emotions, Harry's composure shattered, and he silently sobbed. His tears fell in solitude, unheard by the world beyond the closed cubicle. He held his phone against his chest, clutching it over his heart, seeking solace in the tangible reminder of the love that anchored him.

The weight of his responsibilities and the unrelenting demands of fame bore down upon him. Despite his unwavering love for his fans, a sense of suffocation enveloped him at times. Guilt gnawed at his heart as he grappled with the fear that his son, the embodiment of his deepest love, had been placed in harm's way due to the adoration of his supporters.

Feeling the weight of his emotions and the need for comfort, Harry pulled his phone away from his chest and dialled a familiar number. The phone rang, each passing second heightening his anticipation.

Finally, the call connected, and he heard his mother's voice on the other end.

"Mum... I'm sorry. I know it's late, but I just needed to talk to you," Harry spoke softly, his voice laced with a mix of vulnerability and relief. Despite the unwavering support he found in his partner and in you, he longed for the familiar embrace of his mother's understanding.

His mother was one of his best friends, and he knew it was late over in England but he just needed to hear her voice. He knew you would always listen to his thoughts and feelings but there was something about hearing his mothers voice that made him feel better.

Don’t get Harry wrong, this was undoubtedly one of the best tours he had ever done in his life, but he desperately needed a break.

He was craving the feeling of his own bed, with Finley laying against his chest and you laid asleep in his arms.

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sentientgolfball · 2 months ago

Note

Aether/Ifrit? Or Aether/Ifrit/Dew for one of them 👀

Mushy May: Sleepover

First day of mushy may YIPPEE idk how many prompts I'll do especially with it being finals time but for now I give you this ! Huge thank you to @forlorn-crows for organizing this again :DDD

Pairing: Aether/Ifrit

WC: 2k

Summary: Aether misses Dew. Ifrit comes to chase away the shadows and hold him for as long as he needs.

Dew is gone. Again. Aether thought after the first time it would not be so bad, but watching him get on that bus reopened old wounds. Maybe it would not have been so bad if the break between tours was not so long. They had a whole year together before it was time to pack up and ship out again. In that time the ache dulled. Disappeared. It became an echo of the past Aether did not have to think about anymore. But now, sitting in his empty nest with only the lingering scent of cinnamon and cigarettes, he feels it all creeping back.

Every cold night he spent alone, staying up far later than he should just to catch a glimpse of pictures or videos. Keeping his phone volume on so he could be woken up if Dew called. Burying himself in Dew’s sheets when he could not stand it anymore. Floating around the Ministry as a ghost of himself, lost without his guiding light.

Now he has to do it all again. He still has no regrets over retiring, but having to be separated from his mate makes it hard to remember that. He does not even take solace knowing Cumulus is here with him this time. He knows how painful it is to be without the one you love most. He would rather be alone than have her or Cirrus experience that.

He sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face. He has the day off thanks to Omega. Something about letting him rest after seeing Dew off. He almost wishes he had not. At least running around the infirmary would distract him for a few hours. Now all his brain tells him to do is curl up in their nest and breathe in Dew’s scent until it is gone.

A very tempting thought.

But no, he cannot. He knows doing so will only make everything feel that much worse. So, he pushes off the bed and makes his way to the common room. The sun is high in the sky as he walks down the hall, beams of light casting rainbow wisps across the hardwood floor. After the tour bus left, he did his best to go back to sleep. It did not work, but hopefully with how long he laid around the others will think it did.

He can hear them before he even rounds the corner to the common room. Ifrit’s boisterous laugh. Zephyr’s smooth voice. He can smell Cumulus’ scent too, citrus and wildflowers. If she can be out here, so can he. So, Aether takes a deep breath and plasters his best smile onto his face as he shuffles in.

Ifrit notices him first, eyes lighting up, “We were wondering if we’d ever see your face.”

His tail twitches behind him, “Lords forbid I sleep in a little.”

Ifrit chuckles and motions with his head for Aether to come join them. He has no plans of ignoring his remaining pack members, but even if he did, the allure of Ifrit’s smile is too great. He is like the first glimpse of sun after days of rain. Warm and bright and beautiful. His light can chase away any darkness.

Aether plops down onto the couch next to him. Ifrit immediately curls their tails together. To Aether’s surprise, Zephyr is not practically on top of him. They are sitting with Cumulus on the loveseat instead, letting her lean against them while their talons comb through her curls. His chest aches at how red her eyes look. At the way she refuses to really look at any of them.

“So,” Ifrit pulls his attention away, “what do you want to do with your one day of freedom before Omega drags your ass back?”

“I have absolutely no idea Fritter. Sleep? Is sleeping an option?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he chuckles.

Aether rolls his eyes but there is a genuine smile on his face, “and what is it that you have to say?”

“He wants to raid Mountain’s stash.” Zephyr looks up at them.

“Zeph!”

“If, he hasn’t even been gone for a full day.” Aether smacks him lightly on the chest.

“I wasn’t gonna do anything…but hypothetically you really think he’d notice anything missing?”

“You know as well as I do, Mountain could be gone for years and he’d still know if someone touched any of his plants. Including the weed.”

Ifrit is stopped short from responding when Cumulus abruptly stands and quickly makes her way out of the common room. Her scent has shifted to something stormy, ozone and petrichor making Aether’s nose twitch.

Everyone is frozen for a moment before Zephyr glares at Aether and Ifrit and follows after her. Ifrit’s ears droop and Aether feels a cold claw of guilt in the pit of his stomach. They sit in awkward silence, not sure what to say to break the sudden tension.

Aether is the first, slapping his hands on his knees before he stands from the couch, “think I’m just gonna go for a walk.”

Ifrit follows suit, grabbing Aether’s hand and lacing their fingers together before he can get far, “care for some company?”

Oh how can he say no to that stupid lopsided smile? He squeezes his hand and tangles their tails together. A silent invitation before tugging him towards the door of the den. Neither of them bother with taking time to change out of their pajamas or even to throw shoes on. The last thing on Aether’s mind is how presentable he looks, Ifrit just follows his lead. With Copia as Imperator now he has no fear of someone making a comment towards him.

Strangely enough though, the halls are rather empty. Did the whole Ministry get the day off? They make it all the way to the practice room without running into a Sibling or ghoul. Aether has the full intention to continue his walk, but Ifrit is rooted. When Aether feels the tug on his hand he turns to see him smiling at the doors.

Aether raises an eyebrow at him, “I know that look. What is it?”

“You wanna go play? Together, like old times?”

Aether hesitates. It has been awhile since he just played something for himself. Really the only reason he has made time to pick up his guitar in the last year or so is to teach Phantom. Sure he has pulled a few chords from the old acoustic in his room. But that is not his guitar. His guitar is just on the other side of those doors, left behind now that Phantom has their own instrument.

Apparently Aether takes too long to decide because Ifrit squeezes hand before pulling towards the practice room. “C'mon. It’ll be fun.”

He lets himself be dragged through the metal doors. A blast of cold air makes a shiver run down his spine. The lights blink on as they enter, called to life by the movement. With tour underway, the practice room is almost barren. The mock stage is just about the only thing left that is not in one of the storage rooms. It feels wrong seeing it like this.

It does not seem to bother Ifrit though as he drops Aether’s hand and darts off down one of the side halls, tail wagging behind him. Aether watches him go, laughing quietly to himself. Once alone, he wanders. Floats around, taking time to really look at every detail. He knows this room just as well as the den, yet it is like it is completely new to him. As his eyes travel over the various tour posters and pictures that cover the walls he feels out of place. He recognizes himself in some of them, all done up in his uniform, but standing here now it is like looking at a stranger.

“Alright old man, let’s shake off that rust.” Aether jumps when Ifrit returns. He spins around to see him holding a guitar in each hand. One white. One black. Aether’s fingers twitch just looking at it.

He shuffles over to him, a smile starting to grow on his face, “Aren’t you older than me?”

“It’s about the mindset Aether. Some of us don’t spend our free time doing crossword.”

“Ah you’re right. Some of us are like a refined wine and others are like a warm beer left open on a nightstand.” Aether takes his guitar from Ifrit, slinging it over his shoulders.

They get set up with whatever spare equipment is left. Aether tunes while Ifrit goes through the track list. Zombie Queen is the first song that cracks through the speakers. Oh he really is going for old times.

Aether is not sure how long they are in there, but by the time the last notes of Square Hammer fade away they are both sweating. They look at each other, panting with flushed cheeks. Ifrit has a huge grin on his face and Aether cannot help but mirror it. He starts laughing, pushing back the stray hairs that fell out of his mohawk. Ifrit laughs with him, running over to give him a hug. Aether turns to meet him, but it causes their guitars to smack together. Sour notes crackle through the speakers making both of them cringe.

“We should pack up.” Aether takes a step back.

“Yeah that’s probably a good idea.”

After turning off the laptop and putting their guitars back in the right room, they leave the practice room hand in hand. As they make their way back to the den, the marble hallways are bathed in a blazing orange. The beams of the setting sun pour through the grand windows. Despite the dull ache that still lives in his chest, Aether cannot help but feel content. He actually spent his day off doing something other than hiding away in his own misery. And it is all because of Ifrit. He squeezes his hand just a little tighter.

Once back to the den, it is full of life. Alpha is in the kitchen, the scent of cooked meat wafting through the air. Pebble is seated at the barstools watching him cook. Lake and River are tangled up on the loveseat talking rather loudly about a pretty new Sibling. Mist and Sunshine are cuddled on the couch surfing through the channels to find a movie to watch.

It makes Aether smile.

It also instantly zaps the energy he had from playing with Ifrit.

It is not that he does not want to be with the pack. He is just tired. He does not want to have to put on a brave face for any longer than he has to. So, he greets everyone and slips off to his room feigning a headache. But he is not alone. Ifrit still tails after him.

“You don’t have to come with me If. I’m okay.”

“Okay but what if I want to?”

“I’m sure Zeph wants to see you. We were gone all day.”

“They’re staying with Cumulus. Keeping her company…so why don’t you let me do the same.”

“What, you mean like a sleepover?” Aether breathes a laugh.

“Yes of course I mean like a fucking sleepover.”

Aether stares at him for a moment. Considering. He knows if he refused, Ifrit would not push it. He knows he could spend the rest of the night alone.

But he does not want that. He is not ready to sleep in an empty bed again. Aether opens his door and motions for Ifrit to enter. His smile turns soft as he pulls Aether in after him. When the door clicks shut, they try that hug again. Aether is not sure which of them initiates it. All he knows is that suddenly he is surrounded by warmth and the scent of campfire and clove cigarettes. He bends awkwardly so he can bury his face in Ifrit’s neck, soaking up as much of him as he can.

It feels good to not be completely alone.

Ifrit remains uncharacteristically quiet. Still. He simply squeezes Aether, holding him for as long as he needs. When Aether does pull away, neither of them comment on the sheen of unspilled tears in his eyes. Ifrit simply presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Shower?”

Aether sniffs but he laughs a little, “You saying I stink?”

“Absolutely.” Ifrit kisses him properly this time. When they break, he walks backwards towards the connected bathroom, tugging Aether along with him.

He lets himself be guided, only wishing to stay close. He lets Ifrit sit him down on the toilet seat. Lets him turn the shower on. Lets him gather towels and soaps. Lets him pepper his face in kisses as he undresses Aether and then himself. He lets Ifrit take the weight from him, even if it is just for the night.

When he steps into the shower, he sighs as the warm water cascades over his body. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to just feel the drops hit his face. He only opens them again when he feels Ifrit wrap his arms around his waist, nuzzling into his shoulder. He hums and wraps his tail around his calf as he leans back into him. He ignores the feeling of his half chub pressing against his ass in favor of savoring the softness of the moment.

“Let me wash you?” Ifrit asks as his hands rub slowly circle into Aether’s belly.

He nods with a hum. Normally he would insist he take care of everything, but his mind is too tired to object. All he wants to do is live in this floaty feeling so he can pretend the ache is not there.

Ifrit presses a line of kisses across his shoulder before dropping his hold. He grabs the shampoo bottle, squirting a small amount into the palm of his hand. He guides Aether to tip his head back, making it easier to reach. He slowly scrubs the soap into his hair with a gentle scrape of claws against his scalp. He takes his time until Aether is chuffing so loudly it rattles his ribcage. Before he moves him back under the spray he spikes up his hair, giving him a little soapy mohawk. They both quietly laugh even though Aether smacks him with his tail.

Once the shampoo is gone and the conditioner is lathered in, Ifrit moves to his body. Warm hands glide down Aether’s body, through the thickest parts of his fur. Working the soap through his damp coat. Across his shoulders. Down his chest. Over his belly to his thighs. Aether’s own cock chubs up when he looks down at Ifrit on his knees as he washes his calves. He cannot resist the urge to touch. He reaches out and runs a hand through his hair.

Ifrit looks up at him with those big, bright eyes. Questioning at first, but it quickly melts into something soft when Aether’s hand slides down to cup his cheek. He turns his head just enough to press a kiss to the palm of his hand. When Ifrit stands again, he backs Aether up until he is under the water. As the soap slides down his body, Ifrit captures his lips in a kiss. It is passionate but not deep. Soft and hard at the same time. A fiery I love you and a gentle I’m here for you. Aether cannot help but melt into it.

The kiss only breaks when Ifrit reaches behind Aether and turns the water off. They take a moment to stare at each other, still so close that their breaths mingle. Ifrit smiles at him and Aether feels like the sun is shining down on him. He presses a kiss to Aether’s jaw before taking his hand and pulling him out of the shower.

He turns up his heat as he grabs one of the towels and begins to dry Aether off. Steam fills the bathroom, rising off of Ifrit’s skin. By the time he deems Aether’s fur dry enough, there is a thick haze swirling in the air.

They forgo putting any pajamas back on. Aether is grateful for the skin to skin contact as Ifrit leads him to his bed. As they fall into it together, Ifrit shuffles around until he is spooning Aether with his arms wrapped snugly around his chest and a leg thrown over his hip. He presses kiss after kiss into his damp hair. They lay like that for the rest of the night.

As Aether starts to doze, all he can think about is the solid warmth pressed against him. Before his eyes finally slip shut, he mumbles, “Love you Fritter.”

“I love you too, starshine.”

Ifrit holds him closer.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #golfball writes #aether ghoul #ifrit ghoul #mushy may 2025

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definegodliness · 2 months ago

Text

Shattered expressions

Somewhere deep in my soul Echoes the lingering hope encompassed by:

"So long."

The flame is patient; Mad, as all eternals, And will not be stifled In its glow.

We will meet again, it knows.

My heart, That melodramatic Romanticist, sighs The longest 'fare thee well', With all the oh's and ah's that come with its Resigned poetic blessings.

Self-overestimating, it figures You might have use of these zephyr sent Well wishes, No matter where you go, traversing the path After the junction.

Shattered; Torn from wholeness, These parts, metaphysical, or, at least, Outside reality, Speak Shining and glowing, Whereas my actuality — With its jaws clenched And its fangs interlocked, kept from grinding; With its lips, sealed To keep the bile in — says

Nothing.

No expression Conveys its impression Of

Finality.

My flesh — all that is Real — Neither knows Nor accepts Any concept of Peace.

--- 29-4-2025, M.A. Tempels © Napowrimo 29: So long

#napowrimo #poetry #spilled ink #poem #poets on tumblr #tumblr poetry #writing #creative writing #spilled thoughts #emotion #lost love #heartbreak #words

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hyvyinjie · 1 year ago

Text

CHANCE.

TW! implications of death.

bittersweet! melancholic

t. muichiro x f. reader

graciously requested by @muuumuiiii ! thank you so much for requesting, you sweet lovely lad<3

who would have anticipated it? the mist hashira, of all individuals, displaying a concern that surpassed anyone else's for you—the spirit pillar; a warrior whose technique came at the steep cost of a gradual erosion of your life.

