#\*i stare long and hard at the All Caste and Magic*

[kagekitsuneoflight]

It’s kinda funny that Jason is, in every sense of the word, the most normal Robin. Unironically, there wasn’t anything uniquely special about him before he was Robin. He was a street kid. His dad was a goon (which makes sense for Gotham. It’s a goon breeding ground) and his adoptive mom was a girl who fell in love with the bad boy, got disowned by her upper middle class parents and adopted her boyfriend’s infant son. Even his biological mother isn’t anything special! She was just a doctor who ended up becoming corrupt.

Jason Todd was no circus kid who could do an impossible signature trick. He wasn’t being scouted by some evil hidden organization.

He wasn’t the rich boy genius who lived next door.

He’s not the son of a supervillain (as lame as cluemaster is, he still *counts*).

He’s not the secret son of Bruce Wayne.

And he’s not a metahuman, nor did he led a whole organization of teens to fight when Batman couldn’t.

He’s the most regular boy to ever enter become a hero in Gotham. He wanted to do good things for the sake of doing good. He grew up poor with regular parents, where bad things happened to them. The kinds of things that could happen to *any* person living in Gotham.

There is nothing about him, pre-Robin and as Robin, that makes him Not Like Regular Kids.

His dad was a goon (who, depending on the run, was either killed by Two-Face OR. Just sent to prison and killed in prison! Which makes his backstory even PLAINER-) and his mother was a drug addict with cancer. Jason ends up homeless, and almost steals the bat mobile tires. The only thing that makes him stand out from any other tragedy befallen kid in Gotham is the fact he was bold enough to do that, get Batman’s attention, and continue to be bold enough to go against a crime lord (who was apparently his grandmother, the most interesting person in his family, but since she’s almost never brought up, she’s likely no more significant than a one-issue villain in the crime lord power hierarchy). Batman realized that Jason wasn’t going to really stop, and honestly he kinda grew on him, so he decided to adopt Jason, and eventually allow him to become Robin.

There just isn’t anything amazingly special about his backstory. The few moments where something could have been done to make it more interesting (like his biological mother) but ended up taking the most boring option. You can’t do much of anything now to enhance his past without upsetting much more well established canon, and not without making people wonder “well if his grandmother was such a big name in crime, why hasn’t she been brought up before?”

Jason Todd was a wonderful Robin (providing that he actually has a writer who likes him). He has a golden heart, he’s the voice of reason. He’s everything that a Robin needs to be for Batman. But compared to everyone else, he was nothing special. In a way, his lack of Not Like Regular Kids makes him stand out in a much more subtle way.

As if someone asked the question “Do I need to be someone special to be Robin?” And the answer was “You don’t need to be someone special, you just need to be brave, like Jason Todd was.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Surgery II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You have a special superpower

Mami says you have a superpower that makes you different from other children. She says it's why you fidget a lot and don't always have your listening ears on or why you abandon things in the middle of doing them to go and play with Bagheera or stare at the way the washing machine spins.

She calls it add but Ingrid corrects her every time because it's not add anymore, it's add with an h somewhere in it. You're not too sure how to spell it (or how to properly say it either) but Mami and Ingrid say it's your superpower.

You think it's a superpower too because it's why Mami and Ingrid first met.

You had been sitting in the canteen, furiously wiggling in your seat because it was lunch and Mami always told you that you can't run around at lunch.

That's hard because you felt all wiggly and you loved to move. So, instead, you had chattered Irene's ear off, mindlessly bouncing from topic to topic to topic.

Your mind flickered around as you wiggled more furiously before slipping off your seat when Irene looked away so you could bolt across the room.

Mami had rules about no running in the canteen but she always let you run in the corridors so you snuck out to do that.

That's where you first met Ingrid. She was tall and athletic with long black hair and she looked exactly like a Disney Princess. Your previous thoughts of running around were abandoned and forgotten the moment you saw her, lifting your arms to beg for uppies.

She gave them to you willingly back then and she does the same now.

You'd been playing around in the gym with Patri. She'd stacked those big foam block things very high, three of them one on top of the other. You climb up it for no reason at all.

It's a big drop but you don't think it's too far. Ingrid tells you to get down now. So, you take the fastest route to the bottom.

You jump.

You're not really too sure what happens after that. All you really know is your leg hurts and Mami is screaming. You think that's a little weird because Mami doesn't really scream unless she's scared.

You're kind of disorientated, drifting in and out of awareness for the next few hours. That's never really happened to you before. Your mind works quickly, bouncing up and down and rattling around when you're still for too long.

"'S a cast, Mami," You slur when you finally come back down to earth.

You don't like it. It encloses your leg and it's a little bit itchy.

Mami's at your bedside with Ingrid. "Yeah," She says," It sure is, cub."

You frown at it, wiggling your toes to make sure you still have them. "Do I not have a knee anymore? Like you?"

It's not completely true anymore. Mami's knee has nearly fully grown back now but it's still not finished yet. You wonder if your knee is gone now too.

"No, cub," Mami says," It's for your leg. You broke your bone jumping off the tower."

You think for a moment. You've never had a broken bone before even when you climbed to the very top of the slide at the park and jumped off.

You stare at the cast for a moment and then promptly burst into tears.

"Oh, cub," Ingrid coos. She picks you up as you make grabby hands because Mami is still technically injured and can't carry you. "It's okay."

You don't like the feeling on your leg and you whine. "Itchy!" You complain," Itchy!"

Mami and Ingrid exchange a look which you know means that you'll just have to live with it for the time being.

"Don't like it!" You insist.

"You can like it later," Mami says," Because you can get the girls to sign it and we'll draw some pictures on it. Won't that be fun?"

You nod pathetically, wiping your nose on Ingrid's shirt.

You never end up liking the cast.

Ingrid says that one of your special superpowers because of your add with an h somewhere is you get filled with the magic wiggles. Usually, that means you run around and laugh and scream with your toys. You still get filled with the magic wiggles but you can't run around so you kind of fidget in your seat and then cry.

That seems to get your wiggles out when you're done but it's not fun and it makes you very sad.

Mami and Ingrid don't like it either so when you get the magic wiggles Mami tries to get you to draw. She says it'll help and also make sure you don't injure your leg more by running around. You don't think she knows what she's talking about because you're the only one in the apartment that has the magic wiggles.

But you have them right now so Mami sets you up with a pencil and some paper and says to draw to get your wiggles out. You fidget in your seat as you doodle.

You're doing a lion cub because that's what you are.

Ingrid's the first person to call you lion cub, all the way back when she first picked you up in the hallway outside of the canteen.

She'd looked at your messy, wild hair and compared it to a lion's mane. She'd looked exactly like a Disney Princess at the time and you knew that Disney Princesses had animal friends so she knew what she was talking about. You'd listened to her talk about lions and their cubs all the way back into the canteen and then proudly pointed at Mami and said that she was your lion and you were her cub.

You've got a lion cub toy though. You can spy it in your play corner and you turn your head to look at it. You get up and stroke your hand over the fur before you dig in your plushie pile for your regular cat. It's black like Bagheera.

Bagheera's in the cat tree on the other side of the room so you drop the toy on the way over to say hi. She mews softly at you in greeting and then purrs. It's a little rumble in her chest that makes you giggle and finally notice the hum of the washing machine.

It vibrates the floor a little and you move towards it. You like watching it spin. It's fun.

You sit in front of it. Because of your cast, you can't sit criss-cross apple-sauce but you try to, leaving your injured leg sticking out straight because that's what Mami does when she needs to focus on regrowing her knee.

You should focus on regrowing on your leg but everything else is so interesting so it'll have to learn to do it all by itself like how it learnt to walk all by itself too.

You wiggle around as you watch the machine spin and spin and spin. giggling when you see some soapy water slam against the window panel.

"Oh, cub," Ingrid laughs, bending down to pick you up," Come on. You can't keep watching the washing machine."

"Why?"

Mami laughs too as you and Ingrid join her on the sofa. You stick your leg out like hers is and reach out to play with her hands because now your hands are all wiggly too. "I don't know how that thing keeps her entertained. All it does is spin."

"Is fun," You say with a little shrug. Most of your magic wiggles are gone and the ones left are in your hands but Mami is helping get rid of them.

You're sitting on Ingrid's lap, nice and warm against her. Ingrid helps a lot with your superpower. Her gentle hands scratch out your scalp as soon as your magic wiggles are gone and you go limp against her.

When she moves her hands away though, you get a bit annoyed and drag them back to where you want them.

"Sorry, cub," She laughs," Should I keep them there?"

You nod, shaking out your hair so it's like a mane again. "Feels nice."

"You heard her," Mami says," Get to it. It feels nice."

[spicyspiders]

before you know it, it's done

Ghost x male reader smut. AU where Ghost is a demon and the reader summons him because the spell said he would get three wishes. Warnings for smut and unprotected sex. I wanted to have this posted on my birthday on Saturday, but I was too busy.

It was surprisingly easy to find the spellbook you needed. The hardest part was picking out the chalk color you required. It didn’t say on the page so you wondered what color to pick. Would the demon want a neutral white color, or would it appreciate something more colorful?

“I’ve never seen that color before,” the demon says when it first appears. The color of his magic matched the color of the chalk you chose to use, a vibrant red color that stood out against the hardwood flooring of your bedroom. 

“It was one of the cheapest I could find,” you said in awe, looking up at the demon that stood before you. It stood tall on long legs that led up to a broad chest. On both sides of its chest were two muscular arms that led up to two broad shoulders. On its head was a mask that covered the entirety of its face, and on top was the face of a human skull. 

“It’s not real,” the demon said. 

You rose slowly onto your feet from where you had kneeled to cast the spell, “party city?”

“Excuse me?” The demon asked back. 

You shook your head, “nothing. So,” you said after a moment of staring at him, “do I get-”

“Your wishes?” The demon asked cutting you off, “you humans are so predictable,” the demon waved a hand dismissively in your direction. To your surprise, he stepped over the circle of chalk, past the runes you spent nearly an hour perfecting.

“How did-” you started to ask, but the demon cut you off again.

“Not bad for a beginner, but there are gaps in the binding circle,” the demon responded. It stepped past you and went for your bed and sat down. “I’ll give you your wishes, but there are rules.”

“Rules?”

“First: no wishing for more wishes,” the demon said angrily, “I fucking hate it when you try to do that. Second: I’m not raising the dead, nor am I killing anyone. Third-”

This time, you were the one to cut him off, “I just need my car fixed.”

This made the demon pause before busting out laughing, “your car, that’s it?” It asked after wiping a tear from its eye. 

“Yes? I mean, if I only get one wish, I’ll just wish for more money to fix my car and for the future if it breaks down again.”

“I’ll give you three.”

“Three?” You asked in disbelief, “is that the normal number you give people?”

“No, but you made a good first impression,” the demon looked over at the circle, “I like the color, it has me feeling,” he looked off, searching for the word, “generous.”

“Will my wishes be a trick? Like I’ll ask for something and end up getting something completely unrelated?”

The demon rolled its eyes, “that’s just a dumb stereotype you humans made up. If I wanted to trick you, I already would have. Plus, I can’t stand hearing you all bitch. You just need to be specific.”

You nodded, “how will I know if I’m being specific enough?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” the demon smirked. It pushed off your bed and stepped up into your personal space, “I could help make sure, you just have to let me in,” it said, face hovering close to yours. 

“How?” You whispered. 

“Just think of what you want,” the demon raised a hand and placed it on your temple. “There we go,” it said softly. Through the mask, its eyes flashed a bright color, nearly as bright as the chalk on your floor. 

The demon’s fingers were hot on your face, making it hard to keep your thoughts focused on what you wanted. A thud in the direction of your dresser pulled your attention away, and the demon chuckled lightly as you jumped at the noise. 

“But,” you stepped up to the pile of cash neatly stacked up, “I needed my car fixed,” you turned to face the demon. 

“It is fixed.”

“I used two wishes?” You asked in a disappointed voice. 

The demon waved a hand through the air, “two for one special.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “why?”

The demon ignored your question, instead, a slow smile stretched across its mouth, pulling at the fabric on top. It made you feel uneasy, “you had a hard time controlling your thoughts just now.”

“Sorry I’m having a hard time keeping my thoughts straight,” you grumbled, “this is all pretty new to me.”

The demon raised its hands out in surrender, “I’m not complaining. I was a man like you once, you know. I had my urges,” he finished in a low voice. 

You ignored the hot wave that ran through your body at the last word, “how long have you been in this… profession?”

He let out a laugh, “a long time now.”

“What’s your name?”

He rolled his eyes, “going to try and look me up on one of those apps you humans use?”

“No,” you answered too quickly to be convincing. 

He let out another chuckle and sat back down on your bed, “my name is Simon, though I do like the name Ghost.” He pulled your wallet out from seemingly nowhere, “and yours is,” he filled open the leather to fish out your license. 

“Hey! How’d you get that?” 

“It was right there,” Simon said, tossing your wallet back onto your bedside table. 

“Do I have to use my other wishes now?”

“No. All you have to do is call on me.”

“You have a cell phone?” You asked in disbelief. 

Simon let out another laugh. You liked his laugh and how smoky it sounded, “like with your first wish, you just have to think about me and I’ll show up,” he stood up and gave a dramatic bow and with that, he was gone in a bright glimmer of magic. 

-

The next time you called on Simon was an accident. He didn’t pop in with a flash of magic like how he had left, so it was dark in your room. The darkness was the perfect opportunity to catch you off guard. 

Your eyes had long adjusted to the dark of your room, so it was easy to pick up Simon’s. Simon’s eyes were reflective in the darkness, like an animal. 

You gave an upstroke to your hard cock, your eyes opening slowly as warm pleasure spread through your body. You jumped when you noticed his presence and quickly moved to cover yourself up. 

“You don’t have to stop on my account,” Simon purred. “Did you call me here because you need lube? Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”

“No,” you whispered. Your heart hammered in your chest, ringing loudly in your ears. 

“No?” Simon parroted, “you were just thinking about me?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you wished that the covers you pulled over your body would swallow you whole. Maybe that would be your next wish. You tried ignoring the way that your still-hard cock twitched when Simon stepped up to your bed. 

“I’m not angry,” Simon got on top of your body, his legs spreading to accommodate the space that your legs took up. He grabbed one of your trembling hands that rested on your chest and brought it down to his groin, “does that feel like I’m angry?”

The bulge under your fingers felt warm and heavy through the fabric of the pants Simon wore. “Oh,” you breathed and ran your hands across the fabric. 

“What were you thinking about?” Simon asked, he leaned down to bring his face close to yours, close enough to feel the puffs of his breath, but far enough to where your lips weren’t pressed together. 

You tried to lean up and close the distance, but Ghost pulled away, but he did lean down so he could press his lips to your cheek and then leaned over so he could whisper in your ear, “won’t you tell me? Please?”

“You. And what you look like under these clothes,” you managed to get out. Your fingers tightened by a small measure, feeling how his bulge continued to grow under them. 

“Good boy,” Simon responded. The second his words were out, you suddenly felt cold. Your clothes were gone and it only took a few seconds for your nipples to harden to match the state of your cock.

“Where did my clothes go?” And my blanket-” Simon stops your questions by swooping down and finally bringing your lips together. 

“That is really what you are worried about now?” Simon asked after he pulled away. 

“That comforter was expensive,” you responded with a pout. 

Simon leaned back down to kiss you until your pout was nothing but a memory. He nipped at your bottom lip, taking the flesh with him when he pulled back. 

Your eyes opened when he freed your lip from his teeth and like you, Simon was now naked. Clothes, balaclava, and all.