THE MOON; THE BRIGHTEST PEARL SUSPENDED IN OUR VELVET SKY THAT FLOODED THE INKY DARKNESS WITH ITS SILVER GLOW.

a radiant disc it was. casting its ethereal glow upon the shadows of the night, while also heralding the relentless onslaught of a few infamous entities—demons.

a symbol of hope, this pale sentinel embodied a goddess-like presence, standing as a timeless guardian, observing the earth with an unwavering gaze as warriors valiantly battled the monstrous creatures scattered throughout.

above, the luminous orb commanded the vast expanse of stars, illuminating them all. yet, even in this peaceful night, two particular slayers found themselves immersed in the serenity, although one seemed burdened by a more pressing concern, far beyond the tranquility itself.

in a world where such creatures roamed, the perfect harmony would remain elusive.

thus, what purpose did survival serve if death constantly loomed, a persistent visitor at one's very doorstep?

well, the purpose of life is to be happy. or at least, that's what this young man believed.

said boy possessed an acute understanding of this belief, as if it had become ingrained in the very fabric of his being—an awareness that, perhaps, bordered on the excessive.

the sheer ecstasy of savoring every moment of existence, embracing its essence in its entirety, was undeniably a remarkable achievement—a feat that deserved to be celebrated with fervor.

thus, he found himself utterly incapable of comprehending—indeed, he never had—how she could nonchalantly dismiss the imminent cessation of her own existence, as if it were a trifling matter. the weight of her disregard for her own life gnawed at him, like a persistent ache that defied understanding.

..then again, had he been any different?

"—and…now you’re spacing out, again.”

ah, the sound of that melodious voice; both longed for and dreaded, resonated within him and snapped him out of his reverie. even though he had incessantly poured out his thoughts to her since he awakened from his coma, with her faithfully by his side, deep in slumber—despite her own exhaustion—she had remained.

as your words echoed in his ears, he shifted his gaze to meet your own—and oh, those eyes.

he would give anything to forever witness his own reflection in the depths of your eyes.

in a mesmerizing dance, your gazes intertwined; an exquisite tapestry woven with delicate threads of connection.

he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnificence of your irises—their majesty akin to rare crystalline treasures, gleaming beneath the majestic canopy of the nocturnal sky.

as a gentle zephyr whispered sweet nothings, its delicate touch caressed their beings, a tender embrace from the invisible hands of nature. he watched, his eyelids descending to a half-closed state, surrendering to the enchanting symphony of the night.

the breeze, like a playful sprite, felt as if it alone, could carry away his worries and sorrows, dispersing them into the velvety darkness.

yet, amidst this reposeful tranquility, a question lingered in the depths of his soul, an enigma that remained elusive and enigmatic.

it was one of the few riddles that continued to elude his grasp, an enigmatic puzzle that defied comprehension, regardless of whether he had regained his former self or not.

why, he pondered ever so deeply, did your well-being hold such profound significance to him?

why did his heart ache with an inexplicable yearning to protect you, to ensure the radiance within you remained untouched by the shadows of the world? it was as if his very purpose revolved around safeguarding your light, shielding it from the encroaching darkness threatening to dim its brilliance.

no, he never intended to diminish your worth in any way.

on the contrary—he understood, with a profound certainty, that you’re fully capable of caring for yourself alone.

yet, despite his awareness, a veil of mystery draped over his consciousness—that of a delicate wisp of mist teasing the boundaries of his understanding. it remained tantalizingly close, yet perpetually out of his reach, an enigma that eluded his grasp.

similarly elusive was the faint, almost imperceptible yet weighty pang in his heart each time his gaze flickered to your bandages that dressed your wounds.

he struggled to fathom its origins, to decipher the emotions that coursed through him with every glance. was it concern, fear, or something different altogether?

of course, he chastised himself for overreacting. after all, you were healing, weren't you?

...right?

at least, that was the relentless mantra he repeated to himself, like a haunting melody, a lullaby of self-deception.

perhaps it was a lie he constructed, a defense mechanism to shield himself from the harsh reality. deep down, he knew all too well that you were pushing yourself to the brink, sacrificing fragments of your own well-being to save countless others from the clutches of death.

how he yearned to tell you—to implore you—to cease using the very essence that slowly, yet inexorably, eroded your own vitality. the desire to shield you from the self-inflicted harm, consumed him.

yet, who was he to stand in your way?

who was he to dictate how you should pursue your purpose—your solemn vow? who had the right to demand that you discard the only technique you knew, as if acquiring a new skill were a trivial matter?

perhaps, for you, it had maybe once been a tangible option—a plausible alternative.

however, it clashed with the very reason why you chose to persist in wielding the power of spirit breathing, despite its unfortunate and devastating toll on your own being.

it was a conundrum that weighed heavily upon his soul, yet another conflict that tugged at the frayed edges of his limited understanding.

then, abruptly—his consciousness snapped back to reality, like a fragile dream shattered by the gentle sweep of a waving hand.

in that instant, the symphony of your voice, a sweet and melodious tune, graced his senses once more, stirring his spirit from its slumber.

"hello? earth to tokito?"

your words danced in the air, adorned with a delicate blend of amusement and genuine concern—whilst he, silently observed your actions. his gaze lingering for a fleeting moment, as if capturing the essence of your graceful movements.

soon enough, his eyes blinked, like a dormant star awakening to illuminate the night sky, as he finally stirred from his reverie.

with a subtle tilt of his head, he emitted a soft hum—a melodic expression that intertwined intrigue and acknowledgment in response to your beckoning. the notes of his hum danced through the air, a secretive melody that conveyed both his curiosity and the recognition of your presence.

meanwhile, you watched him with an internal sigh of relief.

the young man, whom you had believed to be forever lost in the bewitching realm of his perpetual daydreams, had returned to the realm of the present. the transformation within him, from introspective to effervescent, had you spellbound, never failing to leave you even in but a speck of awe, of these rare moments of clarity that graced his being.

"seems like someone's finally awake."

a faint smile blossoming upon your lips, akin to the first delicate bloom of a spring flower. lowering your hand with graceful grace,

you adjusted yourself to a more comfortable position beside him on the edge of the engawa outside the butterfly manor—a perch where you and him had been leisurely spending time together, without a care in the world, rambling on about. relishing in the comfort in one another’s presence—like a normal pair of souls basking in the way of life.

"you’ve been staring at me for quite a while.”

pausing for a breath, you tilted your head—the radiance of your irises blooming with an enchanting glow, as if the secrets of the universe were hidden within their depths.

"what's wrong?"

in the midst of an enchanting moment, a subtle hint of wounded innocence played across your seductive countenance, evoking a mysterious allure.

"do i look that bad?"

your voice, though as mellow and gentle as always, carried an underlying touch of vulnerability.

in an instant, he reacted, tilting his head with a subtle mixture of surprise and denial.

"what? no."

aa he blinked, his words slipped out absent-mindedly, like a whisper from a dreamer's lips.

"far from it, actually."

he confessed, his sincerity palpable.

with a gaze that held a painter's eye for detail, he saw your flaws not as imperfections, but as intricate brush strokes that added depth to the masterpiece of your being. inexplicably, he adored you, to the point where it practically pained him.

and who could blame him? for you were way more than a mere beauty that could be captured in words. you were a tapestry of emotions, a symphony of sensations that defied description.

to him, you are everything.

your brows raised slightly, captivated by his ever-unpredictable nature. truly, like the wind, he embraced the freedom to wander in any direction he pleased.

reminiscent of an owl, you blinked a plenty amount of times, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of his flattery. it seeped into the recesses of your heart, stirring a delicate blend of bashfulness and gratitude.

"then..."

unintentionally mimicking his gestures, as if dancing in synchrony with his spirit, you then asked, avidly yearning to explore the depths of his thoughts.

"mind sharing what's got you so..distant?"

although it was not deemed uncommon for him, of all individuals, to maintain a silent disposition, you possessed a deeper understanding—having witnessed something greater, something more.

despite the mere span of a few days, you stood as a crucial observer to the sudden shift in his demeanor. having been privy to a bewildering yet endearingly interactive side of the boy since his awakening, it became slightly disconcerting to witness him potentially regress into his characteristic, distant, and dazed state.

the memory of those extraordinary moments lingered, and it was disheartening to question whether they were mere illusions or if they held the promise of something genuine.

as of now, the male in question pressed his lips together, creating a slender line as his gaze wandered away from yours, as though searching for a brief respite from reality.

seeing this, you reassured him. carefully observing these subtle occurrences with your keen irises.

"you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

responding with a weary shake of his head and a sigh escaping his lips, his gaze flickered back to you, and as his eyes connected with yours once more, a subtle softness overcame them.

truly breathtaking were his eyes. they possessed a hue reminiscent of emerald, yet they gleamed like the replesdent glow of the moon above.

however, what truly captured your attention was the way his brows furrowed just as the corner of his lips downturned, for internally—a cascade of emotions crashed upon him all at once. moreover, a despairing layer seemed to coat his eyes, a poignant sorrow that caught you off guard.

"i don't like it."

he stated firmly, his words hanging in the air, leaving you perplexed.

your head tilted slightly further, eyes widening as you regarded him with curiosity and intrigue.

in response, he raised a hand to the area where his heart resided, his gaze lowering and narrowing towards the ground beneath you both.

"this feeling..."

his voice carried a weight of uncertainty, gaze delicately shifted back to meet yours—and in that moment, you could have sworn you saw his frown deepen as the hint of sorrow on his features became even more pronounced.

"and knowing you could..."

he trailed off, unable to bring himself to complete his sentence. yet, the unfinished words were enough for you to grasp the essence of his meaning.

your brows upturned, sensing the profound depth of emotions he struggled to express fully through words. you had a hunch that it might be something like this, but witnessing his reaction with such intensity was, without a doubt, enough to evoke a painful ache in anyone's heart.

the desire to comfort him welled up within you, an overwhelming longing to ease his burdens. yet, you couldn't help but question how you could possibly offer reassurance.

would it be by telling a blatant lie about something that was inevitable?

now, that would be nothing short of cruelty, no?

to suggest that you would overcome it would only exacerbate the pain. moreover, you were uncertain how to approach the situation without inadvertently triggering a devastating chain of events in the unavoidable future.

truth be told, if he were anyone else, you might have dismissed the matter with a casual remark, wouldn't you?

but with him, it was different.

you couldn't bring yourself to say so.

unable to find the right words in that moment, your gaze somberly shifted away from his, fixating on a distant point ahead. yet, in a sudden and unexpected instant, you were taken aback as you felt the weight of something new but vaguely familiar resting upon your shoulder—soft strands of supple hair gently brushing against you. along with it came a delicate warmth, enveloping you in an oddly soothing sensation.

"you don't have to say anything."

he quietly uttered, his honeyed voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and reassurance. he simply needed to release his thoughts into the open, to let them be heard, even if it was just a single sentence.

there had been no intention to pressurize or burden you, but rather a desire to be the one offering reassurance while subtly seeking comfort himself.

in a silent plea to convince himself that he wasn't caught in a dream, he gingerly leaned his head against your shoulder, and though was making sure not to add any more damage to your wounds, he did so without a hint of regret.

your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the depth of his actions. turning your attention back to him, you found solace in this unspoken gesture of support. that tender gesture conveyed a profound understanding, a connection that surpassed the boundaries of words. it was a silent reassurance; of ones comforting presence for the other, especially in the face of uncertainty.

a sentimental smile graced your features as you felt immense gratitude for his selfless deeds. even in this moment, he made sure you were as comfortable as possible, going above and beyond to provide solace. the warmth of his actions filled you with a deep sense of appreciation and reinforced the unmatched bond between you.

"..thank you,"

you whispered in a hushed breath, your voice carrying the weight of profound appreciation.

though the words seemed simple, they held within them an entire universe of gratitude—a universe that bloomed with vivid colors, dreamlike aspirations, and meaningful connections.

with a delicate grace, you lifted your hand and allowed your fingertips to dance upon the canvas of his raven tresses. each strand, like a silken thread, wove a tapestry of sensations beneath your touch.

the texture was soft and supple, akin to the gentle caress of a summer breeze. as your fingers glided through the ebony strands, you embarked on a journey of intricate care, smoothing out the knots that dared to disrupt the harmony.

in this intimate act, time seemed to suspend, creating a space where the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in a transcendent moment. your touch, as mindful as the brushstrokes of an artist, traced a path of tenderness and care. each movement held intention, a pledge to protect and cherish him, ensuring no harm would befall his vulnerable spirit.

It was a silent symphony, where the language of trust and gratitude flowed effortlessly through the whispers of your fingertips.

as you continued this tender ministration, a vibrant tapestry of emotions unfurled within the depths of your heart. gratitude, like a delicate fragrance, mingled with a sense of wonder, weaving a spellbinding combination.

the tenderness you shared painted a tableau, akin to a cherished memory, where hues of warmth, understanding, and appreciation blended harmoniously.

pleased by your touch, a contented hum escaped your companion's lips, his eyes finding solace in the comfortable embrace of closed lids.

a smile, brimming with emotions, blossomed upon his visage, a testament to the profound impact of your presence.

his heart fluttered with a bittersweet ache, caught between the beauty of the present and the uncertainty of the future.

yet, even in the face of daunting odds, a glimmer of hope persisted within him. it discreetly clung to his being, refusing to be extinguished.

it was undeniably a childlike hope, both fragile and resilient; to yearn for the possibility of a miraculous turn of events.

still, muichiro wanted to embrace that chance, to patiently wait for the magic of a future with you.

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imaginatorofthings · 5 months ago

Note

for the oc ask game: three and eight?

Hello hello, thank you for the ask! Since you didn't specify which characters, I'll be spinning a wheel!

ask game here

3) What song describes your OC?

The wheel picked a character from a writing project (I call it "my novella") that I started in the summer and should pick up again one day.

Its name is "The Ferryman", (it/he). This was a bit hard to think about, but I think that the song to fit him the best would be Like Real People Do by Hozier. It evokes a gentle, rocking melancholy akin to a boat slowly traveling on water, and that's not even going into the lyrics.

It describes its relationship with the many souls that cross its path when doing its job. He knows better than to ask the souls questions, but there's always those quiet, quiet thoughts: 'Why are you here? Are you tired? Are you free? You can rest if you want. Just don't jump off my boat.'

If I'm going to be honest, I'm mostly scared about not doing this character justice, but that'll be something I work on when I get more time to work on the project. It'll be okay, I hope.

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

The wheel picked Zephyr! Oh Zephyr, my small child, eternally young to me. Zephyr, I'd imagine would love exploration. May that be exploration of a city, a forest, a fictional world, anything! Get those legs moving and that mind wandering, but also don't forget their adult supervision(s). It would be drastically horrible if they were to get lost.

#Ima Rambles #ask #ask game #mutuals #Elliot #Ima's Characters #tltolll #the lingering taste of love loss and life #Westward Trio #Zephyr Westwood

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papiliotao · 2 years ago

Text

꒰ 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✩࿐

pairing: lyney x gn!reader

content: fluff, modern au, high school au, friends to (almost) lovers, mutual pining, theatre kids, lyney and the reader rehearse a kissing scene

summary: playing the role of his lover in a drama production is easier said than done, especially when you’re just beginning to realize the nature of your feelings for him.

a/n: i had no inspiration for a while but then lyney came along. i’m so normal about him. anyway, i hope you enjoy reading!

When you were told that you had to kiss your best friend for a school play, you were in shock and disbelief — not because you were repulsed by the thought of playing the part of a couple, but because you realized that you didn’t mind the idea of his lips pressed against yours.

You’re not quite sure when the feelings crept up on you, dawning in your heart like hazes of peach and azure that dust the horizon at sunrise. It feels like it’s been an eternity since you started loving Lyney, but you’ve simply never noticed that your adoration was beyond platonic.

But after experiencing your epiphany, you’ve been wondering if he shares your rose-tinted sentiments. Slowly but surely, you observe that the lines between friendship and romance have become blurred, fusing together in a myriad of watercolour hues.

Every once in a while, Lyney will hold your hand for no reason, the delicate softness of his skin comforting like morning sunlight. There are also instances where he’ll hug you for just a little too long, clinging onto you as if he never wants to let go. And of course, you’ll never be able to forget the sentimental nights spent gazing up at murals of sparkling constellations dotting pristine navy skies, where you'll cuddle with your best friend in an attempt to stay warm.

In these instances, a simple question lingers in the short silences, an untold inquiry that neither of you care to utter in fear of shattering the status quo.

What are we?

Now, as you sit across from Lyney atop the velvety cushions of his living room couch, ready to rehearse very kiss that sent you spiraling into a bout of infatuated hysteria in the first place, your heart can’t help but race. The melody it sings is one that speaks of perplexing feelings and a hope for fairytale endings, and it only amplifies as you look into pale violet eyes that sparkle as iridescent petals flutter about in their depths.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Lyney whispers, smiling at you reassuringly. There’s something soothing about the expression on his face, embodying the serenity of a gentle zephyr in the midst of a cruel summer.

“How can you be so calm when we’re about to practice a kiss?” you ask, voicing your thoughts out loud. “What if we’re not good enough?”

Truthfully, you’re a nervous wreck. Your fingers tremble, and your mind feels blank. You’ve always known that Lyney was born to be on stage, but you didn’t think he’d be so nonchalant in a situation like this. His disposition is completely composed, not a single spark of anxiety shining through his tranquil demeanour.

On the other hand, you’re constantly pondering the what ifs.

What if you mess the scene up? What if it turns out looking awkward? What if it’s so horrendous that it makes the audience uncomfortable.

However, in total contrast to you, Lyney simply chuckles, his voice ringing out in a clear and soothing fantasia.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you, keeping his gaze fixated on you. “I’m sure our chemistry will be absolutely perfect. After all, even Lynette has mistaken us for a couple.”

“She has?” you blurt out, both shocked and embarrassed that Lyney’s twin has had her misconceptions about your relationship. The two are practically telepathically linked, so the tall order of fooling Lynette would more or less be akin to deceiving the heavens above.

“She has,” Lyney confirms, a mischievous spark of violet electricity blazing through his irises, “and that’s why I’m certain we’ll be able to pull this off flawlessly.”

He gently laces his fingers around your hand, bringing it up to his chest.

“Besides, it’s not like I’m not nervous at all.” From beneath the soft fabric of Lyney’s clothes, you can feel a gentle thrumming, a beat that resounds at a tempo matching that of your very own heart. “You know, even the greatest of performers get stage fright sometimes.”

In a mystifying twist, you feel more comfortable now that Lyney has told you that you’re not alone in your anxiety. Your relief defies all logic, but perhaps it’s the knowledge that your feelings aren’t entirely unreasonable that soothes your nerves.

“I see,” you whisper. “Well I’m sure you’ll do great. We’ll get through this together.”

Lyney nods.

“I’m just glad it’s you,” he says, pausing for a moment as if deep in thought. “Actually, ‘glad’ would be an understatement. ‘Beyond overjoyed’ is more accurate.”

Your breath hitches, and for a second, the world seems to still, suspended in a momentary utopia. Yet despite your giddiness and the euphoric feelings that arise in your heart, you shrug Lyney’s words off, trying your best not to get your hopes up. If you expect too much, you might find yourself disappointed in the end.

“The feeling is mutual, but maybe we should get to rehearsing now. I think I’m ready,” you tell him, pulling your hand out of his grasp in a light motion, clinging onto the last of his warmth as his skin grazes yours. It’s reminiscent of fading sunlight, comforting you with the dazzling radiance of a dying crepuscule, lulling you into a daze as it parts in shades of twilight that waltz in a dance of fantastical wonders.

“Your wish is my command,” Lyney responds playfully.

However, after only a few seconds, his features shift into a more serious expression. Although the same smile is still adorning his lips, it’s softer now, more sincere.

Is this all part of an act, or is it real?

An unidentifiable emotion now glints in Lyney's eyes in a display of diamond lights, illuminating seas of magnificent amethyst. Locks of platinum hair, composed of starlight essence, frame his face in a way that makes him look undeniably handsome. Once again, your heart, which had just barely stilled, begins to beat in a frenzy.

You want nothing more than to freeze time, stay in this ephemeral moment, relish in the sensation of his breath gently tickling your skin and engrave the ethereal sight before you into archives stored deep within your memories. But unfortunately, it’s impossible to pause the scene before you. Reality, unlike the countless movies and videos you’ve watched to study your part, stops for no one.

And before you know it, the divide between your lips and Lyney’s is diminishing, the blank space fading at a pace that feels both far too rapid yet far too prolonged at the same time.

Closer.

And closer.

Until your lips meet in a clash of opalescent sparks, shedding light and embellishing the magical moment with an atmosphere worthy of any stage. The lilac butterflies that dance in the pit of your stomach prompt sensations of glee to arise within your heart.

His skin is soft and warm, and the feeling of his lips against yours is just so right. There’s no one else you’d rather kiss. There’s no one else you’ll ever long for. There’s no one in the world you’ll ever love more.

No matter how much you deny it, your relationship has crossed the line from platonic to romantic, gradually edging closer and closer to an unclear border before definitively falling over onto the other side. Your kiss with Lyney confirms everything. There’s far too much passion, far too much care and longing exchanged in a single act of affection.

Best friends don’t kiss each other like this.

At this point you’re certain the feeling is mutual. Now, all you have to do is wait until one of you inevitably confesses, and you’ll both be able to finally live happily ever after, basking in the splendor of true love.

thank you for reading <3 if you enjoyed this fic, i would really appreciate it if you could comment or reblog!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin lyney

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persephone-writes · 6 months ago

Text

A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Eighteen: Innamorati

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Nineteen ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: Presents, dueling practice, and parties, oh my!

Word Count: 8.8k

Notes: I know that drinking games are more of an american thing, but I am simply choosing to ignore this fact because they are fun and no one can tell me they aren’t

James had made his decision and it was final. Instead of getting drunk in the RoR to celebrate his birthday, he’d go out looking for the map once again. Unwilling to hear out any arguments, you all headed back to the tower, though not without some complaints from Sirius.

In the meantime, you waited with Lily and Marlene as the others went into the common room after dinner to check if Zephyr was there. You had insisted that it was fine if he was, given that you’d have to see them all eventually, though it made little difference. Luckily, the coast was clear, allowing you all to sit by the fire and celebrate in peace.

“Does it smell like fish in the Slytherin common room?” Marlene whispered to Remus, who was sitting beside her on the sofa.

He shrugged. “Not really, no. Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t it half under the lake?”

You laughed, even more when she turned to you in confusion, her brows furrowed. “Even if it did, I’m sure it’d be charmed to take away the smell.”

James looked up from his spot on the floor where he was playing a game of exploding snap with Peter and Sirius, his face contorted in disgust. “Even if it’s charmed, it still stinks.”

You rolled your eyes. “It could smell like roses and frankincense and you’d say it was like a pile of hot rubbish.”

“It’s hurtful you’d even suggest—”

“We’ll skip you if you don’t stop flirting,” said Sirius, his arm propped on his leg as he smiled in that evil way he seemed to save only for your torment.

Your ears went hot, your eyes shooting over to Lily in the armchair, still engrossed in her book. She did not look up, turning a page as James said something disparaging to Sirius. He turned back around, still bickering as he flipped over his card. A pop went off, a small explosion erupting in the middle of their circle. They all jumped back, the smoke lingering in the air as they hollered.

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

You cringed as the floorboards squeaked under your feet, the early morning sunlight a shimmering yellow where it filtered in through the diamond window panes. No one sturred in their beds, not that you could hear, anyway. You continued towards the bathroom, only half awake and wishing you were still tucked underneath your blanket. Even the day after his birthday, which should’ve been spent sleeping in after a night of fun, James wanted to practice.

“Tomorrow, six am. If you’re not at the staircase by then, I’ll figure out a way to come up.”

“Why six? Can’t we do it at seven or—”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I have practice at eight-thirty, then I have to actually start doing some schoolwork or I’ll flunk the N.E.W.T.s. And I meant it about figuring out a way up.”

You got ready as quickly as you could, fussing far too much over the way you looked given that you were seeing a friend under entirely unromantic circumstances. Still, you couldn’t help but stare a little longer in the mirror than usual, feeling as though you needed a cold shower.

Beating away your nerves, you brought your bag with you, James’s birthday present safe inside. This would be the only time you’d get him alone today, and the thought of giving it to him in front of the others made your stomach drop. There was something that seemed too intimate about doing it in the company of anyone else, as if it would give you away, as demure as the gesture was. It was just a birthday gift, completely ordinary.

Just as he said, James was waiting for you at the bottom of the girl’s staircase, twirling his wand like a drummer. He had tried to teach you how to do it once, though you never got the hang of it, always sending it flying across the room.

When he heard you coming down he smiled, raising his brows at your tired eyes.

“It’s not that early,” he said, putting his wand back in his pocket. “I could’ve made you get up at five.”

“They call it a holiday for a reason,” you groaned, though it only made him laugh. He led you to the portrait, holding it open for you as you stepped out. “Did you have any luck last night?” you asked.

He shook his head, his smile leaving. “No, the door was locked. We couldn’t figure out a way to break it open. I think he got Flitwick to charm it, probably thinks we’ve been rummaging around in there.”

“The one time he’s a step ahead,” you said with a bitter chuckle.

Filch always seemed to be well aware when they were up to something, though it was rare that he was able to catch up in time. It had been dumb luck he found the map, though there was little way he’d get anything from it. As James had once explained to you, “It knows who’s safe and who isn’t. It lets you in because we like you, same with Lily and Marlene and Dorcas. If anyone else tried to crack it, they’d better be marauders at heart.”

“Isn’t Remus good with locking spells?” you asked.

“Yeah, you should try to open his trunk. The things sealed like a vault at Gringotts,” he said, his smile slowly peeking through again. “We’ll get it back, it just might take a little longer than we hoped.”

James stopped at the tapestry while you jogged down the corridor to check if anyone was coming, a routine you had quickly gotten into over the course of the week. He began to walk back and forth, glancing back at you as the door appeared.

“Maybe we’ll try bombarda next time,” he continued, pushing it open. “I doubt they accounted for that.”

You shook your head at him, holding the strap of your bag a little tighter as you entered the RoR. You stood still for a moment, building up your courage, pulling out the small package with a deep breath. You had wrapped it in scarlet paper, a tag with James’s name carefully placed in the corner. With a sheepish smile, you handed it to him before your anxiety got the best of you.

“Happy birthday,” you said, your heart racing as you watched him consider it.

He lifted his face, his eyes meeting yours. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

You knew he was being honest, though you weren’t sure you could take a back and forth with him. You tried to smile through your nerves, motioning to the present. “Nonsense. Now, open it.”

He sighed, ripping off the paper and tossing it on the floor beside him before opening the box. The joy in his expression grew as he took out the small transistor radio, experimentally pulling up the antenna.

“It’s a muggle one,” you explained, fidgeting as he flipped it over in his hands. “My cousin is married to a muggle, and he’s a pretty good curse breaker, so he’s also decent at overriding some advanced charms. He’s been trying to figure out a way to make a radio pick up muggle stations at Hogwarts. He tried to explain how he finally did it in his letter, but I only understood about half of it,” you laughed, biting your lip as you watched his eyes widen.

“This will pick up muggle stations?” he asked, his voice on the brink of exclamation.

You nodded, his excitement infectious.

He quickly turned it on, raising the volume as he flipped through the stations. After a bit, he stopped on one playing an advertisement for carpet cleaner, looking more happy than anyone in the world upon hearing a sales pitch.

“Turn it to something good,” you laughed, moving to stand beside him as you watched the needle move along the display.

He flipped through the stations again, stopping every once in a while when the static cleared. He settled on one playing an old song, the piano slow, the singer even slower, his smooth voice pouring from the little speaker just before the trumpet came to replace it. He was singing about love, maybe his own, but it felt like it was about yours.

James seemed to settle into something more tranquil, though not completely without his usual energy. He set the radio down, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers as if he had any need to entice you.

You knew you shouldn’t, that being close to him was a surefire way to get you a flustered, nervous mess, though you didn’t care. You rolled your eyes as if that would make it better, letting your bag fall from your shoulders and onto the floor. He took your hand, pulling you closer to place his other on your back. You couldn't help but laugh, ignoring the way his shoulder felt beneath your hand, the way he swayed you back and forth, leading you where he wanted to go. He’d always been a good dancer, though you’d never danced with him like this, the way you’ve dreamt of a hundred times before. It was better than a dream, for in your dreams you hadn’t felt his warmth or seen the look on his face so vividly as he pushed you back out to spin you.

“I take it you like your present?” you asked, desperately needing something to say. At any moment you thought your heart might explode, filled with a deep, gnawing pain.

“You should keep it,” he said, not letting you go even as the song changed. “Your cousin gave it to you. I don’t think it’s right for me to have it.”

Your feet moved faster with the new beat, more swinging this time, upbeat and less breathy. James’s moves became sloppier, though you suspected it was on purpose.

“It’s your birthday present, I gave it to you to keep,” you said, “I have one at home, anyway.”

“Not one that works at school,” he argued.

“Just say thank you and keep it,” you said, watching as he paused to listen to the song.

“I like this one. Who is it?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” you said, a noise of surprise leaving you as he pushed you out again, grabbing your other hand to pull you towards him, your back against his chest. He poked his head beside yours, laughing at your reaction. You swallowed, your fear that he could feel your racing heart becoming stronger and stronger the longer he held you. “Where’d you learn to dance?” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Call me a natural,” he teased, spinning you again so you could dance normally.

You tried to act nonchalant, letting go of his hand as you took a step back. You went over to the radio, switching it off, the RoR falling back into silence. When you turned to him, he was still chuckling, an acknowledgment that you could get each other to do things that you would normally fight against tooth and nail. You wondered how much would change if he knew it was because you loved him.

“We should get on with it,” you said, checking your watch, “we’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Ouch. Tell me how you really feel.”

You went to the other side of the room, hitting his arm as you passed him, the smell of his hair still fuzzy in your head.

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

To prevent it getting confiscated by McGonagall, Filch, or any other Hogwarts killjoy, you and James decided to keep the radio a secret between you and the others. When James presented Sirius with it in their dormitory after quidditch practice, he told you with quite the smile that, “you would’ve thought I was showing him the philosopher’s stone.” Thus, it became the talk of the day, or rather the week, all of you lamenting the fact that Dorcas wasn’t there to share in the glory of your gift.

However, not all was well. There was nothing you could do to avoid your villainous classmates, so you went on the best you could. Zephyr had been ostracized by the entire student body of Gryffindor due to his being a part of some scheme with the Slytherins to harm you. No one knew the details of Zephyr’s involvement, though you assumed it didn’t take much more than the scene in the common room to connect the dots, as well as his sudden increase in time he spent with the Slytherins instead of his own house.

The memory of Mulciber’s previous attacks and general odiousness towards muggle borns, or just those who sympathized, was fresh amongst your house-mates, making Zephyr’s friendship with Mulciber more than enough to brand him a traitor. Mulciber and his gang had accepted him fully into their ranks, roaming the corridors with him by their side as if he had always been there. Since Monday, the common room grew dead quiet whenever he walked through the portrait hole, slithering back to the staircase with his eyes cast down to his feet in a useless attempt to hide himself from view.

Just as James had said, you practiced dueling every single day for the remainder of the Easter holiday. You weren’t sure where he got the time, though he always had some spared for you. On Sunday afternoon you and James headed to the RoR, savoring the last of your free time before classes began again.

“Let’s see what you got,” James said, grinning wickedly from across the room.

You were already in your position, your feet moving on instinct as you made the first move. “Bombarda!” James leapt out of the way of the explosion, giving you another chance to attack before he’d counter. “Relashio.”

James’s wand whipped in front of him, unaffected by your spell. “Oscsusi!”

You blocked it, shaking your head at him. It was a charm to seal the opponents mouth, his way of telling you that you weren’t practicing your non verbal spells enough.

You wordlessly cast the binding charm, the ropes momentarily winding around him before he said the counter curse, dashing like a bolt of lightning to the other side of the room. You were getting rather good at the shield charm, blocking his next spell just in time.

You could see him moving again, so quick you could barely think. In your panic, you reverted back to your old ways of low level hexes and jinxes, “Locomotor mortis!”