“I’ll give you whatever you desire after I fuck you,” Simon said, his words full of promise. The area of your room where you had drawn the runes to summon him glowed, its light spreading throughout your room and allowing you to see Simon in all his naked glory. 

Your attention was soon taken away when his hand made its way between your legs, his fingers going past your hard cock to go lower. You did, however, watch as his pec flexed as his hand moved. It finally ended up at your hole, his fingers already wet. 

“You already had lube?”

Simon smirked and ran a slick finger around your hole, “not exactly,” he answered. When you tried to open your mouth to question him, he pressed his lips to yours. He swallowed the noises you made when his tongue pressed inside your mouth, and like his slick tongue, his slick finger was making its way inside. 

He wouldn’t let you focus on trying to question him, his movements were deliberate in getting you ready. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders after running your hands up his big chest. Your hands squeeze at the hot skin as you try your best to quickly get used to the burn of his second finger making its way in.  

Simon’s fingers get wetter inside your body as he watches your face closely. It’s a new sensation, one that makes your cock twitch and let out a glob of precome. 

“You’re getting so wet for me,” Simon observes in a low voice. “Down here,” he holds himself up on his knees so he can use his other hand to skim his fingers over the head of your cock, “and down here.” He emphasizes his point by coating the inside of your hole with his fingers. A third joins the second, and they make fast work in pressing against your prostate. 

You’re hit with spikes of pleasure as his fingers press over the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Please,” you moan, not even sure what you’re asking for. You must send flashes of your thoughts of what you want to Simon because his fingers pull out and are replaced by the thick head of his cock. The head of it is wet, and you guess he used whatever he did on his fingers. You both groan as he teases you by rubbing the head against your entrance, smearing the wetness around. 

“I know, darling,” Simon whispers. He presses soft kisses to the heated, sweaty skin of your face as he slowly thrusts his cock inside. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, making it all the easier for his cock to find its way inside. You both let out a breath for he finally bottoms out, his balls pressing against your ass. 

Simon holds himself up on his strong arms when he pulls out after you’ve adjusted. He pulls out just as slow as he had initially gone in only to go right back in when the head presses against your hole. 

Like his fingers, his cock makes quick work of finding the bundle of nerves Simon’s fingers were just against. His cock is like a hot brand, carving out space every time he thrusts in. The feeling of it burns. One that burned with pain when it initially began, but soon was overtaken by pleasure. 

His cock makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside out. A feeling that begins in your groin as his cock finds your prostate over and over only to spread through the rest of your body. The heat makes your body sweat, making it difficult to keep your legs wrapped around his waist. 

“I’ve got you,” Simon murmurs before wrapping both hands around your waist. You let your legs relax, but still, keep them around his hips. The angle Simon holds your hips up at makes his cock go deeper, making you feel full. 

Simon brings his chest to yours so he can get his face close enough to kiss you. It’s wet and messy with a mash of lips, teeth, and tongue. Simon doesn’t go far when it’s over as he presses his face into the side of your neck. You hold his head in place by burying a hand in his hair as he begins to nip and kiss your neck.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, accompanied by the prickle of pain caused by his teeth on your neck. You let out moans that bounce off the walls of your bedroom, filling up the space. Filling up the space is also the glow of the runes, burning bright as Simon chases after his orgasm. 

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Simon comes with a long groan. The runes blaze as he comes deep inside you. The color casts a halo around Simon’s body, nearly silhouetting him. He looks like an angel, a thought that nearly pulls a hysterical laugh from your chest. 

The colors grow dimmer when Simon quiets down as he comes down from his orgasm. Your legs fall from his hips and as they come down, so does Simon. He wraps his arms around you and encases your body in his sweaty weight. 

Exhaustion hits you soon after and your eyes grow heavy. Your thoughts go to Simon right before you fall asleep, wondering if he’ll still be on top of you when you wake up. You fall asleep to the feeling of his arms tightening around your body and a pair of lips pressing a kiss to your neck.   

[mangomonk]

i've been dreaming

↳ summary: read this drabble and pt. 1 first! remus deals with the repercussions of falling in love too late. ↳ content: angst, happy ending, mentions of eating/sleeping properly ↳ a/n: get comfy, this is a long one! i really appreciated and loved each comment from pt. 1, it made my day to see y'all scream heartbreak. would love to hear your thoughts on this one : D anyways, i went back and forth on my characterization of remus a million times, but i hope this version of him resonates and i hope you enjoy :") tense/grammar is all over the place, minimal proofreading but i've stared at this for too long. p.s. i'm kinda proud af about connecting the titles, they're from ivy by frank ocean.

Remus has been dreaming. Every time she had looked at him, he had felt like he was dreaming.

There wasn't a moment in particular that Remus could name when he realized he wanted her to look at him. He was in the middle of it before he even knew he had begun, though maybe a part of him had known it would have been futile to resist when she looked at him like that.

Or maybe it had been an accumulation of moments of Remus longing for her to look at him.

Maybe it had been when they had started their fourth study date together when Remus had decided he needed to act like a normal person and have strict boundaries instead of casting sidelong glances at her over the top of his book. He couldn't help but look at her as he tried to figure out why in the world a girl like her would ever agree to date him in the first place — he had only really asked so that he could be rejected and put the whole thing behind him.

But it wasn't his fault that the more glances he stole at her, the more he noticed the way her expression changed with each new story she read. It wasn't his fault that her lips parted when she was concentrating too hard on Ancient Runes. It wasn't his fault that her lips were the same color as his mother's tulips. But she never noticed when — or how — he looked at her, to his mingled relief and disappointment. It wasn't his fault at all, he reasoned — anyone would notice these things if they just looked at her properly. It baffled him a little how no one else seemed to have noticed this things about her yet.

It had been that day that Remus had decided he needed to start acting normal. He needed to learn how to control his eyes before he bore holes through her face. So he had focused on reviewing his Magical Theory textbook. Even though he had been rereading the same line for over five minutes. Even though he was so painfully aware that if he moved his leg out just slightly, his knees would knock against hers. Even though he could begin to feel her glancing up at him from across the table. When had he become so attuned to her gaze?

But he hadn't looked up, frustratingly going against every fiber in his body, because he needed to be normal and have boundaries and this was temporary. Even if she was looking at him like that. Remus Lupin, with his ever so strong willpower, hadn't looked up to meet her not-so-secret secret glances and had scribbled a note on his scrap of parchment and slid it over.

Hogsmeade this weekend?

Or maybe it had been when they had gone to Hogsmeade, the first time they had done anything together outside of studying. Asking her to go was a stroke of madness, but Remus had reasoned it to be a healthy show of their relationship, no matter how temporary it was supposed to be. It wouldn't make sense if they were dating and only ever studied together, right?

Right.

He had thought about sending an owl to cancel, even as he tried on Sirius's shirt for the second time — the night before, he had come to the sobering realization that all his clothes were plain. He had thought about telling her that he caught a cold, even as he let James slather Euphemia's silkifying potions through his hair. He had still been thinking about canceling even as his feet took him to the entrance gate—

—and she had been wearing a skirt.

It had been one of those long and flowy Muggle skirts — Remus had never before paid attention to women's fashion, but after that moment, he realized that maybe he ought to subscribe to one of Lily's Witch Weekly magazines so that he could get her more skirts, or rather, more of anything, he thought she'd look pretty in anything. Had he said pretty out loud?

Remus Lupin didn't have butterflies in his stomach, he had damn hummingbirds.

"Hi," he had said, a little too tersely and sharply.

"Hi," she had said back, all smiles. Despairingly, he had noticed that she was wearing lipstick. When he stared at her a little dumbly and didn't say anything back, her smile turned nervous as she fidgeted with the collar of her blouse. Impulsively, his eyes darted to follow the motion. "So... Hogsmeade?"

He wasn't going to tell her she looked pretty because he had laid out his boundaries. And if he started, he would never stop— "You look preautiful," he had blurted, stricken.

Her eyes had widened a fraction before she broke into a laugh. A proper laugh, not the quiet, library huff type of laughs he had grown fond of hearing. The warmth in his chest had spread all over and it had felt like it got to his head as a fog, rendering him unable to think. Remus had no idea what to do with the new, dizzying knowledge that she looked absurdly stunning when she was laughing, but all he could think about during their walk to Hogsmeade was how he might make her laugh again.

Or maybe it had been the first time he had properly introduced her to the Marauders. She had stepped closer to him instinctively — perhaps nervously, because Sirius was staring at her too appraisingly with narrowed eyes — when the back of her knuckles had brushed against his. Remus had nearly jumped out of his skin. Sirius's gaze had darted to him swiftly, his gray eyes knowingly bright with interest.

"Pleased to meet you," Sirius had said a moment later, his face breaking into a warm smile, but Remus wasn't paying attention anymore. He was just trying to figure out how he might hook his pinky with hers.

All this to say that there hadn't been one particular moment Remus Lupin could have pinpointed that had sealed his fate of wanting to be under her gaze.

The first time she looked at him, it was the start of nothing and when she looked away that night, it was the end of everything.

Remus wished she yelled at him. Hell, he even wished she had called him a monster, cursed him, hexed him. Remus thought that he would have been happier if she looked at him with contempt and disgust in her eyes, which only weeks ago had been his greatest fear when he considered telling her about his lycanthropy. The thought back then had kept him up at night, but Remus found himself dreaming for it now. Anything if it meant that he didn't hurt her the way he had. He found himself dreaming that she would just look at him again.

If Remus thought he had been panicked that night, it was nothing compared to the next day when he realized she was avoiding him. She hadn't shown up to the Great Hall — Remus knew this because he got there the moment the doors opened to make sure to catch her — and she didn't show up to any of their classes for the remainder of the day. The Marauder's Map showed that she was unmoving in her dormitory. When Remus finally did catch sight of her the next day in the Great Hall, he burst to his feet but froze a moment later. She walked past him, her expression one of unfamiliar blankness.

"Y/N!" He called, lurching forward towards her.

When she turned away from him to avoid meeting his gaze, Remus felt something like dismay sink so heavily and swiftly in his chest, like a stone thrown into a calm lake. The idea that Y/N wouldn’t look at him again drove him half-mad with a panicked disquietude that sent him scrambling to find a way to talk to her again. 

He tried in the Great Hall, but she stopped coming. She would arrive just late enough that class would start and would disappear the moment class ended. She stopped going to the library. Even with the Marauder's Map, he had no luck. The closer he tried to get to her, the further she stayed away.

Remus thought he was dreaming when he saw her alone in the corridor one Hogsmeade weekend when he couldn't bring himself to leave.

"Y/N," he said instinctively, hopefully. She looked up, her surprised expression immediately shuttering close. "Can we talk? Just for a moment?" He asked, stepping towards her. When she didn't move away, he straightened, encouraged.

“I know,” Remus began, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back the jolt of despair when he realized that she still wasn't looking at him. The despair only grew into a gnawing worry when he noticed the way shadows lined her eyes, the planes of her face hollower. Was she taking care of herself? "I know you don't want to see me anymore, cariad, but—"

"You don't get to call me that anymore."

He sucked in a breath, steeling himself before continuing. "Okay," he whispered, "Okay. I know. And I'm sorry, Y/N. I've never been more sorry in my life. And I won't ever ask you to forgive me. But, but I'm selfish because I want you to know that it was real for me."

She looked like she was folding in on herself as she clutched her forearms. "It wasn't real. You don't actually like me, Rem— Lupin," she said evenly, her tone neither cold nor warm. "It could have been anyone else."

"No, I do, I do," Remus lurched forward, desperate and earnest and wishing. "I like you, and maybe it wasn't real in the beginning, but it's real now. Like isn't even a strong enough word for how I feel about you, Y/N. I lo—"

"Don't." At the harsh steeliness of her tone, Remus froze, stricken, his heart dropping to his feet. "Don't say it."

"But it's true," he whispered entreatingly, imploring her to look at him again. "It's been true for awhile now."

"I don't believe you."

Each word hit him in the chest like a sharp pang, the stricken feeling in his chest clenching around his heart. "Okay," Remus swallowed back the crumpling sense of despair as he nodded earnestly. "That's okay," he whispered, as if not to spook a wild animal. "I... I'll show you." He had so much he wanted to say, so much that he wanted to show her. If he had been honest since the beginning, he wouldn't have hurt her. But maybe if he was honest now, it wasn't too late — he could still fix things. "You have my heart, Y/N," he continued softly, "—and you can break it, if you want, if you'll give me another chance—"

"I don't need it," she said quietly, looking away from him again. "Nor do I want it."

— — — — —

Remus stopped dreaming as he stopped sleeping.

"You should get some sleep tonight, mate," James said as he edged near his friend. "Full moon coming up."

Remus grunted in his response as he continued writing at his desk.

"Prongs is right," Sirius agreed, exchanging a quick look with the others. "She'll come around soon, anyone with eyes can see how you look at her. And how she looks at you."

"Why don't you talk to her again?" James suggested gently as he sat on the edge of Remus's bed.

"She doesn't want to," Remus said quietly, a blot of ink pooling at the end of his quill as he tried not to think about their last conversation.

"Why not write her a letter then?" Sirius asked. "Look, Moony, we're worried about you..."

A letter, Remus thought dimly as he stared down at the parchment in front of him.

Cariad, he began before setting his quill down to stare at the word. The first time he had called her cariad had been a slip of tongue. When he was younger, before his father had burnt himself out trying to find a cure to his lycanthropy, his father used to call his mother cariad. It was like a gentle period at the end of each sentence, an endearment that said everything all at once.

It had slipped into the end of his sentence one morning when he had asked her if she wanted orange juice or apple juice. Maybe it was too early to confess love, but it had slipped out, subtle and quiet like their time together.

"What's that?" She had asked, her attention now caught. "Car-iad," she said slowly, as she tried pronouncing the word carefully. Remus had thought he could have kissed her then.

"It's Welsh," he had said, keeping his tone light and casual as he reached for her cup.

But she had been as attentive as ever, her eyes seeing right through him as they tracked across his face carefully. It didn't help that he could feel his ears begin to burn. Despite himself though, Remus delighted being under her attention, and had relished it even as she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "For?"

Remus had schooled his expression carefully. "For 'Y/N can never pick between orange juice and apple juice,'" he had deadpanned, inwardly delighting in the way her lips twitched as she huffed, unconvinced.

"Today is an orange juice day," she had declared finally. Remus had bit back a smile as he poured her juice. When she took it, she had smiled at him around the rim of the cup. "Thank you, cariad."

Remus had thought that he was dreaming.

Remus picked up his quill again and got a fresh sheet of parchment. Dove, he began again before promptly crossing it out. A new piece of parchment. Y/N, he started again. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. He missed saying her name. When the squeeze in his chest got too tight to ignore, he set his quill down and rested his forehead against his desk and closed his eyes. He had hurt her so terribly, the person he loved. And Remus resented himself for it. He didn't have the right to call her cariad or dove or darling or anything anymore. He didn't have the right to wallow in pity. He didn't have the right to try to fix things when she so clearly didn't want him anymore.

"Remus Lupin," a voice snapped sharply as the door to the dormitory flew open with a boom. "How could you—"

“Lily!” James blurted in clear alarm. "Lily, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here because you lot have really gone too far this time," Lily seethed, her eyes as fiery as her hair as she stalked into the room. "Remus, I thought you were better than this! Y/N hasn't—"

"Lily!" James jumped to his feet in a rare show of courage against the witch. He let out a nervous laugh, but to his credit, stood firm even as Lily rounded on him. “You’re making him feel worse!”