Just as James’s legs buckled beneath him, he flicked his wand again. “Flipendo!”

You heard James cast Arresto Momentum as you flew backwards through the air, though he was too late. You landed hard on the floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your ears buzzed, the sound of him shouting your name muffled by the high pitched ringing. Pain radiated from the back of your skull as you tried to sit up, the initial shock fading as you remembered this was meant to be a duel. You attempted to look around for your wand, though you were soon distracted by James running towards you. He threw himself onto the ground, his hand coming to cradle your head as the other arm wrapped around your back.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, the words pouring from him in a frenzy. “Godric, I didn’t mean to, I tried to stop you—”

“It’s okay,” you croaked, the cobwebs beginning to clear.

You rubbed your aching temple, James’s face no longer blurry in your vision. His brows were pinched, his mouth ajar as his eyes darted down over your figure, searching for injuries.

“What hurts?” he asked in the same manner. “I’ll take you to Poppy—”

“I just got turned around, s’all,” you began, moving to stand. “I’ll be fine in a second.”

He gently held your shoulder down, not allowing you to get up. Before you could protest, both his hands came to the side of your face, leaning in closer to peer into your eyes. You held your breath, frozen as you saw your reflection in his glasses.

“Look at me,” he said softly, maneuvering your face towards him. His eyes continued to stare into yours, looking for what, you did not know.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, barely able to bring yourself to speak. You hoped he didn’t feel the warmth of your cheeks, blazing as he touched you.

“Checking your pupils,” he answered with a frown. “They’re huge, you might have a concussion. I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing.”

“They’re just like that sometimes. They’ll be normal in a minute,” you said, pushing his hands away. You were weak, though he allowed you to remove them, still in a state of anxiety.

“I’ll wait five minutes,” he said firmly, “and if they’re not back to normal by then, we’re going.”

You buried your face in your hands, rubbing your eyes. “What will we say happened?”

“You could have a concussion and you’re worried that Poppy might catch onto us?”

You placed your hands onto the ground, swaying a bit as the pain continued to throb. “You’ve never been nervous enough.”

He paused, watching you so intently you were convinced your pupils would never return to normal, nor would your heart. You looked down to escape his gaze, though you could still feel it, heavy like lead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said again, ignoring your earlier implication.

Your name on his lips was a welcomed sound, even if it meant you had to get thrown to the floor. Your eyes drifted back to his, though you knew it was a mistake, his expression so full of dread it made you question if you had blood pouring from your nose. You rubbed it just to make sure, though your sleeve came back clean.

“It’s really all right,” you began, “I just wasn’t quick enough. Call it good practice.”

“You’re mad,” he sighed, his hand coming up to touch your shoulder, stopping just short. “What hurts?”

“Just my head,” you answered, not knowing if you were dizzy from the fall or from his face, perfect right in front of you.

He touched your shoulder, warm even through your shirt. You felt his fingers flexing as they held you, making you feel as if you might faint at any second. After just a few moments it was too much, the realization that you were alone more frightening than it ought to have been. You had thought you were better than this, that you had things under control, though now you were worse than ever before.

“I’m feeling better all ready,” you said, hoping, praying he’d take his hand off of you.

James was unconvinced, his mouth still tight. “What’s thirteen times nine?”

You groaned, “I’ve always been bad at arithmetic.” When he gave you another serious look you rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath as you thought. “A hundred seventeen”

He seemed pleased, at least for the time being, taking his hand from your shoulder so you could stand. You relished in the distance, though what you really wanted was some fresh air, crisp in your lungs. The pain was lessening, the throbbing mostly gone. James held your arm as you steadied yourself, letting it go as you thanked him softly. He didn’t chastise you for saying it, another act of mercy.

“Let me check,” he said, forcing his face in front of yours.

Perhaps to repay him, you didn’t fight, letting him look into your eyes.

“You’ll be all right,” he said, stepping away. “No concussion for you.”

“Maybe next time,” you joked in a feeble attempt to lighten the dull mood that had settled around each of you.

He didn’t laugh, going over to pick up your wand which had rolled away.

“I’ll give you a day off,” he said, finally smiling a bit as he handed it to you, “but we’re back here on Wednesday after classes.”

You swallowed down something, whether it was pride or fear you did not know, allowing your gaze to be selfish. James’s sleeves were pushed up, a lovely, cherished sight. You found yourself settling on his hands, always busy, tapping on desks, fiddling with his wand, brushing through his hair. You drifted over to his lips, barely curled upwards, just for you. Did the fondness in his expression, the tender way his hands touched you mean what the cards seemed to point to, what Marlene had been telling you? Was Remus right?

“C’mon, let’s go back,” he said, opening the door for you. You followed, walking with him down the empty corridor towards the common room.

“Thank you again— for helping me get better at dueling,” you said, though the words seemed to drift away from you, swirling toward the high ceilings.

He turned to look at you with a smile, soft and small but no less touching. Something flashed across his eyes, a ray of blinding, beautiful light. Then, it was gone, leaving only a crushing affection, an impossibly excruciating ache.

“Anything for you.”

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

Peter gave you a supportive nod as you walked into History of Magic on Monday morning, knowing who’d already be at his desk. Wilkes, who you had only seen here and there about the castle over the holiday, turned around as you and Peter went to your seats, his eyes dark as they followed you. Professor Binns’s corpeal figure was floating two and fro in front of the chalkboard, muttering something to himself. You tightened your jaw as you forced your eyes to remain ahead, pulling out your things from your bag.

A few more students filtered in as class began, Binns scribbling something onto the board before he spun around, continuing his leisurely pace about the room with little attention paid to his class.

“The history of Dai Ryusaki’s amulet prior to his death is largely unknown, though there have been a host of theories explored by both the Ministry and independent researchers…”

You rushed out of class when the bell rang, ready to make a mad dash down the corridor before someone grabbed your arm, spinning you back around. Sirius had caught you, standing beside James, Remus, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas. Your eyes widened, catching the expletive that had been caught in your throat. Unlike yourself, Peter noticed the group lingering just outside the door, looking just as confused as you were.

“What’re you all doing here?” he asked.

James’s gaze darted towards Wilkes, walking out of the classroom with a menacing glance in your direction. James narrowed his eyes, Wilkes turning back around with a smug smile.

“I told you I’d be all right,” you said, crossing your arms.

“We were going this way anyway,” Lily said, though she’d always been a bad liar.

You sighed, spinning on your heels to walk down the corridor towards the Great Hall. “C’mon, let's go to lunch.”

“Shouldn’t you be going that way?” James said, motioning down in the opposite direction.

You shook your head. “McGonagall told me this morning I could eat in the Great Hall again.”

“No, no, no, wait.” James grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to look at him, seemingly utterly outraged at the suggestion. “Are you mad? You can’t eat in the Great Hall with them walking around.”

Lily sighed, “James, if McGona—”

“I agree with him,” Remus interrupted, giving Lily an apologetic look. She didn’t seem to take it very well, her lips pulling to one side as she eyed him.

“I’m eating in the Great Hall, end of discussion,” you said with a final glance at the others. James, who was still extremely hesitant, was not at all swayed by your words. “Lily’s right, it’ll be fine,” you said to him.

He took his hand from your shoulder, slumping as he allowed you to continue towards the Great Hall.

“I go away for two weeks and everything goes to shit,” Dorcas huffed, breaking a period of short, tense silence.

You smiled, unsure if it was from joy or misery. “Tell me about it.”

Walking into the Great Hall felt odd. It was as if you hadn’t been there in years, the endless clinking of silverware a long forgotten chorus that used to fill your ears three times a day. Instinctively, you looked towards the Slytherin table, scanning it to see if any of the conspirators, as Marlene had so aptly named them, were there. Severus was sitting with his back to the door, though you’d recognize his hair anywhere, stringy where it hung at his neck. Wilkes was just going up to the table to sit across from him beside Mulciber, the rest of their gaggle already digging into their food. Regulus was one of them, smaller compared to the others, not unlike Snape in his countenance. You wondered when the last time he and his brother had spoken, given that they had not lived in the same house for two years now.

Fearing Mulciber would look up and catch you staring, your eyes shot away, continuing down the aisle towards a free spot at the Gryffindor table.

James watched on warily as you put food onto your plate, fidgeting when you went to take a bite. “I don’t like this,” he said suddenly.

Startled, you lowered your fork, staring at him across the table. He was glaring at your food with an intensity that seemed to suggest that he knew, for certain, it had been tampered with.

“I’m sure Dumbledore took care of it,” Lily whispered to him.

He took his own fork, leaning forward to take a mouthful of your food. Before you could react, he was sitting back down in his seat, chewing as his eyes darted this way and that, trying to determine whether or not he’d drop dead in the next few seconds. You all sat with bated breath, frozen until he swallowed.

“I feel fine,” he said, though not without another uneasy glance towards your plate.

You let out a sigh of relief, even though you were quite sure it was perfectly fine to begin with.

“Now, what if it had been poisoned?” Lily chided.

He shrugged, looking rather proud of his own bravery. “I would’ve been a hero, probably have gotten an award.”

“Dunce of the year,” Remus mumbled, snickering into his glass.

Sirius snorted, turning to James with a smirk. “If you drop like a fish within the next forty-eight hours, I’m not reviving you.”

“He’s not going to ‘drop like a fish,’” Lily said, entirely unamused.

“He might do that on his own,” Dorcas chuckled.

The group erupted in laughter, other than Lily, who was still in a twist over James’s continued recklessness.

“Thank you,” you said to James as the ruckus died down, “but if you do that again, I’ll poison you myself.”

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

With your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, you once again sat squished between Lily and Marlene in the Gryffindor quidditch stands, waiting for the match to begin. This time around, James, Sirius, and Dorcas were in front of you, each hoping for Hufflepuff to kick Slytherin’s butt into oblivion. Corey Luxfire was back in play, meaning that they actually had a shot this time.

Each team came flying onto the pitch, the Hufflepuffs roaring as Corey whizzed beside their stands. Even the Gryffindors went wild when their seeker, Poppy Dunwood, did a loop around the goals, circling back towards the center.

However, you all went quiet as the Slytherin team passed by, Regulus swooping down in front of his house's stands, met with enthusiastic roars. His hair was black like his brothers, though cut far shorter, clean and crisp as every proper young wizard’s of the twenty-eight should be. Sirius turned away as he flew by you to the pitch, hovering above his team across from Poppy.

Below, Monsieur Button started the game, the players flying off when the quaffle was tossed into the air.

Instantly, Regulus went for the snitch, whipping around to chase it towards the grass, Poppy hot on his trail. The Ravenclaw’s all craned their heads up as Regulus flew over, circling their tower before he came back down again into the pitch. In the meantime, a Hufflepuff chaser was in possession of the quaffle, throwing it to Corey who took it under his arm, weaving through the Slytherins towards the goal.

Regulus shot by the Gryffindor stands, losing sight of the snitch as it disappeared past the crowd.

“Score for Hufflepuff, ten to nothing!” said Atticus Bundleby through the speakers.

The Hufflepuffs erupted in cheers, their banners and flags waving in the air. James, Sirius, and Dorcas stood, hollering as the Slytherin keeper threw the quaffle back into play. The others were not much better, particularly Marlene, who had begun cursing out specific members of the Slytherin team. Lily knocked her shoulder, scowling at her poor behavior.

“What?” Marlene said, seeing no problem with her choice of language.

Lily shook her head, wrapping her coat around her tighter as she turned back towards the game.

It was a while before Poppy and Regulus spotted the snitch again, nestled near the base of the Hufflepuff tower. Poppy flew underneath a scuffle, a bludger nearly throwing her from her broom. A beater swooped it, blocking it from hitting her in the nick of time, sending it hurling back towards a Slytherin chaser.

Regulus moved ahead of her, dashing towards the snitch as it went off, zigzagging up towards the students. He flew higher and higher in pursuit, soon becoming small in the face of the sky. This time, Sirius spun around to watch, Poppy flying past in an attempt to catch up.

“Slytherin scores! It’s one-hundred twenty to eighty, Hufflepuff!”

Poppy was just behind Regulus, inching closer and closer, the snitch near enough to catch. Suddenly, Regulus moved to the side, slowing down just enough to make Poppy jerk back, spinning out and nearly falling off her broom.

“Dunwood’s falling from her— she’s back up! Black is gaining on the snitch!”

The entirety of the student body had turned away from the pitch to watch the seekers, Regulus following the snitch with odd, random movements as it made it’s attempts to lose him. You glanced at Sirius, his eyes still locked on his brother as his hands curled into tight fists.

Dorcas was shouting, waving her hands in the air, “C’mon, shake ‘em you hunk of metal!”

“Slytherin scores again! One hundred twenty to ninety, Hufflepuff— Looks like Dunwood’s back in the game!”

“C’mon Poppy!” James called, nearly jumping up and down. He grasped Peter’s shoulders, shaking him silly in his exhilaration. You remembered a time not too long ago when he was praying for her failure, though he’d wish for just about anything if it meant Slytherin would lose.

Poppy made a valiant effort to catch up, nearly beside Regulus, though she was too late. He grabbed the snitch, holding it up in the air in his triumph. Sirius’s fists loosened, his fingers splaying out for a split second before they returned to their normal, relaxed state.

“Black captures the golden snitch! Slytherin wins two-forty to one-twenty!”

Dorcas threw her arms down with a groan, “Motherfucker!”

Regulus flew back down towards his team, who surrounded him with cheers of their own. You tried to pick out his expression, though he was too far away, only a vague blur of green robes and dark hair. You watched him for as long as you were able, soon pulled away by Lily as you all went to exit the stands.

“Two-forty, do you think you can make that up?” Peter asked as you made your way towards the castle over the lawn.

“Yeah, but we’ll have to hustle,” James said, turning to Dorcas and Sirius. “You hear that? I want you two all in these next few months. Their defense is still weak, but Regulus is good.”

“Are you doubting my skills?” Dorcas said, raising her brows.

“You did miss two weeks of drills,” Sirius teased.

Dorcas scoffed, “I don’t need drills.”

James went to argue, though Marlene’s dramatic, drawn out groan cut him off.

“This party’s gonna be such a drag,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “I hate it when Slytherin wins, it puts everyone in a bad mood.”

Dorcas threw an arm around her shoulders, smiling down at her. “Don’t say that. We might be able to get James pissed enough to dance.”

Everyone started snickering, though James only grumbled to himself, his cheeks growing a little more red. If anyone were to point it out, he’d say it was from the cold.

You leaned against the doorframe of the lavatory, watching Marlene coat her lashes in Madam Wink’s Miracle Mascara. Lily and Dorcas had already gone down to the common room, though Marlene had insisted someone stay with her as she did the long, laborious task of getting ready.

“How many coats was that?” you groaned, watching as she pristinely applied what seemed like the twentieth.

She put the wand back in its tube, smirking at you through the mirror. “Why? Do you think I need another?”

“No.”

She still had a look of mischief on her face as she pulled out her lip glass and applied it, far too proud of whatever she was about to say.

“You and James have been pretty cozy,” she began, raising her brows. “How has your training been?”

You made a noise of disgust, your lip curling in a vain attempt to hide your embarrassment. “James teaching me how to duel is totally, completely platonic and you know it.”

She turned to face you with a sentimental, sickly sweet expression, completely ignoring your assertion. “He’s been so worried about you like you’re already married. It makes me want to be sick,” her tone could not have been more different from her words, genuine in her happiness for you.

“What a lovely image, Marls,” you said, full of dry sarcasm.

“Do you know what he said to Sirius the other day?” she said, her eyes sparkling with the joy of someone who knew something of a scandalous nature. It made your palms itch. “James told him that you’re an excellent dancer.”

“Do you and Sirius talk about me behind my back?” you asked, less offended than you were horrified.

She shrugged, throwing her lip gloss back into her bag. “Not often.”

You shook your head, trying to forget the frightening new information that Marlene and Sirius were gossiping about you and James. You could only imagine what sorts of conniving plans they were coming up with.

“Anyway, that's a lie like no other,” you scoffed. “Are you sure he said ‘excellent’?”