For a moment, Lily turned on James, an incredulous expression on her face before her gaze slid over to Remus, who still hadn’t looked up during the exchange. She faltered, her scowl softening as her gaze darted back to James who gave her an encouraging nod. But then the fiery-haired girl straightened. “He should feel bad,” she admonished, though the venom had begun to dissipate from her voice. 

“And he does,” Sirius supplied helpfully from his corner of the room. “Moony hasn’t really, er, moved or spoken in days, really. We’re all getting concerned.”

"Well neither has Y/N," Lily grumbled, though her tone was beginning to soften rapidly.

This caught his attention. Remus lifted his head to look at her. "Has she been taking care of herself?"

Lily narrowed her eyes at him, a crease forming between her brow as she looked at him assessingly. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Remus didn't say anything to this as he turned to rummage through his desk. "Will you make sure she eats and sleeps properly?" He said before finding the stack of parchment he had been looking for.

"It took me nearly an hour to get her to understand that I wasn't a part of the mess you had created," Lily said, though not harshly. Remus ignored the look of pity in her eyes as he busied himself with cobbling together a few more sheets of parchment. "I think you should be the one making sure she's alright."

At this, he paused to look down at the parchment. “She doesn’t want to be in the same room as me, let alone speak with me,” Remus pointed out, his voice unsteady. In a quieter voice, he added, “She can’t even stand looking at me.”

The room fell silent. Then finally, Lily spoke up again. "Fine. I'll check up on her but not for you, but because I'm her friend. And if you ever considered her at least a friend, you ought to do it too sometime and have a proper conversation with her."

Remus bit the inside of his cheek as he turned to proffer the stack of parchment to Lily. "Can you also give these notes to her? It's for Ancient Runes. I charmed the handwriting so she won't know it's from me, but—"

"Remus," Lily sighed, but took the notes anyways as she looked down at his desk curiously before sitting down on the edge of his bed. A pause. Remus could feel her eyes seeing right through him. "Were you ever going to tell her?"

Remus tried not to look like he was unraveling. "I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I wanted to and I didn't want to all at once all the time."

He had thought about telling her before. But to do so meant that he would have to tell her about his condition, and that had sent him into a stricken spiral every time he had thought about it. He had thought that if he told her, she would look at him differently, with pity or repulsion in her eyes. He had been so afraid, so, terrified, of that look that every time the truth nearly bubbled out of his throat, he'd choke on it. But now Remus knew that the worse thing wasn't that she would look at him like he was a monster. It was that she wouldn't look at him at all.

It had always felt like he was running on stolen time, but each grain of sand in their hourglass had felt so startling incandescent that it had been easy to pretend that they weren't trapped in a fragile glass of his own making.

Every moment he had thought to tell her, she would turn and look at him with such fond adoration that Remus would swallow the words back in. She always made for such an arresting sight that Remus felt his breath still as affection would bloom so violently, so dizzingly, so distractingly, in his chest that it became hard to say anything at all.

He was distracted by the way little crinkles would form on her nose when she was thinking too hard. He was distracted by the way he could hear her smile in her words. He was distracted by the way she breathed and walked and loved, slow and steady, to a silent metronome.

And the honest truth was that Remus was more than happy to be distracted by her.

— — — — —

When Remus woke up from a dreamless sleep the morning after the full moon, he found himself, predictably, in a bed in the Infirmary. It must have only been dawn — he could tell the room was still dim behind his eyelids as he did his mental check of his limbs. No new scars please, he thought wryly once he confirmed all his limbs were in place, albeit sore and strained. Remus sighed. Then came the more dreaded question.

"Did anyone get hurt?" He asked, his voice hoarse from his transformation.

He expected one of the boys to respond, but when no response came, his eyes flew open in a panic. They normally stayed the night in the Infirmary to get their checkup from Madam Pomfrey — Remus knew they were just there to keep him company, though they always deflected when he tried to usher them back to the dorms — and they were normally the first to assure him that no one had gotten hurt. Alarmed, Remus sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed hastily to look around, his joints groaning in protest.

"Are you hurt?" A voice next to him asked.

He was dreaming again.

Y/N was sitting in a chair next to his bed, alarm quickly breaking through the remnants of the sleepiness that clung onto her eyes as she scanned him hastily as if to ensure he was still in one piece. There was an imprint of his blanket on her cheek. Remus's fingers twitched to rub it when she spoke up again. "Should I call Madam Pomfrey?"

So it wasn't a dream.

At the sobering realization, Remus shook his head hastily. "No, I, uh, I'm fine," he said, the words faltering on his lips. Suddenly he felt very seen. He had never wanted her to see him after a transformation, especially not then, when he was all fresh scars and worn bones. He felt like a shell of himself. "What are you doing here?" He asked quietly, fixing his gaze on his hands and noticing a new scar across the back of his hand, still red and shallow. He couldn't quite look at her now as shame and mortification flooded his system.

For the first time in his life, he wished she wasn't looking at him.

"You guys normally come back earlier on full moons," she said, still looking at him. "I was worried that..." She fell silent. So she had even known their schedule, he despaired.

"I see," Remus said tightly, feeling drained.

When he didn't say anything else, she spoke up again tentatively. "Sirius told me to tell you that no one got hurt—"

Chagrin and shame roiled in his stomach as he stared at the new scar on his hand. "You can go back now," he interrupted, grasping the blanket tightly. He wished she wasn't looking at him, he wished that he didn't have a new scar, he wished that the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

He wished this was all just a bad dream.

"I'll go if you want me to go," she said quietly. Remus couldn't tell what expression she was making because he couldn't bare to look at her. Pity, fear, disgust. He was sure he'd never recover if she was looking at him like that— "But I... I don't want to go."

His gaze darted from his hands to her face. She was biting on the inside of her cheek, her eyes wide and imploring and distracting. Slowly, it became easy to breathe again. The imprint of the blanket was fading from her cheek. Remus still wanted to rub it off.

"Okay," he acquiesced, the word coming out as a soft breath. She relaxed back into the chair. "I never wanted you to see me like this," he murmured quietly, feeling all too cracked open under her gaze.

"Remus," she began, also whispering as if not to break the fragile peace between them. His heart stuttered dangerously at the sound of his name from her lips, but he shouldered forward, adamant to not let himself start dreaming again.

"Have you... been well?" Remus asked, first as a deflection before he took in the shadows on her face. It was like once he started, he couldn't stop. "Have you been eating properly and sleeping enough—"

"Remus," she said again, this time more urgently and softly. "I got your letters."

Remus paused, his dry throat clicking as he swallowed. "So you knew the notes were from me," he murmured, rubbing at the base of his neck. "Sorry, I thought they would help, but I'll stop if you're uncomfortable—"

"No, I mean, I got your letters," she said, reaching into her book bag.

To his horror, she pulled out a stack of parchment. Some of them had were heavily creased from being balled up, but someone had carefully straightened them and piled them up. "You weren't supposed to see those," he blurted, mortified now. "I threw those away."

"I know," she said, her gaze fixed on the letters. They weren't really letters at all — he had never been able to get past how to address her. He could catch glimpses of his chicken scratch handwriting. Y/N. Dove. My sweet girl. Cariad. My love. Cariad. Cariad. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. "Lily gave them to me. She also gave me this—" Carefully, Y/N pulled another familiar piece of parchment from her bag. This one was filled and messy with different colored inks across time.

Remus's mouth went dry. He didn't need to look at it to know what it was because he had it memorized.

Ketchup and pepper with eggs (prefers sunny-side up)

Three younger brothers

Likes mum's knitted sweater the most -> owl mum how she did it??

No favorite color, but it's probably green and yellow??

Needs a midday nap most days

Likes long skirts (or is it because I complimented it?)

Y/N is Sisyphus and the question of orange juice or apple juice is the rock

Peonies

Chocolate frogs (non-jumping)

Always needs hair ties -> ask Lily if Hogsmeade has any

Tea = 3 sugars, lots of milk (prefers juice though)

Give notes for Ancient Runes

Find out if there are hair tying charms

Jane Austen

Christmas ideas: skirts, cat, necklace, journal, hair ties

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said again dumbly.

"I know," she said again. A pause. "I believe you."

Remus's head snapped up to see that she was looking at him. He was dreaming again. He shook himself out of it. "No, you don't have to," he said hastily.

"No, Remus, I believe you that it was real," she said, her words choppy as she wrung her hands together. He wanted to reach out and cover her hand with his but instead he sat perfectly still. "But I— But I was so hurt by you," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry," he said with every fiber of his being. "I was afraid and selfish and I hurt you and there's no forgiving that."

"But Remus," she said, looking up at him finally. "I've missed you. I miss you so much and I don't know what to do—" Her voice cracked. Remus felt like something in him cracked open again.

"Oh, cariad," he breathed. "Can I—" He faltered, but miraculously, she picked up on what he meant. Wordlessly, she surged into his arms and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe again. "I'm so sorry, my sweet girl," he murmured into her hair as he breathed in her familiar scent. "If... if you'll have me again, can we start over?"

"Only if it's for real this time," she mumbled into his shoulder with a dry huff of a laugh as she clutched him back. God, he missed her laugh.

He pressed a kiss against her temple, the first of many. "It's real. Very real."

Remus prayed he wasn't dreaming anymore.

— — — — —

a/n: thanks for reading :^) would love to hear thoughts! my masterlist here

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

The First Man

In most situations, when shit hits the fan, it's Lucifer you call. Lucifer the oldest, Lucifer who knows what to do and how to do it, Lucifer who thinks clearly and rationally in any situation.

Except, when it comes to MC.

When MC first arrived, half of what they did either confused or terrified some poor demon or angel. They weren't used to a human who hasn't been immersed in magic and demons and angels for years. Solomon was not a good standard to start with, everyone found that out the hard way.

MC takes in the world with wonder and without restraint. When that lack of restraint gets them in trouble, it's not Lucifer they call.

It's Mammon.

Mammon's the one Asmodeus calls when MC wanders off during a shopping trip and he can't get hold of them. He's the one Levi calls when MC drops suddenly off a call while walking home, the one Solomon calls when MC fails to arrive on time to an appointment.

It's become a source of...pride, for the second born, no matter how much everyone may call him scummy, or unreliable, or irresponsible, when it comes to the human, his human, everyone is second to him.

Even after MC forged pacts with each of his brothers, even after Lucifer's pact-mark painted their skin, still people looked to him, now it's for other reasons.

MC forgot their homework? He knows where they keep it.

Satan wants to buy them a suit for Diavolo's next fancy shindig? Mammon knows their exact size in every store they like.

Barbatos wants to surprise them with dinner after a rough week? Mammon knows their comfort foods and their current cravings.

No one knows his human better than he does, Mammon tells himself that whenever doubts creep in, he's reminded of it every time they smile at him, every time MC calls him their partner in crime.

Still, when his phone lights up with his older brother's name, he's expecting everything but what came next.

"MC has had an anxiety attack." Lucifer's calming drawl betrays the urgency of the situation. "I have brought them to the meeting room. They are staring off into space...I do not know what to do."

Mammon is off at a ground-eating pace immediately, pushing past demons in the bustling halls of RAD. It's the middle of the day, after all.

"I'm on m'way, just keep 'em somewhere quiet. They've been havin' a bad week for that anxiety crap."

"They appeared calm this morning."

Mammon chuckled sadly. "Yeah, I know."

"I see...I will wait here. Do not be long."

The call fell silent, and Mammon broke into a run, shoving people aside if he had too until he burst into the meeting room, finding MC sat in his usual seat at the table, curled up with their chin resting on their knees, staring off into nothing with glassy eyes.

Lucifer stands in unusual insecurity beside them, shoulders sagging in relief as soon as Mammon enters the room.

It wouldn't hit Mammon until much, much later, how much of a big deal it is that LUCIFER, called him, called him for help.

He couldn't think about that now, right now, he quietly slid into the seat beside his human, gently brushing the hair away from their forehead and watching their eyes slowly focus in on him.

"Hey human. Need a break?"

MC blinked, nodding slowly as they leaned into him. Non-verbal.

Mammon didn't make them speak, merely held out his hands and let them cling to his arm while he cast Lucifer a meaningful look. The eldest smiled gratefully.

MC shut their eyes, pressed their head against Mammon's shoulder and let him lead them home.

MC likes to do things with their hands when their anxious, once back in the safety of their room, they curl up around a colouring book, Mammon always close by if they need anything.

"Lucifer was worried." MC muttered, leaning into the demon's side was they cradled the hard-cover book against their knees.

"He'll live." Mammon whispered, reassuringly running his fingers through their hair. "Wanna tell me what's been on ye're mind?"

MC's eyes didn't wander from what their hands are doing, even as they softly share whatever comes to mind, talking without a filter. They don't need one, not with Mammon. He'll listen to whatever they have to say without judgement, always.

He can always be found, loyally at their side when they need him most.

[storydays]

Hazbin Hotel: Episode 1 p1

Overture

@avatar_lover

(3rd POV)

"Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light. Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil. Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation. But he was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven. 

For they felt his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world. So he watched as  the angels began to expand the universe in their ways. From the dust of Earth, they created Adam and Lilith. Equals as the first of mankind, but despite this, Adam demanded control and Lilith refused. 

Drawn in by her fierce independence, Lucifer found her and the two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love. Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the fruit of knowledge to Adam’s new bride, Eve, who gladly accepted.

But this gift came with a curse.

For with this single gift, evil finally found its way to Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin, and the order Heaven worked hard to maintain was shattered. As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he created, never allowing him to see the good that came from Humanity, only the cruel and the wicked. 

Ashamed, Lucifer lost his will to dream. 

But Lilith thrived, empowering a demon-kind with her voice and her songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power. Threatened by this, Heaven made a truly heartless decision, that every year, they would send down an army: an extermination to ensure Hell and its sinners could never rise against them. 

But Lilth’s hope remained. And her dream was passed down to their precious children, the Prince and Princess of Hell.”

A pale hand closed the story book, as a young woman held a key close to her, looking downcast. “Don’t worry Mom, I’ll make you proud.” She whispered, gazing out the window, listening to the screams outside. 

“Charlie?” a voice called startling the young woman. “Augh!” she yelped, as her key turned into a cat, who ran away to hide. Charlie winced before turning to the other woman, “Vaggie! Did you hear all that?” she asked. 

“Uh, yeah. I was standing right there.” smiled the woman, pointing at the door. “Sorry, I get pretty worked up after an extermination happens. The story helps.” Charlie frowned, staring at the book. “I know, don’t worry. I enjoy your theatrics. Are you okay?” Vaggie asked, sitting next to the blonde demoness. “I’m fine, just–ya know thinking about family stuff.” “DId you hear your from your mom yet?” Charlie shook her head sadly. 

“Oof, how long has it been now?” 

“Not that long…only…..seven….years. Off doing something important, I’m sure.” Together the women stood up, to look outside the window. “But this kingdom was something she really cared about; something I care about.” Charlie hugged herself, smiling wistfully. 

“Well, at least you’re not alone.” Vaggie soothed, holding Charlie’s hands.”I just hope that what I’m trying to do here will work.” Charlie admitted. “It will. I have faith in you.” the white haired woman smiled, cupping Charlie’s cheek. 

“All right, come on. Alastor says he’s got something he wants to show us.” Vaggie walked out of the room, Charlie going to follow her, before hearing the church bell ring outside. She turned to look out at the clock as it rang, signaling the end of the extermination. Charlie sighed before heading downstairs. 