She didn’t reply, brushing past you to retrieve her wand on her bed. “One galleon he asks you to dance tonight.”

“Only one? You can’t be that confident.”

She rolled her eyes, motioning for you to follow as she headed to the door. “Come on, let me make you one of my masterpieces.”

Well into the night you were nursing one of Marlene’s concoctions, red and vaguely shimmering, tasting of cranberry and something else unplaceable though undeniably good. The music was playing, some new single they’d been looping all week on the wizard radio stations. In front of you, Sirius, Dorcas, Remus, and James were playing Sparks, a game originating in the twisted mind of Remus Lupin. You and Peter took to watching, Lily and Marlene spinning around with a group of equally drunk students by the speaker.

The rules of Sparks were ever-changing and increasingly complicated, though it mainly consisted of flipping a coin, shooting sparks from your wand if it landed heads, with the slowest having to drink. However, if there were four tails in a row, the first person to shoot two sparks could choose someone to take a shot of firewhiskey. Remus usually came out just fine, Dorcas did not. At least they weren’t doing shot for shot.

“I’m going to kill you, Lupin,” Dorcas gritted, moving to pour herself a shot.

Remus smiled as she grimaced at the taste. “Wanna quit?”

“Never.” She slammed her glass down onto the table, steely as she stared at him.

Unprompted by the game, James downed whatever was left in his glass, looking around at you all expectantly. “All right, who’s dancing?”

“Is it that time already?” Sirius taunted.

James, likely too buzzed to take notice, waited for someone to answer his call. Peter, who you were pretty sure never danced a day in his life, did not move an inch, nor did Remus.

“I’m finishing this even if it kills me,” said Dorcas, her wand still in her hand, ready to take action.

“Don’t make me go out there alone!” James whined.

Sirius smirked again, devious and unnerving. “I’m sure Y/N wants to,” he drawled, turning to you.

Your head, fuzzy and light, swarmed with the memory of two Tuesdays ago, the sound of the muggle crooner in the RoR, the weight of his hand in yours. You could hear Sirius’s guitar, Carly Simon, the sight of James's crooked glasses, feeling the rush as he dipped you.

You chuckled nervously, shrinking into yourself. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, you’re my favorite, remember?” James said, slouching forward.

You thought you might die. “Okay, just for one—”

James put his glass down onto the table, taking yours and doing the same before he led you towards the group that had clustered around the radio, charmed to play louder than designed. He was burning up, the heat rising up to your shoulder and well into your chest, hammering as you neared Lily and Marlene. You wanted to run, for there were too many people, too many possibilities to make a fool of yourself.

When Lily noticed you two she squealed, having breached that point in the night where almost everything made her delighted. She did some silly, twirling move as James spun you not unlike he had before, pushing you out only to pull you back in again. His curls, wild from the long night, caught the light in a way that made your knees feel like jelly. You noticed Marlene watching you with a cocky smile, a precursor to all the “I told you so’s” you’d have to hear whenever she got you alone.

“I don’t need spells, I don’t need charms, I just want you in my arms, you’re the greatest witch that I have ever seen…”

It was a cheesy song, perfect for dancing and not for listening. Through the noise, a few Gryffindors called to James the way only he received, a liquor fueled affinity for the way he effortlessly charmed the world. He was James Potter: Head Boy, quidditch captain, the life-breath of every shindig who seemed to be known and adored by everyone (other than the Slytherins). But you, you were his favorite, at least to dance with. You weren’t sure how much you could trust his words given the state he was in, though you took them to heart anyway, holding to them as if they were gospel. I’m his favorite.

Slowly, you relaxed, giving way to the unserious manner in which James danced, a thousand different styles melded together into something entirely his own. Lily took you away after a few songs, shouting the lyrics as she danced. You did the same, mumbling half of them and not caring how your voice sounded. It was drowned out by the music and chatter anyway, blocked by the muffliato charm at the door.

As you spun around with her, James took both your hands, tugging you back with a laugh. Marlene took your place with the same look as before, watching as James led you in a quasi-swing dance, messy steps that barely went with the song. Your perception of time was warped, the music melting into one great, endless ballad. You could’ve been there for ten minutes or ten hours, lost in its false infinity.

Just as James pulled you closer, ready to sway with the funky beat of a new song, he stiffened, stopping completely as he glared across the room. You glanced behind you, unconsciously squeezing his hand tighter as you saw Zephyr walk inside, weaving through the crowd. Students whispered to one another, looking at him sideways as he passed, heading towards the staircase.

James’s eyes shot back to yours, filled with concern as he leaned in closer to speak into your ear, “Want to go?”

All you did was nod.

You didn’t feel drunk enough for this. In fact, you were less than tipsy, your head far too clear to handle the way everyone seemed to turn away from Zephyr towards you and James leaving the huddle of dancers. Lily and Marlene each called out your name, though you only glanced back, hidden from their sight by the crowd.

As soon as James got you out of the common room he pulled the cloak from his pocket, throwing it over you both. Any other time you would’ve questioned why he was walking around with the cloak at a party, as well as the fact that it seemed as though everyone had illegally charmed their pockets but you. You were also surprised he was taking you out after curfew without the map, though you didn’t question it, lest he change his mind.

“Where are we going?” you whispered, trying to ignore the way your shoulders pressed together.

He didn’t try to hide his worry, his brows pinched as he looked at you in the low light. “Where do you want to go?”

You thought for a moment, though the need to get away from Gryffindor Tower was greater than you desire to pick the perfect spot. The piles of dust covered furniture in the Room of Requirement was entirely unappealing, as were any of the passageways you’d sometimes hide away in.

“The Astronomy Tower,” you answered finally.

James smiled softly, beginning to walk down the corridor towards the main castle. “Exquisite choice.”

You peeked out of the cloak upon arriving at the tower, saying the password given to all N.E.W.T. level Astronomy students so they could access the viewing deck for study, “Six hundred eighty-five thousand over pi.”

Once inside, James threw off the cloak, shoving it back into his pocket as he stared at you in confusion. “What’s the password mean?”

“It’s the equation for how long a parsec is in meters,” you said, chuckling as he continued to look as if you were speaking a different language.

“What’s a parsec?”

You kept your laughter down the best you could as you continued up the steps, the ceiling twinkling above you. “A little over three lightyears.”

You didn’t reach for your wand when you made it up, relishing the cold air on your bare skin. Instantly, being there made it seem as if the common room was halfway across the world, the noise gone, Zephyr just a distant memory. James followed as you went to the railing, your head craned up to look at the stars. It was nearly the new moon, leaving the sky naked of its usual, vibrant glow. Still, the milky way was painted pale pink and purple, fading out into dark blue, sprinkled with a million stars like specks of glittering paint.

You each stayed there unspeaking, suspended in the hazy hours of Sunday morning, a time in which all things either felt entirely lovely or entirely awful. This moment was the former.

James’s pinky brushed yours, though he pulled it away before you could savor it. Swallowing, he briefly glanced at the side of your face before looking away again.

“I’ve always been bad at constellations,” he said, soft as if to slowly break the silence, little by little. “I know Orion and Ursa Major, but that's about it.”

“At least you paid attention in first year Astronomy,” you said, your smile growing without you realizing. You pointed towards a star, radiant amongst the others. “See that one?”

James followed your line of sight, poking his head beside yours.

“That’s Regulus, the lion's heart. If you follow it up, it’ll make the Sickle, which is Leo’s head. Back there is Denebola, the tail. April is a good month to see Leo.”

When you looked back at him, you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to look away again.

He smiled, more lovely than any constellation. “How do you remember them all?”

“I don’t know,” you began. “It’s like remembering spells. If you use them enough, after a while it becomes second nature. I’ve always liked the muggle stories, though. They help.”

His eyes brightened. “What’s the story for Leo?”

“Lots of questions,” you teased.

He bumped your shoulder, glancing back at the sky. “Is it a crime to be curious?”

You rolled your eyes, still studying his profile. “You know who Hercules is, right?”

“Big strong guy?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Long story short, Hera didn’t like Hercules, so one day she made him go mad and murder his wife and children. Hercules was ridden with guilt, so to atone for his sins he went to serve his cousin, King Eurystheus, for twelve years. Once he did this, he’d be rewarded with immortality. At first King Eurystheus gave him ten labors to do, but it actually ended up being twelve in the end. Again, long story,” you paused, trying to regain your train of thought.

“Anyway, the first of the labors was to kill the Nemean Lion and bring back its fur. At first, Hercules tried to shoot it with arrows, but they bounced right off. So, he blocked off one entrance to its cave and snuck in the other, strangling it with his bare hands. But, when he tried to skin it, knives couldn’t cut through. Athena came and told him to use its claws, which worked. After that, he wore its skin throughout the other labors because it was stronger than armor. Then, y’know, he did all the other labors and became a hero.”

“Think I could strangle a lion with my bare hands?” James asked with a laugh.

“No,” you said, pretending to think it over. “Maybe a toad or something.”

He leaned his arms on the railing, hanging his head as if you’d ripped his heart out. “You’re so awful to me.”

“You’ll forgive me,” you said, used to his dramatics after all this time.

After a beat he stood back up, shivering as a gust of wind blew past the tower.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, placing his hand on top of yours, running his thumb over your knuckles. He took it away too soon for your liking, leaving you longing for the feeling of his palm.

“No, the cold feels good,” you said, your head growing light again as he turned to face you fully. You were filled with an inescapable desire to confess, spurred on by the way you felt halfway in a dream, as if anything you said now only existed here, safe from consequence. But, even if you did speak, what could you say? How could you possibly word it, a thing so simple yet so unbelievably complicated? I love you, I think I always have.

James spoke before you had a chance to take the plunge, though part of you wished he hadn’t, “You’re a good dancer, you know,” he paused, his smile like the sun, illuminating the night. “And you’re the only one that’ll humor me.”

You looked at him as if he had gone insane. “How drunk are you?”

“Practically sober.”

Something about his reply reminded you of his animagus form, as if he’d sprout antlers at any moment. You studied him with great suspicion, noting his ruddy cheeks, though it could’ve been from the chill.

“I mean it!” he said, growing more impassioned. “My last drink was an hour and a half ago, and I wasn’t that bad then. Didn’t want to get too pissed with Zephyr running around.”

“I thought you only danced when you were drunk,” you challenged.

“I danced with you two weeks ago when I was sober,” he paused, his features softening. “How about you?”

“Stone cold,” you said, perfectly honest. “Don’t tell Marlene, though. She made me a dozen drinks, but I kept pawning them off onto Remus.”

“I won't,” he chuckled, pausing after a moment to lick his lips, gone dry with the wind. “Anything for you, remember?”

Of course you remembered, you had thought about it every day since he said it. You wracked your brain for a suitable reply, though all you came up with was “I love you”.

“James, I,” you trailed off, heady with the sight of him, his words, the way he seemed to take you in.

For a moment you really did think it was a dream, because he was looking at you the way you had caught him in the courtyard, endeared to you like no other. Now, however, it wasn’t going away, remaining as he took a step closer, his hands coming to your cheeks. He touched you just as tenderly as he had in the RoR, his fingers brushing along your ears, his gaze bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You stared back up at him, perhaps with the same expression.

In a split second he closed the distance, the world blooming as he kissed you. He moved his hands down to your waist, yours finding their way across his shoulders, towards the nape of his neck where they threaded through his hair. He held you fervently, delicate as if you were a rare, treasured gift. Deep within you something stirred like a gavel striking, a single word ringing out in place of a bang: finally. It was perfect, better than all the times you had imagined it, greater than any book you’d ever read.

As soon as you parted, your head rushing and your heart swelling with absolute bliss, the realization felt more like being struck with an anvil. You just kissed James.

“Mother of Merlin,” you gasped, still staring into his eyes. They were blown out and beautiful, though it didn’t stop you from taking a step back. “You absolute tosser,” you mumbled to yourself, the world spinning all around you, dizzying in the worst way. You felt like you were going to be sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his expression pained and rather awkward. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted—”

You paced back and forth, adrenaline coursing through you. “No, I did. That's the worst part.”

“I have to say, I’m a little offended,” he said, looking at you as if suffering from a dull, ever-present injury, more annoying than it was excruciating.

“That’s not what I meant,” you sighed, preoccupied with the stark juxtaposition between your immense happiness and equal regret.

Flabbergasted and obviously unsure how to proceed, he slowly neared you again, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What is it? Is it something I did?” he asked carefully.

Your lips still tingled, your stomach buzzing with the aftermath of your most folly, foolish wish come true. You loved him, and at the very least, he fancied you back.

“Lily,” was all you could say, her name coming out broken and shameful.

He furrowed his brows, his mouth ajar. “What about her?”

“Lily,” you repeated, attempting to convey the seriousness of your crimes, though it did not seem to have the intended effect. “You and I, we can’t, not when—” you cut yourself off, huffing as you brought the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“You think because I dated Lily we can’t be together?”

You nodded, your fingers blocking your sight of him. You couldn’t bear to look, not when he was everything you ever wanted.

He gently held your hands, saying your name as he brought them away.

“Of course we can,” he began, ducking down so you would have to look at him. “She won’t care, not a bit, not when,” he faltered, shaking his head as he reached up to touch your cheek. “She can’t be upset with a man in love.”

You soared. “You’re in love with me?”

“Of course I am,” he began, smiling wider. “I’ve told you before.”

Elation washed over you, the stars seeming to shine brighter over you both, dazzling in their celestial waltz. In an instant, you forgot about all the reasons why you shouldn’t, only able to recall why you should.

Breathless, you lifted the weight that had been upon you for far too long, “I love you too.”

“Thank Godric,” he chuckled, rubbing a thumb along your temple. “I was getting nervous for a minute.”

“You love me,” you whispered, mostly to yourself, as if trying to cast it in stone.

“Please let me kiss you again, or I think I might die,” his voice was ardent, bursting at the seams with a nearly theatrical plea for your attention.

You rolled your eyes. “So dramatic—”

He cut you off, pressing his lips to yours. He was careful with you, nearly chaste, cradling your jaw as your noses bumped. You fisted your hands in his jumper, no plans of letting go.

Chapter Nineteen

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

Tag List: @floverisland @ilovejamespottersomuch @googie-jeon @tvnile

#james potter x reader #james potter/reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fanfiction #marauders era #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp marauders #marauders fandom

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ninibeingdelulu · 1 year ago

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Beautiful, like the sky

synopsis: while you’re admiring the sky, Cloud is admiring you

The inky canvas stretched endlessly above you both - brilliant pinpricks of stardust twinkling against the deep indigo backdrop.

A gentle breeze whispers past, briefly rustling the tall blades cradling your forms before settling into a tranquil lull once more. You inhale deeply, allowing the crisp night air to fill your lungs as a serene smile blossoms across your lips.

Out of your peripheral vision, you catch the slightest shift of movement...followed by Cloud's unwavering stare burning into the side of your face with an intensity you've never quite encountered from the typically stoic swordsman before.

His piercing gaze seems to smolder straight down to your core in a manner that causes your pulse to quicken traitorously.

"Everything’s okay, Cloud?"

You tear your eyes from the celestial expanse to meet his head-on - tone laced with a teasing lilt despite the flush you can feel blossoming high on your cheekbones.

"You're looking at me like I just sprouted a second head or something."

The blonde ex-SOLDIER doesn't so much as flinch at being so blatantly called out. In fact, his scrutiny somehow manages intensifying further as those glowing mako irises roam every plane and delicate contour of your features with open reverence.

The way the moonbeams cast ethereal shadows across your skin...those rosy lips slightly parted on a breathy sigh...dark tendrils stirring in the zephyr's wake to frame your delicate visage...

You make for such an utterly breathtaking vision in this instant etched into nature's sublime backdrop; Cloud is momentarily robbed of coherent speech while simply basking in your radiance.

Like staring straight into the sun's dazzling corona without the obscuring filter of those polarized lenses he usually hides behind.

"I—" His usually gruff baritone emerges far hoarser and more tremulous than intended when he finally manages unclenching his jaw enough to speak.

Cloud's adam's apple visibly bobs along the taut column of his throat while he falters.