*Downstairs*

“Well, hello there, you wayward sinner!” A cheery voice, on the television, called out to a demon currently stabbing another on the street, making the two look around confusedly. “Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course you do, that’s why you’re in Hell! But what would you say if there was a place that had none of that?” questioned the voice as more sinners popped up, varying emotions from annoyance to confusion. The camera then zoomed to reveal the hotel.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! A misguided path to redemption!” the camera then pushed into Charlie’s personal space as she was mid conversation, before she noticed the camera and she smiled and waved nervously. A spider demon appeared behind her, using all four of his hands to give the demoness bunny ears behind her head and on the side. “Founded 5 days ago by Lucifer’s delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your faith in her inexperienced hands as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you!” 

The television showed a picture of Lucifer facing away from Charile as she hugged herself, tears in her eyes. Then it showed Charlie attempting to convince sinners to join. 

“Here we offer fun things! Such as somewhat functional staff.” The camera showed a grumpy cat demon who was clearly drunk as he face planted into the bar. A little cyclops woman scurried around him, chasing a bug with a giant needle in her arm, with a maniacal grin on her face, as she attempted to stab the bug.

“24 hour pest control! Custom rooms, and just look at this tacky parlor!” The camera panned out to show a piece of wood falling near the spider demon from earlier who was lounging on a couch, clearly bored as he examined his finger nails.  “Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident.”

The spider sent the camera a middle finger, making an effect of the word Wow appear on screen, changing to show a crudely drawing of the hotel with different notes and smiley faces with a large toothy grin. “Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel. Your last desperate attempt at salvation starts here!” On the screen, appeared: “Call now or don’t! I don’t care! We still don’t have a working phone!” 

The TV shut off as the audience in the room sat around, emotions varying from anger, shock, and disbelief. “So, what’d ya think?”asked a grinning deer demon, dressed head to toe in red and black. 

“I’m sorry, what the FUCK was that?” scowled Vaggie, arms crossed. “Uh, yeah, one note. Alastor…” Charlie started, ignoring how the demon’s smile tightened. “I mean, first off, thank you so much for making this, seriously, amazing, but um..” Charlie played with her fingers as she tried to explain her thoughts, “The tone was maybe a bit..off?” Alastor tilted his head as she continued. 

“We want people to WANT to come here. This makes it look–um..” “Bad. The word you’re looking for is bad.” Vaggie snarled, crossing her arms. 

“Funny, I was going for hilarious!” Alastor laughed. “It didn’t explain anything about how we’re trying to save demons, which is the whole fucking point!” 

“Vaggie is right, Alastor. The commercial was to let sinners know we are trying to save them.” called a smooth voice from another armchair. The male was sitting on the chair, his legs over the arm of the chair, and the cat from earlier purring in his arms, as he stroked her back. This was the Prince of Hell, Heir to the Throne, and Charlie’s big brother, (Y/N).

“Well, my dear (Y/N), I haven’t been active in Hell for some time, and everyone remembers me from my radio show. The proper way to express oneself!” Alastor turned to the TV with a clear disdain written over his ever grinning face.

“But you insisted on this noisy picture box advertisement. So I had a little fun with it.” “Oh fun, you had a little fun?” Vaggie snapped, before standing. “Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here, a week ago, you told us you would help run this hotel. Instead, you’re mocking us. Nobody’s going to want to come to a place that a powerful Overlord like you thinks is a waste of time.” Vaggie hissed before the 4 noticed a red hand waving in the air. 

“What?” snapped Vaggie as (Y/N) started to walk towards the bar. 

“If’n you’re filimin’ a commercial, can I suggest you take advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?” The spider demon from earlier, sat up lazily, grabbing the bottle of alcohol with him, and winked at the people, gesturing to himself. 

“Angel, you’re a porn star.” Vaggie deadpanned.

“A famous porn star.” Corrected Angel, as (Y/N) came back and sat next to the spider, with a strawberry Daiquiri in his hand. 

“I’ll have the horniest sinners knockin’ down these walls to get in.” The white furred spider grinned smugly, before swinging his legs over (Y/N)’s lap, clearly comfortable. “We are not shooting a porn as a commerical.” Vaggie said firmly. 

“Why not? Sex sells, don’t it?” Angel winked. “I swear, if you film me going at it with Sexy Princey or Mr FancyTalk Creep Voice here, you’d be rollin’ in participants to stay at this tacky hotel.”. Alastor laughed loudly before deadpanning. “Haha! Never going to happen.”

The bespectacled prince cleared his throat nervously, cheeks a slight red as he tried to compose himself. “A-Angel, we appreciate you wanting to use your ‘special skills’ to, um, attract folks to the hotel. But I–WE, meant to say WE don’t want to exploit you in that way.” 

(Y/N) smiled at the spider demon who grinned, leaning into the prince’s space, close to his ear, and purred, “But what if I want you to exploit me……..Daddy?” “HAHA! OKAY!”

(Y/N) yelped, before using his wings to quickly fly up and over by the bar, startling Angel who then smirked knowingly at the demon. 

Turning towards the girls, Angel continued to talk, “This body was made to be exploited, baby. I’ve got the arms, I got the stamina, I got the legs, I got the lung capacity. Oh, oh! I have the legs, the gag reflex, the holes, the chest fluff everyone thinks are tits..”  Charlie laughed uncomfortably as Angel continued talking.

(Y/N)’s phone started ringing, making the prince roll his eyes and walk away, answering his phone. “I’ll be right back.” 

He turned the corner, and grinned deviously as he answered the phone, “What up, bitch!”

*Back with the others*

“Hey, I have a question. If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can’t he just make people stay here?” Angel asked suddenly, pointing at Alastor.

“Oh trust me, I can.” Alastor grinned darkly, briefly showing his horns.

“Why do you think I’m here?” A gruff voice called from the bar, making everyone turn to the bar, towards the grumpy cat from earlier. 

“You think I’d be cleaning bottles and listen to you fucks’ bitch and moan, if he wasn’t forcing me.” The bartender hissed as the little cyclops appeared next to him, grinning. 

“I like being forced.” She giggled. 

“Keep that to yourself, Niff.” grimaced the cat demon. 

“What, you don’t love being here with me, Whiskers?” Angel mocked, making a kissy face. 

“Call me whiskers again, and I’ll jam that bottle down your throat.” the cat threatened.

“Kinky! C’mon, keep talking dirty.” grinned Angel, narrowing his eyes at the cat.

“Angel, let Husk do his job. And no, we can’t force people to stay here; they need to choose to.” Vaggie stated. 

“I’m choosing to be here, and I think it’s all stupid. We’re in Hell, toots.” Angel shrugged, “That’s kind of the end of the line, ain’t it?”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Charlie smiled. “Just because no one’s ever made it out, doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

Angel placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder as he leaned down to her height. “Hey, whatever means I can keep crashing here rent free.” The women shot him a deadpanned look, and he scowled. “Crack is expensive.”

(Y/N) quickly came and grabbed Charlie by the arm, grinning excitedly. “Char, come with me!” Charlie yelped as her brother pulled her around the corner. 

“Woah, (Y/N), what’s going on?”

“So the leader of the Angel Army wants to meet…and I managed to convince Dad to let me send you to talk to them instead.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Why me? You usually take care of stuff like that.”

“Because, Char, you are the princess of Hell,and I think you’re old enough to start partaking in stuff like this. And.. you can use this as an opportunity to try to convince Heaven to give your Hotel a chance. “ (Y/N) prompted. 

“Ooh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Charlie hugged her brother before rushing to tell Vaggie. (Y/N) going to lean on the couch, as Vaggie questioned Charlie. “But the extermination just happened. What could they want this soon after?” 

Charlie started singing and twirled Vaggie who replied dizzily, “Okay but just don’t sing to them.”

“That bitch is half way down the street.” (Y/N) and Angel laughed, with the others looking out the door, watching the princess sing. 

“Is she–?” Vaggie asked, worriedly.

“Oh, she’s dancin’.” Angel tossed his head back, drinking the bottle in his hands, ignoring Vaggie’s groan.

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

summary: kissing your friend aka your crush

pairings: riddle :: jamil :: vil :: idia x gn! reader

warnings: none! just fluff ♡

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Sunlight was falling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Heartslabyul Lounge and reflecting in your tea cup as you stared at the paper in front of you. Tapping the pencil against your chin you read through the assignment again only to lean back against your seat and sigh.

“Prefect, is there anything I can help you with? Please, do not hesitate to ask me if anything is unclear.” Riddle’s voice rang through the quiet room, the scraping of his pencil momentarily stopping as he looked up at you. “I’m sure it must be hard having to study an entirely new curriculum, especially when you can’t draw on any practical experiences with magic. As a housewarden it is naturally my duty to help my peers in their education.”

You were sure Riddle’s offer to help went beyond just his housewarden duties, having become pretty close friends with you after the overblot incident in your first month. Since then, he had gradually warmed up to you, inviting you over for unbirthday parties, study sessions or a stroll through the rose labyrinth. 

So, quite inevitably, you slowly felt your feelings for your friend change. What used to be gratitude for getting the Adeuce combo off your back or joy at having someone to eat lunch with shifted into excitement at seeing him again or disappointment when you thought you had caught sight of him in a crowd, just for it to be someone else. Once you realised the situation you were in, it became even harder to hide those feelings, especially when you could feel the heat crawling up your neck when the housewarden reached over to fix your tie or straighten your uniform.

“Thank you, Riddle. There actually is something I don’t understand,” you sheepishly scratched the back of your head. Sliding over your Applied Magic homework, you pointed out the question you were struggling with. “Why is it dangerous to use a spell like this in that situation?”

“Ah, I see.” Taking a moment to reflect on how to explain it best, Riddle’s steel grey eyes flitted to the roses outside for a moment. “Try visualising the question’s context and the effect of the spell you're casting before your mind’s eye. What kind of environment are you in and how would the magic affect it?”

“Hmm, the energy released from the spell could… shake the unstable structure of the walls and ceiling and cause it to collapse? And even if it doesn’t collapse, the falling debris could still cause major injuries?” 

“Yes, that’s correct. A lot of offensive magic packs more energy than defensive magic and therefore has a greater impact on the environment rather than the caster themselves,” Riddle explained further. “Now, consider all previously used magic. In this example, a few spells have already been cast, like this shielding spell for example. How straining are they on the caster and how long do they linger in the area?”

“Uh, let's see… The elements of previous spells might react with that of the current one, causing unpredictable side-effects. And in a stressful situation like this casting an unstable spell could put more pressure on the magic user, leading to… faster blot accumulation?” The last part was a total stab in the dark and you nervously watched Riddle’s unreadable expression before he gave you a satisfied smile.

“Correct again, Prefect. It is very impressive that you have such a nuanced understanding of Applied Magic, despite not being able to use it yourself.” The gleam in his eyes was genuine before he let out a defeated sigh. “If only some of the Heartslabyul first years would give magic a second thought before leaping into action…”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, having a pretty good image of just who he was referring to. Now, with your work out of the way, you could finally let your thoughts drift. And almost immediately they went to the housewarden sitting next to you. 

Looking at him, it was almost as if time stood still. In the afternoon sun, his hair was positively glowing and his grey eyes seemed even brighter than usual. As always, his posture was perfect and poised and there was such an elegance in the way he carried himself. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was actual royalty.

When he put the tea cup to his lips and took a sip you suddenly remembered the videos you had seen back in your world where people kissed their best friend to see their reaction or to confess. Riddle probably wouldn’t approve but when he turned to you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips. You’d bet on the fact that they were soft with the taste of tea…

“-fect! Prefect! Are you alright? I’ve been calling your name multiple times now.” Blinking back into reality, you came face to face with a concerned Riddle who was leaning over. Putting the back of his fingers against your forehead, his brows creased even more. “I wanted to ask if you want to try the strawberry tarts Trey baked but you’re burning up. Perhaps you should go and rest up. The rules might not state it but you can even stay at Heartslabyul if Ramshackle’s too–”

Before the thought process registered in your brain, you had already pulled Riddle closer by his collar and connected your lips. You were right. As with every aspect of his life, his lips were properly cared for and pillowy soft and after you parted, you thought you could make out a hint of sweets and lemon.

With a shocked yelp of your name, Riddle snapped you back to the present once more. Under different circumstances, the sight of the usually put-together housewarden staring at you with saucer-wide eyes and his face decorated with a rose-red hue might have been endearing but, right now, it chilled you to the bone. 

Jumping up from your seat and noisily scraping the chair over the floor, you hurriedly stuffed all your belongings in your backpack, ready to book the hell out of there. “I’m sorry, Riddle, I really have to go water the cat and feed the plants–”

“Prefect please wait.” A hand gently wrapped around your wrist and made you turn around. The short-tempered housewarden wasn’t yelling (yet), which you took as a good sign. In fact, he wasn’t meeting your eyes at all. “I have to admit that was quite the surprise. But… not an unpleasant one. Prefect, if I may be so bold, do you have feelings for me?”

“Well, I don’t kiss just anybody I meet,” you awkwardly chuckled but you quickly abandoned the idea of joking yourself out of this situation at Riddle’s unimpressed reaction. With a sigh, you conceded. “Yeah, I do have feelings for you. Look, I am really sorry, I don’t know what–”

“I’m not,” he quickly interrupted. “I’m not sorry this happened. I, too, like you. More than a friend, that is. I might not have the most experience in this field but I’m willing to try if it’s with you. However, I do believe there is a proper protocol to be followed.

“Prefect, before you spring another surprise kiss on me, may I take you out on a date first?”

JAMIL VIPER

The sound of boiling water and knives moving over a chopping board filled NRC’s kitchen. At this time of day -or should you say night?- nobody but Jamil usually came here. Most students were probably already heading to bed or cramming in a late-night study session right about now but the vice housewarden of Scarabia was still diligently meal prepping for the following day.

“Could you pass me the turmeric please?” He didn’t even look up to see if you had heard him, eyes still trained on his task at hand. 

“Sure, here you go.” Sliding over the spice, you took another moment to study his side profile. As always, there wasn’t much of an emotion readable on his face but you noticed how his shoulders seemed less tense than during the day. Or maybe it was just your imagination.

After he hummed a ‘thanks’, both of you went back to working in silence. You really appreciated Jamil trusting you enough to let you lend a hand, knowing just how strict he was about being the only one to prepare Kalim’s food. The first time you asked to help, in fact, he had watched you like a hawk and your hands had never shaken more.

At first, Jamil had been a little annoyed, thinking he’d have to look after someone else instead, but as you swung by more often, he started to appreciate the company. Not only did you not cause any trouble for him but you also stuck by him even after his overblot, whereas the rest of his dorm gave him a wide berth. So he allowed you to stay and if he ever ‘accidentally’ made too much food he let you take the leftovers.

And you, too, started to enjoy his presence more and more. You didn’t necessarily need to do something together, just being in the same space while working was enough to put you at ease. That was when you realised your actual feelings for Jamil but you didn’t know what to do with them.

Besides fear of rejection, you were also well aware of his position as Kalim’s retainer. Acting out on your feelings could cause a lot of problems for him even if he were to reciprocate them. Could he even accept them?

Before you knew it, your thoughts had distracted you enough to where your knife was merely hovering over the poor vegetable in front of you. As you were about to shake your distractions away, two warm hands already took the knife and board from you.

“You shouldn’t handle sharp objects when you’re not feeling well,” Jamil sighed but you could tell he wasn’t upset with you, rather, he was concerned. “You could seriously injure yourself.”

“I’m feeling fine actually,” you said. It wasn’t like you were physically unwell.

“Are you now? I couldn't help but notice you spacing out a lot more often lately.” Quickly throwing everything into the pot, Jamil leant against the counter with his arms crossed, giving you an earnest once-over. He was quiet for a while before mumbling “It’s okay to ask for help you know. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Workaholic,” you snorted. “Between the two of us, the one in need of a break is not me. Anyhow, it’s nothing, so don’t worry about me.”