"Sorry, it's just...you look really pretty, sitting out here under the stars like this."

You can practically feel the tips of your ears scorching from the unexpected sincerity now coloring those words - all traces of his customary sarcasm or monosyllabic brusqueness utterly stripped away.

And the look of naked wonder creasing Cloud's brow as his full lips tug upwards into one of his increasingly frequent half-smiles is the final catalyst catalyzing your heart into an erratic gallop against your ribcage.

Whether emboldened by the secluded intimacy of this wee-hour respite from chaos or simply too transfixed by you in this instant to bother concealing his blatant regard any longer...in this sliver of peace suspended between one fraught breath and the next, your longtime comrade gazes upon you like the rarest jewel amidst the Planet's boundless treasures.

And there's no mistaking the way his eyes briefly drift down to linger on the inviting seam of your lips when you unconsciously sweep your tongue out to moisten them in anticipation.

Cloud blinks slowly as if awaking from a trance before hastily tearing his heated stare away - his cheeks now matching the vivid crimson of yours…

#fluff #ff7 cloud #ff7 x reader #ff7 headcanons #cloud strife x y/n #cloud x y/n #cloud x you #cloud x reader #cloud strife fluff #cloud strife x you #cloud strife x reader #cloud strife x female reader #ff7 fluff #cloud strife headcanons #cloud strife #cloud x sephiroth bc why not

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nightingalescall · 6 months ago

Text

The Devil and Angel's Waltz

Kingdom of Ebreau:

prologue|part 1|part 2|part 3(you are here)

"Are you disfigured?"

"What?"

"Nevermind."

You stared at the maid as she walked away, stunned.

What in the...

"Something the matter, Messiah?" Marika's voice rang from across the table. You turned your gaze back and blinked.

"It's nothing, your highness." You smiled politely as you raised the teacup to your lips, eager to taste the drink. The smell wafted into your nose first before it even reached your tongue.

Jasmine tea.

You swallowed.

With honey.

You placed the cup back down on the coaster. The tea was well balanced. If not steeped for too long, Jasmine tea is quite flavourless with only its aroma to remind you of the kind of drink it was. The honey mixed in afterward added a nice subtle tone of sweetness to the otherwise bland tea.

It's good.

Under normal circumstances, you would have said it tasted great but the question the maid whispered into your ear earlier as she poured you this drink made the liquid not go down right. You'd even say it had an unusual bitter aftertaste.

"You may simply call me Marika, Messiah. You are no ordinary folk so no need for such formalities." Marika smiled as she reached for a cookie on the table. "T-that wouldn't be very polite of me, your highness." You declined her request, letting out an awkward laugh.

You glanced at Zephyr beside you. He hasn't said anything ever since you arrived at the palace. His cup of tea sat untouched on the table, growing colder by the minute. A slight smile was present on his lips as he listened but it felt different from the one you’re used to seeing.

It looked…superficial. Fake. Ingenuine.

Zephyr didn't want to be here.

That makes two of you then.

Actually, scratch that. That makes three of you.

You peaked at the silent white hair beside Marika from the corner of your eyes. This was the fourth time since the moment you two met. With the help of your veil, you managed to avoid detection by the prince whenever you snuck glances at him. You wished you didn't have to do this but Calerus' words still rang clear in your mind.

Beware the heretics.

It would be foolish of you to ignore this individual when even god himself tells you to be wary of him.

Thus, even with your whole body going into fight or flight mode, screaming at you to look away from his eyes, your mind was determined to keep tabs on him.

Xion was sitting with his legs crossed, one over the other. His hands placed neatly on his lap, occasionally patting down his silver uniform and smoothing out any creases. He kept his gaze on the table in front of him or off to the side throughout the entire conversation. His ruby eyes were distant and unfocused like he was thinking, plotting, scheming.

He was mentally elsewhere you concluded.

You looked away, not letting your gaze linger longer. You turned back towards Marika, who seems to be the only person who actually wanted to be here. She finished swallowing the bite of the cookie she had eaten before continuing. "I don't mind, Messiah. Please just call me that. If we are to rule together and protect Ebreau, putting so much importance on our statuses and titles will only obstruct our cooperation." She reasoned.

"I-I see..." You mumbled behind your cup as you took another sip of the tea to calm your nerves. Silence fell over the table. You looked up from your cup in confusion. Marika stared back at you, the same sweet smile on her face.

...?

You knitted your eyebrows together behind your veil.

What's going on...?

Xion's priecing gaze snapped towards you. Your body froze in place as he stared you down, like a predator does before pouncing on its prey. Your mind raced for words to say as the staring continued.

"The temple simply call her 'Messiah', your highness. However, if you must know, her name is (y/n)." Zephyr finally said his first words after getting here, helping you break the silence. "Ah, I see. Then, (y/n), I hope this will be a fruitful collaboration." Marika smiled.

Oh, she just wanted your name?

The realisation hit you and you breathed a sigh of relief, your hands relaxing their tight grip around your tea cup. You felt Xion's eyes also leave you as the tension that hung in the air dissipated. You internally thanked Zephyr for answering in your stead, not daring to think how long that silence would have lasted or how it would have been broken if he didn’t.

"Would you like to see the ballroom now, (y/n)?" Marika placed her cup down. "You may practice there while the servants are finishing up the preparations for tonight's ceremony. I will personally inform them if you wish." The queen offered. It would be a good idea to familiarise yourself with 'the stage' for tonight. Plus, extra practice could never hurt.

"I would like that, M-marika." You struggled to get the queen's name out your mouth. It felt wrong to call someone with such status by their first name. "Follow me then." Marika smiled and stood up, leading the way out of the room. Xion followed behind her, not bothering to toss you a glance. You and Zephyr walked at the back, side by side.

The palace's hallways were long. Not surprising there. With multiple twists and turns, up and down some stairs, the walk there seemed to stretch on forever. At least the walkways were decorated very nicely though. They provided some form of distraction from this boring excursion. The walls were painted in white with some kind of floral motive drawn on in silver near the bottom and top. Paintings of knights on horses, nobles in luxurious clothing, flowers in the wild and many more (including some abstract ones that didn't look like anything at all) hung on the wall. Some almost side by side, some few and far between. The carpet beneathe your feet was blue with golden edges as it paved the entire way to the ballroom, even the stairs had them. Plus, it looked surprisingly clean.

The servants here must work real hard.

You thought to yourself as a butler pushed open a large wooden door, allowing your little entourage to enter.

The room before you was spacious, to say the least. Just from one glance, you could tell this was the ballroom where nobles and commoners alike would gather during special occasions.

Just like your initiation tonight.

The ballroom was beautiful and extravagant even without any extra decorations. The floor was marble and it glistened. Looking down at it, you could see your reflection in it. No doubt the work of the maids mopping it on the other side of the ballroom. A small stage was placed to the side for the orchestra who will be responsible for the music of your dance tonight. Two long tables were placed opposing the stage, on the other side of the ballroom. You assumed it's for the food that will be served this evening. Several butlers were up on ladders, wiping away at the glass windows, determined to clean away any smudges.

You turned your gaze ahead of you.

A young maid was wiping down the thrones Marika and Xion would be seated on for tonight at the far end of the ballroom.

The servants here definitely work real hard.

"You may practice here for the afternoon, (y/n). I have informed the servants here to let you use the dance floor." Marika turned to you and said with a smile. Behind her, the butler who had helped open the door walked away and towards the directions of other servants, probably to inform them of the queen's order. "Thank you, your highness." You nodded your head at her before catching your error. "Marika." You corrected yourself.

Marika's smile grew even wider at that. "I will leave you to it then, (y/n). I still have matters to attend to before the ceremony starts tonight so I must excuse myself." Marika made her way back towards the door before stopping and turning back towards you one last time. "Please don't hesitant to call any of the servants if you need something. They'll be happy to serve you." The queen finally stepped out of the room.

Silence fell over your group for a moment as you stared Zephyr, Zephyr stared at you and...Xion stared at you both. To be honest, you were too scared to look at Xion but the current situation called for it so you slowly shifted your gaze to the prince.

Xion was still looking at you with those cold ruby eyes. His face blank and his body unmoving. It was unnerving how still he was. It was like he was simply observing you, waiting for the right time to make a move. But what that move is, you’re not sure.

You opened your mouth to speak but before any words came out, Xion bowed. "I will leave now too." He excused himself and within a few seconds, he was gone as well.

...

You watched as he left and as the door swung shut, you let out a sigh of relief, the tension in your body dissipating. It felt like you could finally breathe again.

"Are you alright, Lady (y/n)?" Zephyr's voice sounded beside you and you felt his hand on your back. His worried face came into view as he leaned down, his bangs falling to one side as he did so. "...That..." you started as you tried to find the right words to describe how you were feeling. The thumping of your heart, the sweat in your palms, the nauseousness and the dread. There really was only one answer.

"That was terrifying."

~✟~

What is this room for?

The thought flashed through your mind as you slipped on the ceremonial dress. The soft silky fabric rubbing against your face as you pulled it down your head and then body. Your hands patted down the bodice and skirt, smoothing out any creases and ensuring there were no folds.

You walked towards the full body mirror placed beside a bookshelf on the left side of the room. The room was nearly identical to the one you had tea with the queen and prince just now with only the arrangement of furniture slightly different and an extra mirror for some reason (maybe you're too poor to understand the taste rich people have in interior design). You stood in front of the mirror, admiring the details of the dress.

For the monumental ceremony tonight, the temple went all out with your clothes. Similar to your daily attire, the garment was in the shade of gold. The fabric metallic and shining. A clear statement of its high quality. The skirt reached down to the floor. Its hems brushing against the carpet beneathe your feet with every movement. The skirt was further accentuated with a few layers of sheer fabric in a similar colour, some longer, some shorter, creating patterns and adding volume to the skirt. Floral patterns were embroidered on parts of the fabric using gold thread and finally dusted with a small amount of glitter as a finishing touch.

The sleeves were long just as your usual clothing. The fabric was semi transparent and clung loosely to your arms. Not a bad choice considering how light and airy it was, not to mention soft. There was no collar, making it perfectly breathable and easy to move in.

You can't imagine how much money they spent to get something with such standard.

Better take care and not rip it.

You reminded yourself before slipping on the pair of black court shoes that were prepared for you.

Leather. Sturdy.

You clicked the heels of the shoes together twice. The sharp sound resounding loudly through the room.

"Alright, all done here... Time to head back." You mumbled to yourself as you folded your clothes and took them into hand. As you exited the room, you grabbed your veil on the table beside the door with your other hand and pushed the door shut using your foot once outside.

Back to the ballroom. Zephyr should be back with the new veil too.

You turned right and headed down the hallway, retracing the path the butler had shown you before to get here. The butler was kind enough to lead you to an empty room not far from the ballroom to allow you some privacy to get changed. Zephyr went to retrieve the modified veil in the meantime so it was just you for once.

With one hand, you twisted and turned the veil, trying to find the opening where your head was supposed to go. Once you do, you leaned down slightly and threw it on before securing it in place using a hair pin. You patted down the veil, especially the back side of it where you couldn't see, not wanting any of the fabric to fold or stick out.

Lowering your hand, you focused on getting back, your feet light with each step. You felt at ease, the boulder weighing on your heart there no more. Knowing that it was just going to be you and Zephyr for the rest of the morning and early afternoon, it relieved you. Just time for some last minute rehearsals and then rest. No more queens and princes-

"Messiah."

You froze in place and your blood ran cold. The tranquility beforehand vanishing into thin air and in its place, an agonising dread. Your heart pounded. Your anxiety spiked. Your muscles tensed as your mind went blank. Consumed by an all-devouring fear, you stood still in the middle of the hallway, unable to run from certain 'death'.

Footsteps thumped closer. You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your fists, bracing yourself for what's to come.

You turned.

"Your highness?"

It was a miracle how your voice didn't crack.

Xion strode over, the same deadpan expression on his angular face. His boots clicking softly against the carpeted floor.

"I thought you left, your highness. Is there something else you have to take care of here?" You mustered all of your courage and spoke, trying to sound calm and composed but your voice still gave you away, wavering during the sentence.

Crap.

You cursed internally.

Steady thyself, lamb. This is thy chance to persuade this apostate.

Calerus' voice rumbled from deep within your mind again.

Your eyebrows twitched.

Persuade? What does that mean??

No response from the deity.

"..."

The people around you seemed to have a tendency of ignoring you. Xion, similar to Calerus, remained silent, not bothering to answer your question.

He got closer and closer until he was directly in front of you before...

Walking past.

You knitted your eyebrows in confusion before moving to turn to him.

"Your highne-"

"Don't move."

Every muscle in your body obeyed.

You stared ahead of you, frozen in place as Xion went around to your back.

His presence sent shivers down your spine as he stood behind you. Even with your back turned, you could feel him staring you down. It felt like daggers going straight into your head, making you feel numb and afraid.

You felt his breath hit your nape as your veil is gently lifted by him. It was warm, surprisingly. Considering his icy nature, you thought even his breath would be cold.

"Y-your highness, what are you doing?" You couldn't hold back the voice crack this time. In a similar fashion, your question gets ignored once more.

A light touch and all your hairs stand on end. His hands brushed against your nape as he reached for you from behind.

Was this it? Was he going to choke you? Suffocate you right here and now?

You clenched your fists and gritted your teeth, the only movement you were able to do in your frozen state. Alarms blared inside your mind, urging you to make a break for it, to run as far away as possible from the danger but something stopped you from doing so. Was it paralyzing fear? Or something more...divine?

You twitched. Sensation finally coming back to your limbs. The muscles in your legs tensed and contracted, ready to start sprinting any moment now.

You took a step forward.

And Xion put down his hands.

"..."

You took a deep breath and slowly...very slowly glanced behind you. Xion still had that deadpan look on his face as he stared at you. His ruby eyes shone like gems under the light that flooded in from the nearby window.

You tried to talk, to ask what all that was about but words fail you. Only shaky exhales come out when you open your mouth, a sign of the fear that still grasped you.

Xion looked on silently. You watched him, searching his face for any microexpression that could reveal what he was thinking or why he did what he did.

...A frown.

It was quick. Unnoticeable if you hadn't been paying attention. A small dip in the corners of his lips before it was gone and his mouth began to move.

"You’re staring, Messiah." Xion's voice snapped you out of it.

You immediately adverted your eyes as you tried to salvage the situation.

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry, your highness." You bowed and said quickly. "I didn't mean to. I was just....confused! About what you just did...?" You ended your sentence in a question. Unintentional but perhaps necessary since you didn't know if he even did anything to you.

Another brief silence. However, this time, the prince seemed gracious enough to answer your question.

"Your button was undone." Xion pointed out.

You blinked.

My button....?

Then a thought occured to you and you reached behind your back. There, at the opening for your head, just below your nape, you felt a little button that you had managed to miss when you were putting on the dress.

"I saw it before you put on your veil." Xion was being extra talkative right now, having just said two sentences back to back.

"I see. How did I miss that....Thank you, your highness." You smiled in embarrassment. The tension in your shoulders dissipated as you heaved a silent sigh of relief. Glad to know he wasn't planning on hurting you or anything of the sorts. You weren't sure why he was still here in the first place despite already excusing himself but then again, you're not familiar with the palace's layout so maybe there's something at the other end of this hallway or maybe even beyond it. It was hard to say.

"If nothing else, your highness, please excuse me. I need to get back to the ballroom." You quickly bowed and stepped aside, eager to leave and get away from him.

"Please wait, Messiah."

Xion's arm appeared before you, stopping you in your tracks.

You glanced at him in confusion.

What now...?

Xion was quiet as he stared at you and that's when you notice something swirling in his eyes. Something that wasn't there before. It wasn't devoid of emotions like earlier. You could see...

Caution.

He seemed...cautious of you.

But that doesn't make sense. Why would he be cautious of me?

Before your thoughts could go further, the prince opened his mouth. "Why were you staring at me?" He took a step towards you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, not expecting a question, much less a confrontation from him. "S-sorry?" You stuttered in response, your mind still in denial of what he was referring to, too afraid to accept the fact that he may have noticed.