“So there is something after all,” Jamil cocked his head to the side with a raised brow. 

“Great Seven, if you must know. Yes there is something that’s been weighing on my mind,” you groaned. “Are you happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you also told me how I can help you.” 

“And if I told you you can’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t believe you.” This guy…

“Agree to disagree, then,” you deadpanned. Turning your back to hide your burning cheeks, you pretended to wipe your hands. This once, you had wished Jamil’s sharp senses would fail him but of course not. 

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on you.

As you had your back turned, you hadn’t noticed Jamil stepping closer, so you nearly collided with him as you went to face him again. Quickly, he steadied you by your shoulders, his touch lingering perhaps a little longer than necessary.

“Prefect, let me be perfectly honest with you, I’m worried about you. You’re not normally this distracted or careless.” And whose fault was that? 

“You know it’s hard to keep saying no to you like that. But I really don’t think you’d want to know,” you sighed. 

Aside from the bubbling pot, the kitchen was quiet as you leaned against the countertop and examined your fingers. For a moment, nothing but you two in this moment seemed to exist. Jamil wasn’t bound to the Asim family and your future wasn’t so uncertain. If only it matched reality.

“Try me.” Jamil’s voice was a lot gentler now. You thought you saw his hand hover over yours for but a second, then chalked it up to wishful thinking. “You’ve shown me that it’s okay to be my own person and that it’s possible for me to have my own dreams despite my status; I’m very grateful for that. I also really like… spending time with you, so please tell me what’s wrong.”

Heaving a deep exhale, you braved yourself for whatever was bound to happen next. Maybe you were about to lose a friend.

“I don’t know if it’s wrong but… I like you, Jamil.”

As you looked up you caught a glimpse of surprise on his features before it was replaced by his usual poker face. “I’d hope so, seeing as you’ve referred to me as your friend.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know that.” If you took the leap you might as well see it through to the end. Leaning in, you placed a quick kiss against his cheek before turning and marching straight towards the door, leaving Jamil alone in the kitchen. “I like you like that.” 

Luckily, the next day was a Saturday, so you could stay in bed and pull the covers over your head. Ignoring the yelling cat in your house and the absolute flood of text notifications from what you assumed was the first year group chat might as well have been your signature spell.

Eventually, you did crawl out from under the sheets and got dressed, even if it was just because the growling of your stomach became too annoying to ignore. As you were rummaging your fridge for something edible that wasn’t tuna, the doorbell rang which was suspicious enough. Nobody ever rang the doorbell.

As you approached the door, you could already make out Jamil’s neatly tied back hair. Steeling yourself, you slowly opened the door to find he hadn’t magically transformed into someone else.

“Jamil, what brings you over at this time of day?” Forcing as much normality as possible into your voice, you hoped that maybe he had just forgotten.

“I wanted to talk about what happened last night.” So much for that. “I sent you a few messages but you didn’t respond.”

“Nya! What’s that? Are you the reason my henchman has been hiding in bed all day?” You whipped around at hearing Grim speak, promptly grabbing him by the bow around his neck and throwing him out of the dorm.

“Go play with Ace and Deuce for the day.” Ushering Jamil inside, you threw the door closed before Grim could protest. “Don’t mind him.”

“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” he started as he handed you a container with some of the food you cooked yesterday. “I thought you might be hungry.”

As on cue, your stomach growled rather loudly. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Jamil, but you didn’t have to come all the way here just for that.”

“I also wanted to apologise,” he blurted out. Ah, so he came to reject you once and for all. “I didn’t give you a proper response. Well, to be fair, you didn’t give me the time to do it.”

You bashfully looked away, standing with your back towards him, at the memory of storming out of the kitchen. Your response came out a lot more seriously though. “Jamil, I’m sorry for saying something so selfish, I know that your work–”

You were cut off by being spun around suddenly until you were looking into Jamil’s sharp eyes. “No, I’m tired of my work getting in the way of what I want. You said it was selfish of you to tell me your feelings? Then let me be selfish as well and tell you I reciprocate them.”

There was such genuine certainty in those pools of grey, you couldn’t help but reach out and cup his cheek. One of his hands wrapped around your waist to pull you closer as the other found yours. Bringing it up to his lips, he held eye contact as he placed a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“For once, I’d like something entirely to myself.”

VIL SCHOENHEIT

“Hold still.” At Vil’s commanding tone you completely froze despite not moving much in the first place. “Good. Now close your eyes.”

You did as he said and tried your best not to flinch as the cool brush touched your eyelids. While Vil concentrated on perfecting your eye make-up, you did your best not to think too hard about his fingers currently holding your chin or how the scent of his perfume invaded your senses.

Despite being close friends with the Pomefiore Housewarden, it was still quite the task not to shrink away under his scrutinising gaze, even if it was directed at his own work rather than you. How did Epel endure this every day?

Well, the first year was most likely not head over heels for Vil and didn’t turn into a stuttering mess every time he talked to him. So much for your plan to play this crush cool and be as graceful and elegant about it as possible. Yeah, there was probably a reason you weren’t a Pomefiore student.

But then again, this was Vil you were talking about. The walking, talking, breathing definition of perfection. On top of that, he was smart and hard-working with the skills to back up his confidence. Naturally, he had people falling at his feet, no matter how intimidating he came across as. Not wanting to be seen as just another one of the masses, you decided to hide your feelings to the best of your abilities.

And so far, it seemed to be working. You were a regular visitor at Pomefiore dorm, so much so, the guards already let you pass the gates as if you actually belonged there. Seeing the actor achieve loftier goals over time, surpassing others and himself on numerous occasions, was fulfilling in its own way. There was a spark  of pride every time he was chosen for a new lead role or when he had the chance to work on a new line of skin care. Yet, although you got to be close to Vil this way, it still kind of stung to know that this would be all there’d probably ever be between the two of you.

“My, I have to say, this is a job well done,” Vil concluded, giving you a content smirk. Turning your chair to face his pristine vanity. What could you say, he was right. Even though the make-up wasn’t all that elaborate or out there, you still almost didn’t recognise the person staring back from the mirror. “You clean up nicely, potato. I’ll permit you to stand by my side now.”

“You never fail to impress me, Vil. Just, how do you do it?” you chuckled, your eyes finding his in the reflection. “Normally, I would’ve called it magic, but I know better now.”

“Magic has nothing to do with this. It’s solely hard work and practice which makes perfect.” Spinning you back around, he came face to face with you again. “While you flatter me, I am far from finished. I will see this through ‘til the end and perfect this look.”

With that, Vil went back to work, prepping your lips to the point where you were convinced this would be the smoothest they’d ever be. Then, with a look of utmost concentration, he started tracing them with a lip liner before filling them out with lipstick and applying gloss after blotting it.

Despite being finished, the housewarden didn’t move away from you and you were suddenly keenly aware of the distance between you. Or the lack thereof, rather. Subconsciously, your gaze drifted to Vil’s mouth before snapping back up as you caught yourself. Your heart was racing so fast, you’d be surprised if he didn’t hear it. Was this how you died?

You knew you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t, but screw it. The few months here had already put you through so much, at one point you stopped thinking things through twice and just leapt into action. If you’d learnt anything in this school, then it was that you had to take what you wanted because nobody would just hand it to you.

So, against better judgement, you closed the gap between the two of you. 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise but a simple kiss from Vil was overwhelming; it was entirely too much and then again not nearly enough. If you had to find just one word to describe it, it would be intoxicating. He might be the death of you but you couldn’t care less.

Even after such a short contact, pulling away wasn’t easy. Especially because you didn’t get far before a hand at the back of your neck held you in place. Your eyes flew open to see the challenge and amusement written in his lilac ones. Not that you minded per se.

In the end, you were positively stolen of your breath whereas Vil looked as dazzling as ever, except for the slight smudge of lipstick in the corner of his lips. In your opinion it only added to his charm though. 

When you had sorted your thoughts again, your tone was slightly accusatory. “You did that on purpose.”

“Whatever do you mean?” His infuriatingly handsome smirk looked just a tad too smug for him to play coy. “May I remind you that you are the one who kissed me?”

“You weren’t even surprised!” You bristled at his act. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I can read you like an open book, sweet potato. I just wanted to test if you’d be daring enough. Seems as though you’ve passed.” Reaching out a perfectly manicured hand, Vil wiped the stains under your bottom lip with his thumb while his gaze was trained on how your mouth parted at the movement.

“Hmm, it seems I need to do this again...”

IDIA SHROUD

Standing in front of Idia’s room, you firmly knocked on the door in a very specific rhythm to let him know it was you. Otherwise, there was a rather slim chance the housewarden would even open it. But luckily for you, you were one of the only people who were granted access to his abode. 

After grumbling a greeting, Idia widened the crack of his door just enough for you to slip through. The two of you might be friends but that still didn’t mean he was suddenly a ray of sunshine, especially when it came to social interaction. As you adjusted to the artificial blue light, you were already prepared to be tackled by a certain blue-haired boy but the anticipated weight never came.

“Huh? Is Ortho not here today?” you wondered.

“Ah no, uh… Ortho’s out running errands,” Idia mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re probably disappointed now, right? It’s like seeing your bias is not at a fanmeet…”

“No, not at all! I was just noticing it. You’re the reason I’m here after all.” Winking at him, you were already grinning at his reaction for what you were about to say. “I’m Idia-biased after all.”

And he didn’t fail you. Instantly, his eyes widened and you could practically see him blue screen behind his golden irises. Meanwhile, the ends of his long hair tinged pink as he tried to hide himself by tugging the drawstrings of his hoodie tighter. “HUH?! I- You- What– You can’t just drop SSR dialogue like that on me…”

“Why not? It’s the truth and you’re supposed to tell the truth, no?” You tilted your head to the side expectedly. 

“What’s with you and your ability to turn a supposed buff into a massive debuff?” Idia shook his head miserably.

“Come on, I’m just teasing you. Although you are my fave, that part’s not a lie.” Nudging him back into the realm of the living as you pass, you plopped down on one of the gaming chairs in front of his PC. When had you asked him why he had two, he’d said that one was for Ortho, yet it was perfectly adjusted to your height. You just pretended he had fooled you though and didn’t comment on it further. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Uhm, that show we’ve been watching released a new episode today, so maybe we can catch up on that…” At your approval, he started setting everything up as you watched his fingers fly over the keyboard with such practised ease it amazed you every time. “You still remember the plot, right?”

“Of course, who do you take me for,” you playfully accused him. “The protagonist basically gets isekai’d to a mmorpg-like world and would die almost every two seconds if it weren’t for the cooler side characters.”

“Ya, cut him some slack. Everyone else grew up there while he’s a total noob.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” you deadpanned. “But even you have to admit his decisions are questionably stupid.”

Idia just looked at you as if you had grown a second head. “Is the outside perspective making you realise something or what?”

“HEY! I can go three minutes without being an orc’s breakfast.”

“Only because there’s no orcs on Sage’s Island,” he taunted with a grin, showing you his sharp teeth. In return you gasped in faux indignance before dissolving in a fit of giggles.

“Just imagine there’d be a show like this about NRC…” You tapped your finger against your chin. “I wonder what kind of tropes everyone would fall into. Like, Kalim and Jamil are your classic deredere and tsundere duo.”

“Riddle is the type of crazy skilled character you wouldn’t consider at first. But then he saves everyone by casting some seriously dangerous magic or something,” Idia sniggered.

“Meanwhile Malleus is the impossibly powerful, show-breaking character who is always conveniently absent when there’s a problem to be solved,” you sighed. Turning in your seat, you leaned your head against the back of the chair. “Say Idia, what kind of character am I?”

He tried to suppress his tiny squeak at the drop of your voice. To be honest, you had never been shy about showing your affection for the housewarden but you had come to the realisation he just wouldn't catch on, no matter how many hints you threw his way. Or rather, he’d convince himself you couldn’t possibly mean any of it.

“Y-You? Uh I guess, you always jump in to save the day no matter the risks, so you’d probably be some sort of knight in shining armour type. But with a serious case of ‘chosen one syndrome’,” he mumbled. “Seriously, only crazy people would play hard mode with those gimmicky stats of yours.”

“Aww, really?” you cooed before preparing yourself to strike. “What if I want to be the love interest though?”

By the look in Idia’s eyes it was a critical hit. 

“Lo-Love interest? You can be both I think… I mean there’s a lot of people you’re close to…,” the poor guy stammered. Seriously, how could one person be so smart yet so dense at the same time? But fine. If you needed to spell it out for him, so be it. 

Getting up, you slowly came to stand in front of his chair and propped your hands on the arm rests. You almost felt bad for him with how he was staring at you like a deer caught in headlights; Idia looked as if his life was flashing in front of his eyes. But you’ve had enough of your little cat and mouse game, it was time for the chase to come to an end.

“I was talking about your story. I want to be the love interest in your story, Idia. Hmm, how am I going to get that thought through your thick skull, I wonder…” You pretended to think about it for a moment before giving him a cheshire grin. “Ah, I think I have an idea.”

By now Idia’s hair was bright pink, matching the colour of his face, and he was radiating heat like a fireplace. As much as you wanted to see his reaction to a kiss on the lips, you were afraid it would actually kill him and you didn’t want this experience to end in giving him CPR.

So you settled for a sweet but lingering kiss to his forehead. Just as expected, his skin was warm to the touch and you felt him relax after the initial tense up. Maybe it were your own rose-red glasses but as you pulled away to cup his cheeks you could swear little hearts were flickering at the end of his hair. “Pardon the straightforwardness but I really needed to get my point across.”

“Wait, so you like me?!” Apparently his brain had kicked back into action at this point.

“I have for a while now,” you laughed, “but thanks for noticing.”

“So you were serious when you got me roses? And chocolate? And said I was your favourite?” The incredible tone of his voice was simultaneously endearing and heartbreaking. How could he not notice how amazing he actually was?

“I told you, it’s the truth,” you smiled. “So how about it? Can I be your love interest? Or is my affection already high enough to clear your route?”

“Woah you’re like straight out of an otome game,” he breathed. “Is this the super secret ending you have to play flawlessly for?”

“Oh come on, Idia,” you shot him another wink, paired with a teasing smirk, “You don’t really think this is the end, do you? If anything, it’s only the beginning."

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[marvelmusing]

Dark Depths

Part Two

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader (mermaid au)

Summary: After growing somewhat accustomed to your new life under the sea with Aleksander, the time to hunt the stag for your coat arrives, meaning you must make your return to land.

Warnings [18+]: smut, oral (fem receiving), mermaid to human transformation, mentions of injury and blood, Aleksander keeps the reader in the dark about a lot of things, unestablished dom/sub dynamic, some angsty vibes

My Masterlist • Part One

It doesn’t take long for Aleksander to find you, sitting in your usual spot on a rocky crag not far from the shore. The tail Aleksander had given you is a dull gold colour, the kind that changes depending on the lighting. Under the sea it shimmers like a treasure chest stuffed to the brim, but as you sit perched above the waterline your scales look muddy in the cold daylight.

Ever since you were a small child you’ve longed for the sea, and now your heart belongs to Aleksander, to the open ocean and all its wondrous creatures. But being born on land means that a fracture of your soul lingers there, a dull ache in your chest that refuses to be rid of so easily by Aleksander’s magic.

He settles beside you smoothly, wrapping his arms around your waist to console you. He kisses the salt streams on your cheeks, brushing his nose against your face affectionately.

“I know it hurts,” he murmurs.

A sob catches in your chest and you shake your head. There is no way he can know how deep your pain runs. Desperate for something to alleviate the discomfort, you begin to itch over your collarbones.

Aleksander curls his fingers around your wrist, halting your self-destructive actions. Unused to having such sharp nails, you hadn’t realised the scratches you had been leaving over your skin. He places his hand over your chest, smoothing soothingly over the irritated skin there.

“When I was born, Grisha lived on land,” he admits quietly.

Tears glistening in your eyes, you turn to face him.

“Like me?”

He nods slowly.

“My mother was an incredibly powerful witch with impossibly high standards for her children. In the time I spent with her, she abandoned five children.” He pauses, staring out towards the shore with a sombre expression. “I remember each of them.”

There’s a despondent glimmer in his dark eyes and you reach for his hand. He glances back at you, offering a brief smile that fades all too quickly.

“When I didn’t live up to her expectations, she cast me aside as well.”

“How old were you?”

He swallows hard.

“Thirteen.”

“Aleksander,” you whisper softly, squeezing his hand.

“I went searching for my sister after that.”

“Your sister?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of the sea witch that lives further north.” You nod. “Ulla took me in for a little while. She helped me with my tail.”

Considering this new information, you begin to fidget with the crystal on your necklace.

“The other Grisha call you a witch.”

He laughs softly.

“They do.”

“Why?”

“Grisha use their power through song. Their voices manipulate their specific sphere of power - whether that be fire or metal or blood. Those who don’t rely wholly on their song are considered witches.”

Aleksander has used his magic around you on several occasions. A simple flick of his fingers can summon tendrils of shadows - something he seems to do unknowingly when he’s lost in thought. Alina had sung to you when the two of you were children, making the sunlight dance with her enchanting melody.

“I’ve never heard you sing.”

Aleksander is quiet for a moment, his gaze lowered to the rock beneath you.

“Most Grisha sing in pairs with someone whose power complements their own. Harmony is important to us.”

“Complements?”

He nods slowly, leaving you guessing at what he means. Light would complement darkness; but you’ve only ever known one sun summoner - Alina. But surely he could have taken her for himself when she had made a deal with him for human legs. Instead, he had used her power to give you a tail with seemingly no benefits for himself.

The expression on your face must appear pained due to your confusion, as Aleksander kisses your forehead, tucking your head against his chest.

“It will get easier, once you have your coat. I promise.”

At the mention of your coat, you perk up a little.

“When will we start looking for the stag?”

“Soon.”

“But when is soon?”

He breathes out a small laugh at your enthusiasm.

“When the first flakes of snow fall over the land.” You nod. Aleksander’s touch is delicate as he strokes your cheek, keeping your attention on him instead of the shoreline. “How are you feeling today?” he asks softly.

A small crease appears between your brows.

“Better. My tail doesn’t hurt anymore. But…” Heat blossoms over your cheeks as you trace your fingers over your abdomen. “There’s a strange ache here.”

He hums absently.

“Swimming in your ocean form will require your muscles to stretch in an unfamiliar manner. You will grow accustomed to it.”

Unconvinced by his explanation, you bite down on your lower lip, dragging it between your teeth. There are plenty of other places on your body that feel sensitive as of late.

“Are there muscles here as well?” you ask shyly, gesturing to your chest.

Aleksander’s gaze sharpens, examining you intently.

“May I take a look?”

Nervously, you glance around at the open sea and the nearby shoreline, searching for anyone who could see you in such an exposing position.

“Here?”

“No one can see us.”

Hesitantly, you reach for the coarse piece of string holding the fabric together over your chest. Aleksander had fashioned it for you, though he had also explained that most merfolk only wear jewellery and their coats. Aleksander himself always wears a belt, with his pouch and knife attached to his hip and a small scrap of cloth covering a portion of his pelvis.

The fabric covering your top half is still damp from your time in the sea and it clings to your body. Aleksander removes it slowly, revealing your bare body to him. Instantly, your nipples harden from the cold, salty air. As always, his hands are warm and you shudder when he cups your tender breasts.

He gives you a gentle squeeze, drawing a weak sound from the back of your throat. He then begins to roll your nipples between the pads of his fingertips, alleviating some of the pressure beneath your skin. A soft moan escapes your lips and your eyes flutter closed momentarily.

Aleksander glances down, a smirk tugging at his lips. When you follow his gaze, you find your lap glossy with a thick wetness, though you struggle to find where it has come from.

“There is nothing you need to worry about,” he assures you. “Merfolk reach maturity at around your current human age; your body is simply preparing for your mate.”

There’s a haze clouding over your mind, his words wading through fog and your thoughts scramble for comprehension. Slowly, you blink at him, staring at the lean muscle of his stomach and tail, the thick hair over his jawline, his pink nipples, and strong hands. He’s so beautiful, it makes you ache.

“How do merfolk mate?” you manage to ask him.

He smiles widely, cradling your face between his hands and for a moment you think he’s going to drag you back down to his cave and show you. Instead, he kisses your forehead gently.

“Not yet, darling. I’ll show you, in time.”

»»---------------------►

When the snow begins to fall on land, Aleksander instructs you to wait in the shallows for him. Nervously, you bob your head above the waterline, eyes scouring over the shore for any sight of him. Being parted from him makes you uneasy. It isn’t long before you see a strong black horse galloping over the sand with Aleksander sat astride.

He looks like a king. The thick black fur of his coat is piled up over his shoulders, the adjoined cloak billowing behind him in the wind. He’s attained human clothes: polished black riding boots, dark trousers, and a fine woollen jacket. The image of him makes your stomach flip and you swim closer to the shore, eager to join him.

Aleksander dismounts smoothly, striding towards the water as you flail with your tail, struggling to change into your human form as quickly as you’ve seen him do it. He wades into the shallows, scattering sea spray as he scoops you up easily and carries you out onto the sand. He kisses your temple as he lowers you to the ground.

“I’m going to take your necklace,” he tells you.

Instantly, your hand closes protectively around the gem hanging between your breasts, clutching it tightly.

“Why?”

“The power in the crystal is what gave you your tail. While wearing it, you won’t be able to change back into your human form.”

Aleksander had given you this necklace when you were still human. The power inside had belonged to your childhood friend Alina, traded to Aleksander so that she could become human. It feels wrong to give it up, even temporarily. He notices your hesitation, curling his fingers gently around your wrist.

“I’ll take good care of it. I promise.”

When you nod, he unclasps the back of the chain, removing it from around your neck. He places it on himself, the shimmering yellow gem nestling perfectly at the hollow of his throat. Aleksander watches you intently and you frown, eyes wide with confusion as you search his expression for any clue on what is supposed to happen.

Then it happens.

It feels as if someone has sliced through your tail, carving a sharp blade deep into the muscle and bone that are now shifting back into legs that you can’t bear to look at. The sight of them, thighs and calves and toes, so sickeningly human, makes you cry against Aleksander. You don’t want them. You want your tail back. Hot tears spill down your cheeks, the salty droplets a poor imitation of the sea that is now your home. It hurts.

Aleksander’s voice is a near whisper, but it somehow manages to cut through your anguish.

“Let’s clean you up a little.”

The wounds have closed, but the blood remains sticky on your legs. As Aleksander moves you over to the water, the sand grates against your sensitive skin. Everything is too much all at once. The muscles in your legs twitch painfully, protesting against their existence. A weak sob shakes your body as Aleksander scoops up a handful of water, pouring it carefully over your legs to clear away the blood.

“Just focus on one thing at a time,” he suggests in a low murmur. “The water’s cold, isn’t it?” A small hum of agreement catches in the back of your throat, as you bury your face further into his chest. “How does the sand feel?”

“Itchy,” you mumble petulantly.

He breathes out a soft laugh.

“And how do I feel?”

“Warm. Safe.”

He kisses the crown of your head.

“I’ll always keep you safe, my little starfish.”

That draws a weak laugh from you.

“Starfish?”

He hums in agreement, offering you a small smile.

“A delicate little thing, but very hard to break.”

Emotion sticks in your throat at the sincerity of his words.

Walking is awful. Each step feels like a knife is piercing through the sole of your foot. Every breath is accompanied by a sob. Aleksander keeps his arm around your waist, holding you tightly beside him as your teeth chatter. When your tears turn pitiful, he hooks his arm beneath your knees, opting to carry you to his horse.

“It will get better,” he assures you, pressing a faint kiss to your hairline before he lifts you up into the saddle.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander wakes before you, slipping out of the small bedroom he had rented at a local tavern. He returns with a tray full of breakfast, rousing you from your slumber as he removes his boots.

He slips his arm around your waist, draping his body over yours as he pulls your back against his chest. His palms are warm and firm as they run over your bare body. He leaves a trail of slow, lingering kisses along the length of your neck before murmuring against your ear,

“The men downstairs are whispering. They think the mysterious traveller has caught himself a mermaid.”

“They aren’t wrong,” you mumble into your pillow.

Aleksander smiles against your skin.

“But you weren’t a mermaid when I caught you, were you?”

Unable to fight your smile, you squeeze your pillow, nestling yourself further under the sheets.

“No.”

His smile widens. There’s a pause as the two of you soak up this moment, soft sunlight filtering its way through the thin curtains as you stretch lightly, reaching for your pillow and tucking it against your chest. Aleksander presses a tender kiss to the space between your shoulder blades.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

His question brings your attention back to your body, the aches and pains and the terrible sense of loss that hums inside you.

“Like someone’s hollowed out my heart.”

He kisses your temple softly, sliding his hand beneath you to place his hand over your chest.

“Your heart is right here. Even I can’t take that from you.”

Aleksander gives your body one final affectionate squeeze, before he sits up.

“I think you could,” you whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches for the tray of food, breaking up a crust of bread to feed to you in small portions. The action makes your stomach flip, reminding you of your first few days under the sea, when Aleksander had fed you by hand because you were too weak to do it yourself.

Settling yourself back against the rickety headboard, you bunch up the covers, drawing them up to your chest to shield yourself from the morning chill. Aleksander holds a piece of bread up to your lips, ignoring the heat burning over your face.

“I can feed myself,” you protest quietly. The words come out softer than you intended, weakened mostly by the indulgent smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

“It’s my duty to provide for you.” He pinches your chin lightly between his fingers, a darkness glimmering in his eyes. “Humour me.”

When you take the bread into your mouth, his smile widens and your body is molten hot, your breathing deep and heavy as he looks at you, gaze unwavering. He feeds you the entire slice, piece by piece, praising you the entire time.

Once you’ve finished, he brushes his knuckles over your cheek, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

“You seem warm, milaya.”

He tugs the covers back, revealing your naked body to him. Instantly, you clasp your legs together tightly and he chuckles.

“Shall we check that the change was successful?” he asks, mischief dancing in his eyes as he curls his fingers around one ankle. With the attention of the room being brought onto your legs, embarrassment crawls over your skin.

“Don’t,” you say quickly, before adding in a small whimper, “Please.”

Aleksander stares up at you, his dark eyes flickering over every inch of your expression and you feel frightfully vulnerable, as if he can see every thought rushing through your mind. He pushes at your ankle slowly, bending your limb so that your foot is placed flat on the bed.

“I know you don’t think much of your human form,” he says in a low voice. “But tail or legs, you are beautiful.” He presses the barest hint of a kiss to your calf and you shudder. “Can I show you?”

He continues his kisses, mapping a path slowly upwards from your ankle. Breathlessly, you squirm beneath him.

“It isn’t mating season yet,” you state.

He grins.

“No it isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t kiss every inch of your body, does it?”

His lips are warm and firm as he kisses over your calves, parting your legs with ease. His fingers rub soothing circles over your tense muscles, doing everything he can to alleviate the aches and pains that linger after your transformation. Emotion catches in your throat, tears gathering in your eyes as his mouth reaches your knees.

“Aleksander,” you cry. “Please.”

The rough scrape of his beard is delightful against the soft skin of your thighs and you whine as he spreads your legs even further apart. His teeth drag lightly over the flesh of your inner thigh in a playful bite and you tip your head backwards against the headboard.

He hums quietly. His nose brushes against your mound and you whimper. He tilts his head, clicking his tongue at the sight of the mess between your thighs. A jolt of pleasure jitters down your spine. Arching your back away from the mattress, you throw one hand back to gasp at the headboard. The other hand sinks into Aleksander’s dark locks, fisting the hair tightly as you cling to him.

He glances up at you, his lips parted, and you feel as though you might come undone just by looking at him, imagining his lips against your cunt. His gaze is deliberate as it moves down your body, so weighty you can almost feel it over your skin like a caress. When his eyes lock onto your cunt, you squirm lightly, heat burning across your cheeks in an inferno.

“May I kiss you here?” he asks in a whisper.

You nod fervently and he grins darkly.

“Come now, little starfish. I would like a proper answer.”

“Yes, please. Please kiss me there.”

His lips are so gentle, the barest hint of a kiss as his mouth brushes against the soaked folds of your cunt. A breathy whimper escapes you as the tip of his tongue parts your folds, revealing your weeping cunt to him fully.

Neither one of you want to break this moment, barely able to raise your voices to anything above a low whisper.

“Aleksander,” you say, voice cracking.

“Both hands on the headboard,” he orders in a murmur.

Just the action of obeying him, settling both of your hands on the headboard above you, bearing your body to him in total submission, has you teetering on the edge of what you think might be your climax. It’s been so long since you’ve touched yourself - even longer since someone else has touched you - the idea of an orgasm feels elusive. Yet something violently pleasurable is creeping its way closer.

The motion of his tongue is addictive, a dizzying circle that traces around your sensitive clit. The little bud is swollen and throbbing, every pulse makes you more and more desperate for him.

A tear slips down your cheek as you say his name. His tongue strokes leisurely against your cunt, lapping up the arousal that has gathered from teasing your clit. The moan that rumbles in the back of his throat makes you quiver. It’s mortifying, being so affected by the sound of him.

“I’m close,” you admit.

A weak sob of pleasure and shame threatens to choke you at the thought of being so wanton. Aleksander places his palm over your stomach, a warm and comforting pressure that soaks into your skin even as he pins you down. His tongue licks over your cunt for several beats before he lifts his head from between your thighs. Arousal glosses over his lips and you clench around nothing, breathless at the sight.

“Relax, darling.” He slips his hands beneath you, kneading your ass cheeks purposefully. A sharp groan is dragged out of you as he grasps at the tender flesh. “You’ve been holding all of this inside you for far too long. Now it’s time to let go.”

There’s a roaring in your ears, drowning out every sensation that isn’t the clenching of your cunt as Aleksander suckles greedily on your sensitive clit, his bottom lip grazing against your quivering entrance. The rush of your release smears over his mouth and chin, making a thorough mess of him. Pleasure has stars sparkling over your vision, your limbs tingling with a heady bliss.

Time slips away from you, passing by unnoticed with each heavy breath you take. The world is small, narrowed down to the satisfied weight of your limbs against the mattress. It takes you quite some time to realise you’ve been staring up at the ceiling.

Shakily, you turn onto your side, wide eyes searching frantically for Aleksander. Once you find him beside you, dark eyes warm and safe, the tension in your chest snaps and you burst into tears. Instantly, he pulls you onto him, allowing you to cry against his bare chest.

“It’s alright, darling,” he assures you in a low voice. The sound vibrates in his chest, buzzing against your ear. “I’m so proud of you; you did so well.” He strokes his fingers along your spine, drawing shapes on his way down. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. My brave little starfish.”

He kisses your forehead, nuzzling his nose affectionately against your hairline as his words warm in your chest.

“You should find walking a lot easier now.”

You blink at him, a tear slipping down your cheek as you start to realise something that makes your heart twist.

“Is that why we did this… to make it easier for me to walk?”

He takes a hold of your chin firmly, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“We did this because you are mine, and I refuse to condone you feeling bad about any part of yourself.”