"Back when you were having tea with the Queen. I noticed you looking at me. May I know why?" His voice was low and cold. He had asked a question but you knew that that didn't mean he gave you a choice.

You swallowed nervously as you looked up at him. You tried to think of a reason to excuse your suspicious behaviour. There was no way you could tell him the literal god this kingdom worships told you to be weary of him. You weren't even sure how he found out in the first place. You made sure to be discreet about it and you wore your veil to cover your eyes from view. The chances of catching you watching him were low and yet...

"..." You opened and closed your mouth, no words finding their way up your throat.

Crap, I'm blanking.

"Messiah..." Xion muttered under his breath and suddenly, his face appeared inches away from yours. His blood red eyes seemed to pierce through your veil as he gazed directly at you.

You instinctively took a step back in fear.

Bad move.

Noticing your retreat, Xion advanced towards you, making you back up until you finally neared the wall.

You gasped as you bumped into a vase placed beside the wall. Your hand shot towards the tall vase, grabbing it and stopping it from toppling over. It was heavy, having been filled with dirt to nurture the greenery planted within it. You gripped onto it hard, trying desperately to steady the wobbling vase.

Before you could even recover from the panic of almost breaking the royal family's belonging, Xion's hand slammed the wall beside him.

Bang!

You jumped, you feet accidentally kicking the vase. The vase slipped from your hands and came crashing down to the floor.

You winced as the vase shattered into pieces, the sound akin to a jab to your eardrums as you cringed. The dirt poured out and the plant laid on the floor, its roots exposed with the shards of the broken vase around it.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage, panic rising inside you. You held back the urge to curse as you swallowed, looking at the mess you created.

"Why were you staring at me, Messiah?" Your heart nearly jumped out from your chest when Xion whispered into your ear, his hot breath uncomfortably fanning it.

"..."

whatdoidowhatdoisaynonononononoidontwanttodiepleasegodsavemesomeonesavemezephyrcalerushelpidontwanttodieiwanttogohomeletmeleavedontkillmepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

I don't want to die.

"Messiah-ilikeyoursuit." Xion raised an eyebrow at your mumbling.

"Pardon?" "I like your suit." You repeated, your gaze still cast downwards at the ground.

Xion knitted his eyebrows.

"What does that mean?" He sounded skeptical.

"..." You were quiet and Xion was about to press you again when you let out a string of sentences, bombarding him with information.

"I think it's nice. I like the design. I like the style. The colour matches you. It looks good on you. It makes you look cool. I'd like something similar for myself." You blurted out in rapid succession.

Your mind had gone into autopilot mode when the fear overwhelmed all your senses, making you spew out random nonsense. You wanted to kick yourself for saying something so dumb but to your surprise, it seemed to have worked in your favour.

"..." Xion stared at you incredulously, his mouth slightly agaped.

He suddenly backed away, his hand on the wall returning to his side as he narrowed his eyes at you. You stared back silently, your mind still recovering from the intense moment beforehand. You breathed shakily as you waited for him to make his next move.

"..."

None of you said anything.

It wasn't a hard conclusion to make that the prince of Ebreau was a man of few words. Ever since your meeting this morning, he had been quiet, silently observing and listening from the sidelines as you interacted with other people in the palace. Even when he did talk, it was only a few short sentences. He was reserved but never at a lost for words.

However, for once, he seemed speechless.

For once, you could garner something from his expression. He was thinking. So very clearly thinking. He was considering what course of action to take.

You prayed he would consider letting you off the hook.

The prince looked away briefly before meeting your eyes once more...

A small smirk spreading across his lips.

Blood drained from your face.

"You are...quite humourous, Messiah." Xion scoffed as he shook his head. "Unfortunately, this uniform was custom made for me and me only so you can't get one yourself." He explained coldly before turning away.

"I wish you a good afternoon, Messiah. I await your performance tonight." With a few short sentences, he was gone again, leaving you alone in the hallway with your thoughts and the thumping of your heart in your chest.

You watched as his silhouette got smaller and smaller down the hallway before finally disappearing. You clenched your fists by your side.

Xion...

Just what are you planning?

Another voice rang in you head alongside yours.

"Well done, lamb."

~✟~

You flopped down on the comfy bed, your legs hung over the edge as you sighed.

This was it. The ceremony was just another 2 hours or so away. The sun dipped below the horizon outside the window of the guest room, dying the evening sky orange. Your last practice session had gone well with you doing the entire dance while in full ceremonial attire.

Your hands reached up to rub your eyes before blinking multiple times in quick succession to get the exhaustion out of them. Looking through your veil put a lot of strain on your eyes. The pixelated world seen from within your veil made your eyes constantly work overtime just to ensure you could see everything around you and make correct judgements in situations. Times like these when you didn't have it on were a blessing for your eyes, like a long awaited and very overdued vacation from their job.

You turned your head towards the clothing rack beside the dresser. Your ceremonial robe hung neatly on a hanger and beside it, your new modified veil. The veil was made shorter in front, covering only until just above your lips and long in the back like usual. Golden brown tassels were sewn on at the ends of the veil, both front and back to add some weight to the fabric.

Zephyr really was a life saver. You're not sure how or where he managed to get a tailor to accept such a sudden commission but somehow he did and you're grateful he returned with a much more practical veil for dancing. It made the dance that much easier now that you weren't constantly struggling to just breathe.

You were escorted out of the ballroom at around 3 in the afternoon. The workers in the palace had to get the last bit of the decorations set up and preparations done before guests arrived so you needed to get out of there around then or else you'd risk making their job harder. It was about time you get some rest too before your big night so you complied without much thought.

And thus, you have been spending the past hour or so fretting over the ceremony tonight. This was a big deal and no matter how much preparation you've done, it just didn't feel enough.

Maybe your footwork could use some more polishing or maybe your arms needn't be so stiff or maybe you could smile a bit more or maybe-

"Ugghhhh!" You huffed out loud in frustration as your hands went to your face. This was so nerve-wrecking.

Can I just bail tonight? I'm sure Zephyr can help me come up with an excuse.

You looked towards the opened window, peeping through the gaps between your fingers. Perhaps you could jump out? The entrance gate is just across the palace garden. Wait, no. You're on the 3rd level. You'd die if you vaulted out of here.

A soft breeze blew through the window, fluttering the curtains as another idea popped into your head.

Maybe I could tie together the curtains to make a rope, do this the Hollywood way. Ah, but it won't be long enough... Oh, oh! Maybe I could use the bed sheets and carpet and-

Your grand escape plan was suddenly interrupted by a knocking on the door.

That must be the maid.

You got up from the bed. Marika had assigned a maid of hers to help with dressing you up for the ceremony tonight. Even if it was kinda redundant since you can dress yourself just fine and don't really need any make-up or hair styling (you were going to be wearing a veil so nobody would see it anyway), it wouldn't hurt to have someone do it for you while you did some final mental preparation for later.

Your hand reached for the door and pulled it open.

"Hello, Messiah."

The girl's silky voice greeted your ears as the top of her head came into view the moment you swung open the door. Her black bangs hung over her eyes and framed the side of her face, obscuring her face from your gaze.

"Hello. Please come in." You greeted back and gestured for her to come in. The maid rose to a standing position but continued to keep her head low as she stepped into the room, her hands gripping a brown bag in front of her, which you assumed to contain the make-up she'll use.

She walked towards the dressing table and placed the bag on the surface before standing aside, head still bowed as she stood in wait for you to sit down. You quickly shut the door and scurried over, taking a seat at the dressing table.

The maid reached into her bag before circling around to your back and began to comb your hair using a brush, getting all the knots out. After that, she took out a small bottle and sprayed some of the liquid inside onto her hand before rubbing it into your hair. The sweet fragrance wafted from behind you and into your nostrils.

Lavender.

You played with your fingers as you sat still, letting the maid do her work. No words were exchanged between the two of you. Out of boredom and perhaps some curiousity, you decided to start a conversation.

"What's your name by the way?" You looked at her reflection behind you in the mirror. She was looking down, focusing on your hair as she began styling it. Her hands worked diligently, twisting and tying your strands.

She paused, not expecting you to strike up a conversation.

"...I'm Erna."

She replied softly, her gaze still casted downwards.

Silence fell over you two again as the conversation ended as soon as it started.

"..."

She's so quiet.

You felt her continuing to do your hair, making no effort to carry on with the conversation. You sighed quietly as you hung your head, ultimately deciding to just keep to yourself and let her work in silence.

What's Zephyr doing right now...?

Your thought drifted to the saint as you tried to find something to ponder about. It's rare that he's not with you right now. Wherever you went, he always seemed to be by your side and ready to assist you in any way he can. In fact, it was weirder now without him around.

He will be attending tonight's ceremony too, right?

He probably will. Unless there's something he has to attend to in the background as the initiation proceeded, he'll watch...hopefully.

You really hope he does. You can't promise you'll do well during the dance. Heck, you can't even guarantee you won't collapse from the sheer stress. You needed him to save you if the worse came to pass, save you from the embarrassment and/or potential concussion.

Crap, I really don't want to do this...

You fidgeted nervously in your seat, rubbing your hands together as you suppressed the nausea bubbling inside. You took a deep breath.

In and out. In and out. In-

Your thoughts were cut short when you suddenly felt a breath hit your neck. Instinctively, you turned your head and you jumped in your seat at the foreign face in front of you.

Erna's green eyes stared into your golden ones, stoic and cold was her gaze as she breathed down your neck.

!!!

You wanted to ask what she was doing but before any words left your mouth, you saw the blood drain from Erna's face and she suddenly collapsed onto the floor, screaming hysterically.

"AAAHHHHHH! NO! NO!" Erna's voice pierced through the silence, her hands on her face, grasping at her eyes almost like trying to gauge them out.

"T-there's no way! It can't be! NO!" The girl continued to babbled on. She was shaking, her entire body convulsing beside you on the floor. You were in shock but it didn't take long before your body leapt into action on its own, jumping out of your seat and kneeling down on the floor beside the (you assumed) fear-striken girl.

"Erna, what's-I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY!" You reached for her shoulder, wanting to comfort her and understand what the heck was going on but before you even made contact, Erna pressed her head to the ground as she screamed out apologies. Her sobs were clear as she took pauses between her words, breathing heavily in before choking out her sentences once more. As it went on, her yelling began more and more incoherent and her words muddled until unintelligible.

"Erna...!" You tried to snap her out of it, raising your voice, hoping she would stop. However, to your dismay, it seemed to trigger her even more as her sobs quickly became desperate cries.

"I'M SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I DIDNT KNOW! I WAS MISLED! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! IM SORRY! I WAS WRONG!" The girl screamed her heart out as she continued to cry. Her nails digging into the carpet below her, causing her knuckles to turn white.

Thump, thump, thump!

Footsteps echoed from outside the doors, coming down the corridor and getting closer to your room. The commotion in here must have caught someone's attention.

You continued to try and calm Erna down from this sudden mental breakdown but to no avail. Anything you do, no matter how big or small, it always seemed to have the opposite effect of what you wanted. Erna continued to cry out, her voice becoming hoarse and raspy from the strain she put on it.

"I'M SORRY! PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY...CALERU-What's going on in here!?" A guard bursted through the doors. His eyebrows knitted and his arms tensed, ready to strike any perpetrator on sight.

"I-I don't know! She just suddenly started screaming!" You tried to explain despite also being in shock at the situation. The guard looked at the curled up Erna on the floor before at you. You braced yourself, knowing how bad this looked. Two people in one room, the only exit and entry points being a door leading to a corridor that is guarded and a window that is 3 stories up, the logical conclusion that everyone would jump to is pretty cut and dry.

However, you didn't hear any "Hands where I can see them!" or "Back away from the girl!" or any other aggressive commands from the guard. The moment you two locked eyes, the guard froze, his eyes going wide just how like Erna's did moments ago but instead of falling down and screaming his head off, he just stood at the doorway, one hand over his mouth as he stared incredulously at you.

Oh no, what now?!?

You panicked. The intense gaze of the guard that seemed to bore into your soul paired with ear piercing screams of Erna were overloading your senses. Your heart raced inside of your chest, the sheer absurdity of the situation was making you blank once more. What should you do? What could you do?

Sweat beaded down your forehead as you contemplated what to do.

I...I...?!

Your train of thought was suddenly cut short as you were pulled onto your feet abruptly. Hands tugged at your upper arms as they hoisted you up, even making you stumble in the process from the sheer speed and force. Before you even recovered, you felt a warmth embrace you as the hands wrapped around your body. One of the hands even pressing your head against the soft fabric of its owner's clothes.

"Are you alright, Lady (y/n)?"

You craned your head up as you heard the all too familiar voice. The concerned face of the kingdom's beloved saint stared down at you, his eyebrows knitted gently and his lips turned downwards into a small frown as he held you close.

Saved!

You cheered internally as you buried your head into Zephyr's chest. Your hands shakily reached up and wrapped around him, returning the embrace as your fingers gripped onto the back of his robes for solace. The scent of Zephyr's hair wafted into your nostrils, calming your mind and slowing your pounding heart.

"Sir, please take this maid to get help. I'll stay with the Messiah and help her get ready." Zephyr said to what you assumed to be the guard at the door.

"I..y-yes, of course, Saint Zephyr." Footsteps came into the room and you heard some shuffling before shortly after, the footsteps led out again. Erna's crying still rang clear in your ears but they grew softer and softer as the the sound of soles clacking against the ground got further and further away before finally...

Silence.

"..."

Zephyr sighed.

You felt his hand gently caressing your head as he whispered.

"Let's get you ready, Lady (y/n)."

You nodded slowly against his chest.

You felt safe.

Zephyr was here.

There was nothing to be afraid anymore.

~✟~

The chatter of hundreds of guests came from within the ballroom, their voices muffled by the closed wooden door before you as you stood in wait for your time to enter. Beyond the closed doors, you could hear the clinking of champagne glasses, the sound of joyous laughter and the beautiful pieces of music performed by the orchestra the palace had hired. It was lively inside with every guest present eagerly awaiting the main attraction of this evening's ball.

You took a deep breath and exhaled.

The time was nigh.

You cracked your neck and rolled your shoulders, getting the tension out and helping you relax before your big performance. This was no time for stiff bones after all. As if on cue, you heard Queen Marika's voice boomed from beyond the door and you immediately straightened your back.

"Welcome, children of Ebreau. It is a wonderful night this evening for we shall be witnessing a monumental moment in our kingdom's long history..." The Queen gave her speech but you toned it out midway through (Sorry, Marika.). You did one final recall as you reconfirmed all of your dance steps and positions for each of them.

This is it. This is it.

You felt like you were gonna pass out with all the blood rushing to your head from the anxiety of everything but you couldn't deny you felt a tinge of...happiness and pride. With this ceremony, you would be officially heralded as Ebreau's Messiah and be one of the people who would lead it. You're not sure if this strong feeling of love for this nation that you didn't even originate from, heck, this nation that you didn't even want to live in in the first place, was false or not but you knew for a fact that you wanted to help it. Maybe you were being brainwashed by Calerus to love Ebreau so you'll sacrifice yourself for it or maybe you've just developed a saviour complex after being treated as such, you're not entirely sure. You just know that you want to make Ebreau better. You want to make the lives of the folks here better. You want to help Zephyr. Especially after all he's done for you. He gave you his all and you will do the same,

You must do the same.

"Do not let thyself be shackled by deeds of the past, lamb."

No matter how many times this has happened, you don't think you could ever get used to Calerus suddenly speaking to you out of nowhere.

"Intentions determine the nature of a deed, not the action itself."

You knitted your eyebrows.

Where did that come from?

You weren't not sure why Calerus decided to randomly give you a life lesson before your initiation. You wanted to ask for his reasoning but you held back. Based on past experiences, you know he won't reply anyway so you just kept it in mind for now. You can ponder about it later.

"...now, let us celebrate the coming of our prophesied Messiah!"

"That was your cue, Messiah." A pair of hands suddenly fell on your shoulders as Marika concluded her speech. You jolted in surprise as you turned your head back and were met face to face with red eyes.

Xion?!

The prince towered over you as he stared down intensely at you, seemingly searching for your eyes behind the cover of your veil. His breath fanned your face as he continued.