Unable to stop yourself, you climb up his body, straddling his waist as you press your lips against his. He responds instantly, cupping your face with both hands to deepen the kiss. As you grip onto his hair, Aleksander leans forwards to meet you, lowering his hands to squeeze at your calves.

This time, there’s no sense of unease as he touches your legs and you smile into the kiss as his hands wander up your thighs to grasp at your waist, pulling you flush against him. Aleksander smiles as well, tracing his touches up your body.

“We should be heading on our way.” A pout puckers at your lips and he chuckles. “The sooner we find the stag, the sooner we can go home.”

Home with Aleksander. That makes you smile.

»»---------------------►

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[yandere-writer-momo]

Baki 12 days of Christmas… an angsty yandere for @justamegafan. Merry Christmas!!

The mc is Hanayama’s arranged fiancée who he hates (at first). A trope I will never stop writing until I’m shot dead on the spot

Yandere Baki Shorts: A Christmas Carol

Yandere Hanayama Kaoru x Afab Reader

TW: Angst, mentioned character death (spoiler), Yandere, and mention of terminal illness

Hanayama often found his fiancée scuttling around his office like a little crab. She was such a skittish thing, with big, innocent eyes and a soft voice. She was weak, something Hanayama disliked most in a partner. And she always tried her best to get to know him… today was no exception

“Can we please spend Christmas together? Just this once?” Hanayama sighed when she stared up at him with her doe like eyes. Why couldn’t she get the hint that he wanted to be left alone?

“This is merely an arrangement by our families, I could care less about your feelings and the stupid holidays.” Hanayama ran a hand through his dark locks. “You’re bothering me so I suggest you leave.”

Hanayama ignored the soft sobs that escaped her lips and he didn’t even cast her a glance when she wished him a soft “Happy holidays.” The door quietly shut behind her and he went back to work. At least she could shut the door properly.

Hanayama shoved the Christmas cookies she made him into the trash beside his desk and continued to work on his paperwork. Hopefully this was the last time he’d ever have to deal with her… he couldn’t stand this arrangement but he kept with it because he wanted to honor his deceased mother’s wishes. Hanayama knew he could never grow to love the meek woman no matter how hard he tried, she’d break if he so much as touched her. She was far too fragile for him.

When it finally became night, Hanayama decided to retire for the night. The yakuza went to lay down in his bed but the screen door to his room suddenly opened and a cold, winter breeze blew in. What on earth?

“Hello.” Hanayama nearly jumped out of his skin when a ghostly apparition stood at the foot of his bed. The youthful face of his mother stared back at him which left his mouth gaping like a fish. “It’s been so long…”

“M-mom?” Hanayama reached out for the figure but she gently put his hands down. She was as cold as ice… “Why are you here?”

“We need to go for a walk… a nice, long walk.” His mother gave him a soft smile as she lead him around towards the door of his room. “A walk in the past.”

“The past… what do you mean?”

“Well, I’m the ghost of Christmas past.” His mother smiled as the walls of the compound began to change to the ones he was familiar with when he was a child. What kind of magic was this? How was this even possible? “You need to be reminded of your origins…”

Hanayama was shocked to see himself as a child crying as he sat beside his mother in the old family room. The ghost beside him pointed to the red welt on her human body’s face. “I used to beg your father to stay with me every once and awhile… to spend time with us as a family.”

Hanayama frowned as he watched the image play out of his mother. How could he forget that his mother had begged to spend time with his father when he was younger… perhaps he had blocked all those memories out since he had to become the leader of the yakuza at a young age? “This was the Christmas where I found out I had cancer… I really wanted to spend time with him since my time was running out…”

The ghost shook her head and lead Hanayama back to his room once she felt as if he understood her point.

The ghost held Hanayama’s hand. “You’ve grown so much… you look just like your father.”

Hanayama went to hold the ghost but she pushed him back, “and you’re just like your father.”

“Wait! Please don’t go-“ the figure of his mother was gone in a flash which left him clutching his chest in sorrow. Why did his mom leave so fast… wasn’t she proud that he’s taken over the family? Why did she show him such an image?

“It’s been awhile, Hanayama.” Hanayama froze when he noticed the ghostly figure of Retsu standing at his door. “It seems that it’s my turn with you as the ghost of Christmas Present.”

Hanayama was silent in thought. Retsu had just passed away recently yet… why would he be here? Retsu had nothing to do with his life…

Retsu waved Hanayama to follow him and Hanayama obliged. The two walked in silence until they stopped in front of a small room in the furthest corner of the compound. Retsu placed a hand on the screen door which made it into a mirror that they could see inside… (your name) sat in her room violently coughing.

“You know I was her best friend when I was alive.” Retsu whispered as he turned to look at Hanayama. “She’s dying, you know.”

Hanayama froze in shock. (Your name) was dying… she was dying. Why hadn’t she told him she was sick? Why- Hanayama was drawn out of his thoughts when Retsu held up a hand. The Chinese man frowned at Hanayama. “You don’t listen to her so she’s never told you… she needs new lungs.”

Hanayama placed a hand on the doorway when he saw her hold up a handkerchief full of blood. She was so fragile… just like his mother. And he had been so cruel to her. How could he-

“I was planning on confessing to her once I beat Musashi.” Retsu shared with Hanayama as he went into the room and sat beside (your name). She obviously couldn’t see Retsu as she softly cried. “I was in love with her.”

Hanayama clenched his fists as he watched Retsu drape a blanket around (your name)’s shoulders which made her look around the room in surprise. The man turned to Hanayama with a frown. “But my own pride ruined everything… I just want her to be happy.”

“… did you come here to gloat in my face?”

“No. She didn’t feel the same way.” Retsu smiled at Hanayama as he combed his fingers through (your name)’s hair. The ghost smiled sadly. “It’s so unfair… she deserves so much better than you.”

Hanayama was offended despite how correct Retsu was… he truly didn’t deserve (your name). She was always kind and sweet to him despite how many times he pushed her away over the years. She was undaunted by his rejection and still tried to get to know him… he should give it another chance. He should do something wonderful for her tomorrow…

Retsu rested his ghostly head on (your name)’s shoulder with a sad sigh. He pressed a parting kiss to her shoulder which made her glance around the room in confusion. The man then lead Hanayama back to his room. “I’m sorry… my feelings started to get in the way of what I was meant to show you. You’ll be visited by one last ghost, the ghost of Christmas future.”

Hanayama went to say something to Retsu but he was gone in a flash. The yakuza stood in the center of the room in confusion. One more ghost… who on earth could that be?

Hanayama then felt a sudden chill run down his spine as the room before him melted away into that of a grave yard. A ghastly figure in a black cloak that covered their body floated into the room. A skeletal hand was placed on his shoulder while the other pointed at a gravestone with (your name)‘s name on it. No… (your name) would die? She couldn’t die… she was so young.

Hanayama didn’t even have time to think before the ghost snapped their fingers and showed Hanayama a much older of himself who sat hunched over his desk. The older version sobbing as he held his head. What on earth had happened?

“You never found love again after she died.” The ghost whispered into his ear. “You actually went insane with guilt and it made your yakuza family fall apart.”

Hanayama watched this foreign version of him chug down an entire bottle of whiskey as he held a picture in his hand… it was a wedding picture of him and (your name)… they were meant to get married in a few months… so this must be a few years from now.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t know…” the other version of Hanayama whispered as he pressed his forehead against the picture. “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry.”

Hanayama frowned at how his office was in disarray. This wasn’t like him at all… why on earth was his office so messy?

“She kept all your paperwork organized. She’d sneak into your office when you were asleep to try to help you out since you’re not every good with numbers.” The ghost chuckled bitterly. “She as such a stupid woman… falling in love with a man as selfish as you.”

Hanayama gasped when the ghost pulled up the hood over their head to reveal (your name). Except there was no warmness in her eyes nor was there her tender smile. Why did she look so cold… why did she look at him with such eyes full of resentment? She loved him…

“This is your future. My future.” The ghost told him with a sigh. “You have to change, Hanayama.”

Hanayama but his lip as he stared at the sobbing figure of his future self. He didn’t want to be so pathetic…

“What do I have to do?” Hanayama asked the ghost who frowned at him. She didn’t say a word as she walked away. Hanayama went to follow her but the hallways began to distort and show Hanayama a different ghost of (your name) who sat side by side with the ghost Retsu. They looked so happy… she wasn’t supposed to be with Retsu. She was his. “Wait! Where are you going?”

Many images of the way he’s treated his fiancée flashed by him as he hopelessly chased after the ghost. Her teary face and bloody handkerchief now haunted him… he didn’t want her to suffer anymore. Hanayama didn’t want her to die… she couldn’t die. And he certainly didn’t want his wife to be with another man. No. She was his… (your name) belonged to him.

“There’s nothing you can do.” The ghost told him as she gave him a soft smile that was eerily similar to the ones his (your name) gave him. “Now wake up.”

And that’s when Hanayama fell into a dark bottomless pit. The large man couldn’t even utter a sound before he woke up in his bed. His body was covered in sweat and his eyes were wide in horror. A nightmare…

Hanayama’s hands grabbed at his body in shock before he gave a laugh full of disbelief escaped him. He was alive… he was fine…

Hanayama shot out of bed and quickly made his way towards (your name)’s room. He had to make sure she was alive… he had to make sure she was okay.

Hanayama slammed the door open to (your name)’s room which scared the poor girl out of her wits. She was already dressed for the day and was shocked to see Hanayama in his pajamas.

“O-oh. I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong-“ (your name) was shocked when Hanayama pulled her into a hug. The giant man pressed kissed all over her cheeks with passionate fervor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Hanayama chanted as he ran his thumbs over her soft cheeks. “Let’s spend Christmas together.”

(Your name) couldn’t utter a single word out before she was whisked out of her room and brought to the dining room she had always wanted to sit at with him. What was going on? Had Hanayama gone insane? She was going to leave him alone just like he had wanted… so why did he have this sudden change of heart.

Hanayama had his servants quickly prepare a gran breakfast for the two of them. His large hand held hers close to his chest. The yakuza boss pressed kisses all over her knuckles as he waited for their food.

“I won’t ever ignore you again. We’ll spend every meal together and you can move into my room…” Hanayama gave her a soft smile. “And I’ll pay for your medicine, okay? You can get that procedure-“

“I-I never told you I was sick.” (Your name) whispered as she tried to pull her hand away. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything for me-“

(Your name) gasped when Hanayama suddenly pulled her onto his lap and pressed his lips against hers in a searing kiss. His dark eyes never let hers. “Nonsense… I’m going to be a good fiancé from now on and an even better husband.”

Hanayama’s hands began to explore her curves as a different kind of hunger filled his eyes. “I’ll take care of your every need from now on… because you’re mine.”

Rather than change for the better, he had changed for the worse

[sebastianswallows]

It's not like any other love | S.S. | Part 3

— PAIRING: dark!Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian teaches reader Imperio in a more unconventional way, and satisfies some of his own needs at the same time (kisses, he just gives her lots of kisses).

— WARNINGS: needy and touch-starved Sebastian, non-con kisses, and generally an indecent use of Imperio.

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: It’s been a long time since I updated this fic on tumblr, I’m sorry my dears 😭 These last ones should come in quick succession, so, enjoy!

They were alone in the Undercfort again, where candles flickered around them, and the air was cold and stale. But it was quiet, even in the middle of the day with the whole castle bustling around them. They had about an hour until everyone was done with lunch and they had to go to their next classes, but neither she nor Sebastian could keep from experimenting with this new forbidden magic.

Sebastian first taught her the motion of the spell, coming up behind her to correct it a few times — completely unnecessarily, but he pretended to be a perfectionist about it when it came to her. After all, what other excuses did he have to hold her hand, and feel her against his chest, and nuzzle his cheek against her hair? He thought she didn’t notice, but it was hard to tell whether she was smiling at his veiled attempts at closeness or just focusing on perfecting the cast.

“And the incantation is Imperio,” he whispered in her ear.

“Imperio,” she recited.

“Do you think you can do it?” asked Sebastian as he stepped in front of her.

“I… I guess I could.”

“It’s not the sort of spell you can practice with on a dummy. You need a living target. And as with the curse before, you have to mean it.”

“I understand,” she nodded, but he could hear a tremble in her voice.

He wondered who she ever would want to control, then he thought how lucky her victim would be — to be under the power of her spell, to service her, to be the only creature with whom she shared that side of her, who knew her deepest desires, all those the shameful and illicit things she would only ask for under the compromising and desperate secrecy of an Imperious curse... What would she ask for, he wondered. He’d only ever thought of using it against enemies and turning them against each other, but Sebastian would kill her enemies for her for nothing. So what would she ask for from a friend?

“Do you think you can cast it on me?” said Sebastian without giving it another thought. He was excited at the possibilities the spell now opened up between them — with her shy and reluctant and him desperately in love.

“What!?”

“You can lift the spell at any time… It would be safe,” he said.

She looked doubtfully at him and, although her lips were parted, she said nothing. He hadn’t given it a thought before today, but the sudden idea of her using it on him, of being under the leash of her control, of getting to know her in this way that nobody else could — even for an instant, even without remembering it afterwards although he would definitely try — was far too tempting to let pass.

Would she simply test the limits of the curse? Ask him to move around, to tell her things, to submit completely? Would she ask for secrets she was curious about but didn’t dare admit to? Would she ask him to kiss her? Would she ask him to kneel? Would she…

“Would you cast it on me?” he asked now in earnest, grinning ear to ear. “Come on, I want to see you do it.”

“Alright,” she chuckled, lifting her wand and practising the motion a few times before saying, with her eyes fixed on him, “Imperio!”

Strange, thought Sebastian. He didn’t feel any different.

“Did it work?” she asked, staring at him as he stared back.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Tell me to do something.”

“J-jump?” He stayed firmly on the ground. “Damn,” she muttered, looking down at her wand as if it could be broken.

“Try again,” he said.

But the best she could muster from her wand were muted sparkles, and saying the spell louder didn’t work.

“Do you really mean it, though?” sighed Sebastian, arms crossed over his chest.

Beyond being disappointed that this wasn’t going as planned, he was disappointed in himself. Was he such an unappealing subject for her? Sebastian had never wanted to be cursed more, but if he had any doubts before, he laid them to rest: she didn’t want him.

“I guess…”

“You guess?” he arched a brow.

“Well, you try it, then!”

Before she even finished saying it, he pulled the wand out of his robe’s pocket, aimed it at her, and, “Imperio!”

The change was instantaneous. Sebastian gasped at just how quick it was, how dangerously easy, how much the same and yet completely different the girl seemed to be in the grip of one blue wisp of light. She stared at him out of milky unfocused eyes, her form relaxed and straightened, and the tense frown of her mouth turned into an easy smile. She blinked lazily at him as if time had no meaning, and she lived only for his words.

Sebastian closed his gaping mouth and, after clearing his throat to make his voice more steady, spoke. “How do you feel?”

“Happy,” she said with the echo of a voice, sounding like her yet not like anything he’d ever heard from her. There was no real feeling behind her words.

Sebastian took a small step forward. “Are you upset with me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

He stopped.

“What?” he muttered. “Why not?”

“You strike me as a bit impulsive,” she answered with a smile.

Sebastian straightened his back, offended, but could think of nothing to contradict her. “And do you dislike that?”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“When?”

“When it doesn’t serve me.”

“Greedy little witch,” he grinned. “What else do you dislike about me?” he continued, stepping closer as she spoke.