"Good luck."

Xion stepped back, leaving you confused in place. Why was he here? Shouldn't he also be in the ballroom right now? And why was he...

Smiling?

A chill went down your spine at the sight of Xion's lips curling ever so slightly upwards.

You had so many question you wanted to ask but in a similar fashion, they went unvoiced and unheard for the moment you opened your mouth, the doors to the ballroom creaked open and...

A hand pushed you in from behind.

~✟~

You stood in front of Marika. She was seated in her throne beside the king's which was left unoccupied. She smiled early at you as she nodded, acknowledging your presence.

"..."

You reminded quiet. Talking wasn't part of your initiation procedure. The walk to the thrones from the ballroom's entrance was a long one, made longer by the scrutinising gaze and hushed whispers of judgement from the attending guests. From the way their gaze would flicker back and forth from you and how they tried to hide their mouth when they spoke, it wasn't hard to surmise what they were doing.

You tried to ignore them.

Just do your part.

You bowed your head and curtsied slowly, paying your respects ot the queen. Picking up the sides of your dress and bending your knees, you held that position as you waited for the music yo start and for your cue to begin your performance.

Here goes nothing.

The first notes of the piece. Slow and melancholy, the piano sounded out.

You rose from your curtsy, unhurried and measured. Your head remained bowed, looking down at the ground before tilting it slowly to the side and then back up, facing forward once more.

Violins. Questly weaving themselves into the melody, accompanying the lone piano.

You lifted your right arm to your chest before turning to face the guests, stretching out your lifted arm as you did so, letting it lead your movements.

You returned your arm back to to its place before again, you bent your knees and curtsied in the direction of the guests.

The duet of the piano and violins softly faded out as they held the last note of the bar.

You rose from your curtsy one last time, counting the resting beats in your heart.

...6...7...8.

8 resting beats and then you jumped into action. Literally.

You hopped in place before doing a chassé forward and into first arabesque. Closing your feet back together, you followed the tune of the flutes as it carried you through your pas de valse, your eyes following the movement of your hands just as Zephyr had instructed you during practice.

The harmony of the music accompanied you as you glided across the floor, spinning with control and grace. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears and blood rushed to your face, both from the dancing and nervousness. You tried your best to stay calm as you performed an assemblé before slowly rising from the plié.

The music swelled as it slowly began to reach its climax.

Just a little more...

Another spin before you swung your arms up from your sides to beside your head as you lifted your gaze up towards the ceiling. The crystal chandelier dazzled brightly in the air almost as if it was a star in the night sky. If you were outside right now, you would be looking at the sky, perhaps even into the eyes of The Prosperous Lord himself. Maybe that was the point of this move. To lock eyes with the god of this kingdom and swear eternal servitude to him. Who truly knows?

A slight slow in the music and you dropped into a deep curtsy, arms resting at your sides as your head bowed in unspoken submission. The last note rang, low and long as tension permeated through the ballroom.

"..."

You held your breath as you stayed in your position.

Did...I mess up?

You swallowed nervously as the silence in the room nearly deafened you.

Then, a clap came from behind you. Followed by another to your side and among the audience. Slowly, more guests followed along and it wasn't long before the ballroom erupted into a thunderous applause.

You physically felt all the tension leave your body as you breathed a sigh of relief before standing back up.

I did it...it's done. It's finally done!

You couldn't help the smile that made it's way onto your face. All of your hardwork paid off! It didn't go to waste! You...you did it!

You were still high on the glory when Marika interrupted your celebration. "That was a beautiful performance, Messiah." She smiled at you as you turned to face her. "Thank you for your hardwork and here's to a fruitful collaboration in the futur-"

You were suddenly pulled onto the ground.

"Ahh!!" You screamed as you collided with the floor-

Wait, no.

Someone's chest.

You slid across the floor with the person beneathe you, shielding you from impact. Gasps and shouts of terror came from the audience around you as the two of you finally came to a stop on the floor.

You looked back at your original position. An arrow was lodged into the ground. Its tip buried into the now broken floor.

What on earth...?

You furrowed your eyebrows as confusion washed over you.

Realisation came late but only because you refused to acknowleged the truth.

Someone wanted to assassinate you.

Your breath hitched in your throat. If this person didn't pull you aside...

That might have been it for you.

The person beneathe you shifted, slowly sitting up as they continue to hold you close.

You finally turned your gaze back to your saviour, wanting to thank them. However, the words got caught in your throat as you locked eyes with them and realised who it was.

Ocril?!

The person who saved you just now....was your ex-boss?????

He's the captain of the Ordo and likely the one who gave the green light to allow you to work as the Ordo's errand girl. The few years you've been there, you've rarely ever seen him, let allow talk to him. He was at the pinnacle of the hierarchy while you were at rock bottom. There were never any situations where your paths would have crossed.

Though from what you heard from the other guards, he's a rather quiet person, distant even but not cold. He'll never refuse to help someone in need even if he may seem a bit apathetic.

This information has always been word of mouth so you were never able to confirm nor deny it but looking at the black haired man in front of you now, you saw the protectiveness behind his blue eyes as he hid you behind his back.

His gaze narrowed as he glared at a slightly opened window high on the wall, a glint of rage swirling in his eyes.

"Are you alright, Messiah?"

Ocril asked, eyes still glued to the high window.

"I-yes. T-thank you for saving me." You replied, still flustered and shocked by the current situation.

The captain glanced back at you briefly before standing up, his hand on the hilt of his sword fastened to his side.

"Guards!" Queen Marika shouted, standing up from her throne before rushing over to you. At the same time, another familiar voice called for you from behind.

"Lady (y/n)!" You felt Zephyr's arms wrapped around you as he hugged you tightly. "Are you alright?" Zephyr asked frantically. He seemed out of breath, probably from running over due to the commotion started.

"I'm okay." You nodded, reassuring Zephyr as you pushed yourself back onto your feet. Queen Marika arrived too as she helped you up despite your protests.

You felt Ocril's gaze on you the whole time, glancing back at you silently. If he had something to say to you, he never did.

Your disorientation was short-lived as your attention was immediately drawn back by the terrified screams of the guests in the ballroom. To your horror, masked figures began jumping down from the windows, weapons in hand. Some held bows, others held daggers as they landed on the floor of the ballroom.

Chaos ensued immediately.

The guests made mad dashes towards the doors, all wanting to escape before things got bloody or worse, before their lives were targeted. Royal guards were quick to crowd around you and your little group, swords drawn and ready to defend three of the most important figures in Ebreau.

The intruders began their attack. The archers stayed at the back as they aimed to thin out the defense and divert the focus of the surrounding guards, hoping to give an opening to their allies who held daggers to go in for the kill.

Cling!

Ocril deflected an arrow coming towards him with his sword. More royal guards came into the ballroom as they joined in to fend off the attackers. Metal clashed together as the guards around you swung at the enclosing figures but was blocked by the attackers' own weapons. The sharp sound pierced your eardrums, making your ears ring uncomfortably.

Zephyr held you close. His hand grasping yours in a death grip, afraid you'll get separated from him. Queen Marika gritted her teeth and knitted her eyebrows beside you. Her usually soft features hardening as she watched the onslaughts, mind racing with how to resolve this situation.

The guests continued to flee, their shoes clanking loudly against the floor as they tried to escape. However, they were not spared the fury of the intruders. Some of the hooded figures went after them, dragging them back into the ballroom and hurting them as they refused cooperation. Royal guards came to the rescue but not before the attackers had already injured them, splattering their blood on the marble floor.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you held back a gag, terrified by the sight.

"Lady (y/n)!"

Zephyr yanked you back by the hand, just in time as a knife swung at you but missed by an inch. Your eyes widened as you narrowly escaped potential death (or potential disfigurement).

You didn't even get the chance to thank Zephyr for saving you when he, himself came under attack. One of the hooded figures had broken through the guards' defense and swung their dagger at Zephyr. Fast on his feet, Zephyr dodged the attack, sidestepping the figure before swiftly kicking them in the back of their knees, causing them to fall and drop their dagger. He kicked the dagger away before the figure had a chance to pick it back up.

You couldn't help but be amazed. You didn't know Zephyr had moves like that.

The guards' defenses were strong but not impenetrable. Openings for a breakthrough were small and rare but the attackers took every opportunity. With enough tries, 2 of them managed to breach the line of guards and came towards you and Queen Marika.

They swung as you both dodged, though each with varying degree of ease. In a flash, Queen Marika's hand shot towards one of assailant's wrist, grabbing on tightly and stopping them from attacking before promptly disarming them with her other hand.

!!!

Did everyone here know self defense except for you?!??!

Another attacker broke through the defense and went for Zephyr. Left to your own devices, you raised your arms in front of you out of pure instinct as you desperately tried to protect yourself.

The hooded figure was relentless in their attack, swinging and slashing at you nonstop, leaving you with no choice but to keep backing away.

You felt something pierce the skin on your forearm before a sharp stinging pain began to spread from there.

You hissed in pain as your held your forearm, feeling warm blood oozing out of the cut and staining your sleeve. While you were distracted by the pain, the assailant took advantage of the moment and swung down at you.

You were running high on adrenaline, your instincts to survive going into overdrive mode as you grabbed their hand without even thinking, hoping to stop them from hurting you. Good news, it worked. Bad news, they retracted their hand before swinging again immediately and this time, you didn't have the chance to block.

Your attacker slashed upwards at your face. You tried to pull your head back from the blade but before you even knew what was happening, your veil had been slashed apart from the bottom near your lips up to your left eyebrow.

"Ah!"

You cried out in pain as your hands went to your face, feeling the same warmth and wetness from earlier dripping down your cheek and staining your fingers.

Blood.

You weren't sure where the wound was. Was it just around your eye or was your left eye now permanently messed up. You didn't know. The pain was agonising as you groaned and began to tear up from it.

This was messed up. Why was this happening?

What have you ever done to them to deserve this kind of treatment?

Who even were these people?

Why you?

Why the guests?

Why did they hurt everyone?

The figure raised their dagger high, aiming the point at your head.

"DIE!"

They plunged the dagger down to deal the final blow.

"!!!"

The dagger stopped in midair as the attacker froze.

You glared at the figure through the gaps between your fingers, teeth gritted and eyebrows knitted. Your blood dripped from your hand as you slowly staggered towards them.

You weren't thinking clearly. Your rationality having completely been thrown out the window as your emotions took over. A lump formed in your throat as you stifled the urge to scream and lash out. Your hands were shaking but not from fear.

You shook from pure, unadulterated rage.

These uninvited intruders dared to barge in and ruin your initiation that you prepared months for before proceeding to attack anyone and everyone on sight, not even sparing the innocent guests.

Perhaps if it had been just you who was targeted, you wouldn't have been so furious.

Perhaps you would have understood where they were coming from if no one else was hurt.

Perhaps you-

No.

Perhaps these people don't deserve your mercy.

Whatever grudge they had with you, however deep their hatred for you ran, it was no excuse to come for your neck. It was no excuse to jump the peace talks and resort to violence. It was no excuse to hurt others, innocent or not.

There was no excuse.

You raised your hand, curling your fingers into a fist.

I will cleanse this nation of its filth until only the beautiful remains. And until the garden of Eden appears once more, I will not stop, for the foundation of this paradise...

You swung your fist.

"Will be the blood of your kind."

You punched the figure in the face.

"Ack!"

You heard the figure gasped before falling to the ground.

"..."

Your senses came back to you as the rush of adrenaline passed. You backed away quickly, putting as much distance between you two as fast as you can before they can recover and attack again.

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as you saw the figure pushed themselves onto their knees, one hand holding their face.

Suddenly, an arm appeared before you. You looked up and saw...Ocril. He shielded you behind him as he watched the figure scrambling on the ground in front of you, sword at the ready to defend you in his other hand should the figure attack again.

However, that seemed unnecessary.

The figure pressed their head to the ground as they started screaming.

"FORGIVE ME! I'M SORRY! PLEASE HAVE MERCY! HAVE MERCY!"

Everyone stopped and looked at the figure on the ground, including the other intruders. The figure continued to scream and you could hear the start of a nervous breakdown in their voice.

"I DIDNT KNOW! I WAS FOOLISH! FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME! MY LORD, PLEASE HAVE MERCY!"

Everyone stared on dumbfounded. The other intruders being especially confused by their ally's behaviour.

Another one of the hooded figures broke through the defenses of the guards and came to their ally's side.

You couldn't hear what they whispered to the other but you doubt they said much as they were immediately pushed to the ground by their ally.

The figure continued screaming and this time, you could tell they were crying.

"CALERUS, WE'RE SORRY FOR DOUBTING YOUR WILL! HAVE MERCY ON US! I BEG OF YOU! WE'RE SORRY!! HAVE MERCY!"

The figure's companion looked at them quizzically.

The stalemate between the guards and intruders was quickly broken soon after when a group of guards tackled some distracted figures and pinned them to the ground. The fight resumed but this time, the intruders seemed to be backing off.

The two figures in front of you scrambled to their feet(well, more like one of them dragged the other onto their feet) as they tried to fight their way out this time around. Ocril gave chase, leaving you in your place after a brief glance back at you to make sure you're alright.

Immediately after Ocril left, Zephyr rushed back to your side.

"(Y/N)!"

He hugged you tightly before noticing the blood on your face and gasping in horror.

"You're hurt! And what happened to your veil?!" Zephyr asked frantically as he held your face in his hands. He wiped some of the blood off your face with his fingers as he began to apologise profusely, "I'm sorry i didn't protect you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

As cold as this may seem, you couldn't help but wonder what was up with people apologising over and over again to you today. Zephyr was already the third one within the last 24 hours.

Looking up at him, you noticed tears beginning to form in his eyes. In a daze, you reached up and wiped his tears away with your sleeve. "You tried your best. I understand, Zephyr." you mumbled softly to him.

That seemed to have the opposite effect on Zephyr as more tears welled up in his eyes. He pulled you close and clung to you tightly, wrapping his arms around you as he silently cried. You felt his tears wetting your shoulder as he buried his face there.

You returned his hug and patted his back as you waited for him to calm down.

Zephyr must have been worried sick about you...

After a while, Zephyr reluctantly pulled away, breaking the hug. However, he still clung to your hand as he began to recompose himself.

The ballroom was a mess.

Although the intruders had already either fled or been captured, damage had still been done. Some unlucky guests who were targeted by the figures sat to the side of the ballroom as guards tended to their wounds, their sobs loud enough to be heard from the other side of the room. The floor was splattered with blood, belonging to both attacking intruders and defending guards alike. Swords and arrows laid scattered and broken on the ground, a stark reminder of what just transpired.

"..."

You couldn't believe this had happened.

"(Y/n)."

You weren't given much time to wallow in despair at the devastating events that just happened. Queen Marika snapped you out of your thoughts as she approached you. You noticed a small cut on her upper arm but besides from that, she seemed unscathed. "Marika, are you alright?" You nevertheless asked out of formality.

The queen nodded before replying, "Yes. Thank you for asking especially when you seem to be in a worse state than me." She gave you a worried look, "I'll call for the royal physician to look at your wound. Hopefully it's nothing too serious..."

You nodded and thanked her for it. Before you were escorted away to have your injury checked and treated, Queen Marika began speaking again. "(Y/n), I know it's been a long night but...I must request that you extend your stay just a bit longer." You cocked your head to one side at her words. You thought you would be going back to the temple after this.

"May i know why?" you expressed your confusion.

Queen Marika sighed deeply as she looked down momentarily. "The situation...may be worse than I thought. I don't wish to push this burden onto you so soon but..." She trailed off.

"We must bring forward our meeting."

~✟~

I. Am. So. Sorry. This was supposed to go up months ago but life got busy and i got stuck at the final ballroom scene T-T Im sorry to everyone who waited so long for this chapter!!! but at least, this chapter is extra long compared to the previous ones so hopefully it will be enough satiate the hunger and quell the anger ^^;(jk) Glad i finally got it done though. been feeling really guilty about postponing this chapter for so long.

Thank you for reading and please tell me if you find any errors so i can correct them!

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