“You insult me sometimes and hurt my feelings. You say things that you know hurt me to try and change the way I think. You don’t trust me. You are sometimes dismissive of Ominis and I worry it will —”

“Alright, that’s enough, thank you,” he said, raising his hands. He sighed and paced in front of her, more worried than upset. “So why do you never tell me?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer. “I could try to be different for you. To be nicer, perhaps, or more… gentle, more like Ominis.” And as soon as he said it he regretted it and tensed, unbidden images coming to his mind of Ominis being gentle with her in ways he shouldn’t be, of him touching and caressing and kissing her where he had no right to. Her reply startled him out of his reverie.

“Because I want you to like me,” she said serenely.

Sebastian’s immediate reaction was elation, and then a sense of doubt. Did she speak the truth? Had it really worked? He thought of ways to test the curse’s power, but he didn’t want to do anything to hurt her. He also wasn’t sure how long they could do this for, and when he could do it again, if ever. The thought crossed his mind that she might even be upset with him once released from the power of the spell.

He took her hands in his, holding her cold digits in his warm palm and pulling her gently toward him. She walked as Sebastian walked them both backwards until he was stopped by one of the tall pillars.

“Tell me the truth,” he ordered. “Do you love me?”

“I do”, she said with a happy smile. “I love you.”

She didn’t hesitate to reply, her voice remaining calm and pleasant, resonating in the emptiness of the Undercroft. There was even a sense of relief in her, like months of pressure on her heart lifting as she told the truth that had for so long weight on her mind.

His heart fluttered when he heard it. A rush of pleasure and hope and enkindled dreams made his blood sing and his skin feel electric. Sebastian couldn't help but smile widely as her words echoed in his mind. He looked into the girl’s eyes with passion, with care, with affection, and at that moment wished to give her everything, and take everything from her in turn.

“Tell me what you like about me,” he said. “Better yet, come closer. Whisper it to me.”

And just as placidly as before, the girl leaned in, braced her chin over his shoulder, and whispered in his ear, all while letting her hands be held and warmed in his, their chests beating together, feet entangling on the dusty floor.

“I like how loyal you are,” she started, “and how brave, and how clever, and I like the shape of your lips, and how good you are at duelling, and I like how gentle you can be when you allow it of yourself, and I like your warm eyes, and your voice, and your scent, and the softness of your hair, and how happy you make me, and how determined you are against all the odds you face, and I like how warm you are, and the sprinkle of freckles all over your face, and —”

“Wait,” he whispered. He was already breathing heavily, just from the things she had said and the way they sounded coming from her, so close, so intimate, her breath tickling his ear and the small sounds of her lips and tongue against her teeth slipping in among her words. He felt a blush grow on his cheeks and spread up to his ears and down his chest. Never in his life had someone said such nice things to him, not Anne nor Ominis nor anybody else. He was filled with warmth as her words sank in, and had to stop her before his heart burst out of his chest.

“So, erm,” he started bashfully, “what do I smell like, to you?”

“Old books and Confringo.”

“Yes,” he laughed, embarrassed, “I guess that’s true. Suppose it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Sebastian brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it gently, then placed it around his shoulder. His arms then curled around her, holding her tightly against his front. He could not help himself after everything she’d said, he felt so much for her, like a rush of joy that made him whole. He could make himself believe that she spoke the truth, even though her voice was far away and dreamy under the effects of the Imperious Curse, and although he felt sorry that that was what it took for her to say it, he enjoyed this closeness with her, her voice in his ear, her shape in his arms.

Against his chest, Sebastian could feel her heart beating steadily, while his was ready to break through his ribs. He nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing in her warm girlish scent while he waited for his nerves to settle.

“Tell me you belong to me,” he begged, his breath tickling her neck.

“I belong to you,” she whispered.

Her left arm was slung around his shoulder, where he’d placed it, while the other hung limply at her side.

“Hold me,” said Sebastian, and she obeyed immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on to him. “Tell me you love me again,” he said, feeling a shiver go down his whole body. It felt wrong to keep this going, to take this from her unwillingly like this, to satisfy his shameful urges for affection, but he needed to hear it once again.

“I love you,” she whispered, her lips close to his neck.

“Say it again,” he demanded.

The girl obeyed, speaking in heated whispers against his skin while he brought his lips down to her neck and pressed them right beneath her ear. She was especially warm there, and soft, and as he dragged his lips lower, he left a wet trail of kisses down until he reached the top of her shirt.

“Again,” he said.

Sebastian brought up a finger to tug her tie a little looser and dipped his tongue into the hollow of her clavicle, then moved back up the column of her throat. And as he pressed hot kisses into her skin, he could feel her voice reverberating through her skin as she said, again, “I love you.”

He moaned and pulled her closer, rubbing her front against his, wishing they could swallow each other up and never part again. His hands clung to the back of her school robes while hers lay loosely around his neck.

Sebastian pulled back, leaning his head against the cool pillar of the Undercroft, and caught his breath. She’d never been so close to him, and with his right hand, he leaned the girl’s head backwards, cupping her skull in his palm for him to gaze into her eyes — blank and foggy blue over her natural colour with the effects of the spell.

“Can you moan for me?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do it,” said Sebastian. “I want to hear it as I kiss you. Pretend to feel something, pretend you like it.”

“Yes,” she said again and tilted her head backwards as Sebastian brought his face beneath her chin to kiss her neck there too.

He could feel her gentle moans right against his lips, and little whimpers of pleasure as he nibbled at her skin — very lightly, careful not to leave a mark — and felt her shiver in his arms and press herself closer against him. His whole face felt flushed and his body was on fire, every nerve of his hungry to feel more of her, his mouth eager to consume her, his mind knowing of nothing else than the weight of her in his arms and the sound of her in his ears and the taste of her in his mouth.

Sebastian worked his way up to her chin and pecked it with light kisses, then slowly travelled up to dip his mouth beneath her lower lip.

“Sebastian,” she gasped, sounding breathless in a way he’d never dreamed of.

“Is that how you sound at night when you think of me, darling?” he asked in a moment of mad confidence.

“Yes,” she sighed.

Sebastian was stunned still at hearing it. Was that another effect of the curse? Had she just told him what he wanted to hear, or did she tell the truth?

“Sebastian,” she moaned again in a faint and quiet whisper. It was lost in the stale air of the Undercroft.

“Sebastian?” he heard call again, but this time it wasn’t in her voice.

He looked up to find Ominis standing by the entrance to the Undercroft, his wand out emitting red echoes in search of them and a little square wrapping of napkins held in his left arm. Sebastian’s blood froze in his veins for the split second it took to remember that his friend was blind. They were still in a compromising position and he couldn’t afford for Ominis to know what they had done together — or rather what Sebastian had done to her.

“Finite incantatem,” he muttered under his breath, and slowly he felt the curse melt away from the girl’s mind.

She sagged in his arms, a bit unsteady on her feet for a moment, and Sebastian held her up until she came back to her senses. He let his eyes drink her in for one final time, his gaze caressing her lips and the angle of her cheekbones and her eyes while she held her head in her hands and winced. Once he noticed she could stand on her own, he unwrapped his arms from around her waist and started walking closer to where Ominis stood.

“H-hello, Ominis,” he started. “Something the matter?”

“Oh, nothing. Only that you weren’t there for lunch,” he said, a suspicious expression plain on his face. “Either of you.” His head moved in the direction from where the girl’s breath hitched as she got her bearings. He could probably hear her footsteps too when she leaned against the pillar to cool her head.

“Were you practising something?” Ominis asked.

“No,” said Sebastian coolly. “Nothing in particular. We were just talking. Lost track of time, I suppose.”

“Then why were you saying finito after I came in?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ominis,” Sebastian groaned. His hands had begun to shake and all the warmth was drained out of his body. “Everything’s fine. Right?” he said, turning around to look at their friend.

“Right,” she said automatically, not quite looking up at either of the boys. “Hello, Ominis. We have class now, right?”

Her hand went to her neck instinctively, and it broke Sebastian’s heart to see her wipe away his kisses from her skin. Did she even realise what had happened, or was the cold feeling bothering her? Her hands went up to straighten her loosened tie next, and before she looked away Sebastian thought he caught a blush on her.

“I’m surprised you recall,” said Ominis snidely. “Nothing as interesting as the spells you practice with Sebastian, I’m sure. Do you even remember what class we have now?”

“Don’t be like that,” she muttered. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for… for…”

“Potions,” sighed Ominis.

“Your favourite,” Sebastian grinned, coming to stand by him with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Ominis narrowed his eyes at the comment. “In any case, I brought you lunch. Nothing much, just a couple of sandwiches.”

“Oh, thank you, Ominis,” she grinned brightly, sounding grateful and relieved.

“Can I have one?” Sebastian asked.

“I don’t know, can you?” he quipped. “And don’t roll your eyes at me, I can hear you doing it.”

The girl joined them and they stepped out of the Undercroft together. There was an unsteadiness to her still, which Sebastian could plainly see and Ominis could hear, but none of them made any mention of it. Sebastian’s skin still tingled where he had touched her, his lips itching to kiss her again, but beneath it was a nagging feeling that he had gone too far and betrayed her trust. He licked the taste of her off his lips one final time.

[kayesfanfics]

wsppp 😋😋

Do you think Adrian tepes, Trevor, or hector would date a fem witch, ghost or werewolf ? If they would date a werewolf girl, how do you think they would deal with her shifting? It’s supposably painful bc the bones are breaking then fixing themselves in a new form😭 do you think the ghost gf would sometimes have self image issues cause she isn’t really there(transparent) witch gf would be really cute esp if she has a familiar like a black cat or crow (really basic ik) omg and she like has her familiar deliver letters to her lover when they are away 🥹 or she tries to like show her lover how to make potions and he ends up growing plants or a small explosion 😭😭 imagine he makes smth right and he’s bragging but then it blows up into his face 😹😹

I always see people write for vamps but I think it would be cool to include other monsters yk. I have so many ideas but idk how to write 😔😔

Hope ur doing well! -🌙

A/N: I added Isaac as well, but THIS WAS SUCH A FUN PROMPT AND IM SORRY IT TOOK SO DAMN LONG. But I love exploring other monsters, it’s so fun-

Trevor Belmont x Witch! Reader

His knowledge on magic is limited, but not unheard of. He understands the kind of magic Sypha uses, but yours isn’t quite like it. Your type of magic uses alchemy, black magic, the “devils work”. You’ve been cast out and targeted for practicing such things, but you continued to practice witchcraft despite the attempts on your life. Trevor had actually seen you being hauled off to a jail roughly before saving you, recognizing you as a healer around this town

After saving you, he asked for a your witchcraft services to help heal a rather nasty wound he had received, so you took him to your house, where your familiar, a beautiful crow, was awaiting your return. He cawed at your and flew over to land on your shoulder, before cocking his head curiously at the large man behind you

“He’s a customer, my dear! Be hospitable!” You teased, before guiding Trevor over to a room that contained all of your supplies and books. You put together a salve for him, and offered to put it on his wounds for him, to which he accepted and casually began to undress until he was shirtless. You stared at him with a blush on your face for a moment, until he grinned and teased you saying “My eyes are up here, love~”

You allowed him to stay with you for a few nights, which slowly blossomed into some sort of a romantic and physical relationship. When he had to leave to go kill some vampires he’d been hired to get rid of, you’d send him off with healing herbs he’d need to recreate the first salve you made for him. You’d send your familiar out to track him with magic and send him letters or extra supplies, and he’d always send some cheeky note back to you that made you giggle and kick your feet

He definitely tries to help you with your potions and powders, getting supplies or tools for you when you asked. One time he successfully recreated a potion, that is until he got cocky and knocked over another vial into the potion, causing it to explode and blow up into his face, ruining his hair and leaving his face scorched, which made you laugh so hard you nearly pissed yourself as he sarcastically laughed along with you

Adrian Tepes x Ghost! Reader

You often times didn’t feel real and felt like your existence was useless and didn’t have a purpose, that is until you met a beautiful man with pale skin and pale blonde hair, with beautiful golden eyes and sharp fangs. He was mesmerizing and intelligent despite his age, and the two of you formed a relationship, which was soon crumbled by his father injuring him so badly he had to lock himself in a coffin to rest and heal. You haunted the place he had put himself to recover from his fathers attack, and took it upon yourself to watch over him and guard his tomb

After joining Trevor and Sypha on the journey to kill Dracula, you went with them and used your own abilities to help fight. Luckily nothing could kill you again, so you were able to fight by becoming fully invisible, making yourself solid then phase through creatures. Sypha asked you many questions on the journey about you and what it’s like being a ghost, Adrian smiling fondly as the two of you chatted excitedly, as he hadn’t seen you have a friend before

Whenever your self doubts and insecurities about your existence plagued you, he was always there to assure you that you were indeed real. You didn’t have a grave or body to visit as your body had been burned and cremated as to not start a plague, but you had a whole life before him you could tell him about. He’d be able to touch you and feel you were real, kiss you on the forehead to show you you were real

You too didn’t need as much sleep as he did, being dead and all. So you both often roamed the castle together and continued to clean and upkeep it together, rather than restlessly lying in a bed all night. The two of you would have intelligent conversations about philosophy, the science his mother studied, history, things of that sort to get you through sleepless nights. Lying in bed together cuddling while conversing, his hand rubbing your back as you rested your head on his chest

Hector x Werewolf! Reader

As an expert on creatures of the night, he wasn’t phased slightly when he heard Master Dracula had recruited a werewolf into his Court. Despite being half human, you were never treated as one, only being treated like a dog by your fellow species. So you instead took revenge by ripping apart those who hurt you, and Dracula had met you years ago similar to how he met Hector and Isaac, but was recruited last due to your hiding out in secrecy from everybody, you were difficult to track down even for Dracula

When you arrived, you appeared as a regular human, but the vampires could sense you were anything but. You bowed to Dracula and thanked him for the opportunity to help his cause, before he told you to begin planning with the other generals. After speaking with the vampires, you decided to learn about the humans, as you were curious why they would help kill their own kind as well. You started with the silver haired man, and bonded over your shared mistreatment by humans, and he was curious about your more wolf form. You smiled and told him he’d have to wait for that, making sure he’d have something to come back to you for, as you grew fond of the shy and straight to the point man

When he finally got to see it, he watched in borderline horror as you howled in pain from the transformation, hearing your bones snap and crack into new places as you transformed into a large, furry monster. But Hector wasn’t truly afraid of you, just of the pain he heard you in, and he gently approached you and rested a hand on your forehead as he did his night creatures to comfort and calm them through their own transformations. You shut your eyes and leaned into his touch, waiting the transformation out together until it was complete, and you could stand at your new full height, well above him. He’d only look at you with fascination rather than fear or hatred like everyone else did

Isaac x Gorgon! Reader

He is clearly not disturbed or taken aback by monsters of any kind, he’d face one with a stoic face and calm demeanor. You came to Dracula one night after being driven away by townspeople for accidentally turning someone to stone, so he allowed you refuge in his castle and gifted you a magical blindfold that would keep you from laying your eyes upon anyone and turning them into a statue. Ever since then you’ve been loyal to him and agreed immediately to help him with your cause, and to use your ability to fight off humans that have wronged you. When you met Isaac, he was immediately intrigued but didn’t make it obvious. You spent a lot of time listening to him work and hearing his night creatures be brought to life, and he’d even guided you to pet a night creature that was calm for him

Throughout the war you formed a relationship with the cold man, though he was warm to you. Never sappy or super affectionate, but he’d do things like learn Braille for you and create plaques as labels on things for you, fight alongside you and tie your blindfold back on for you when the battle was over, create night creatures specifically to help you. He allowed you to hold his arm as you walked through the ever changing castle with him. He never thought he’d find love amongst all this chaos and death, he didn’t even want to befriend Hector because of it, but yet he found himself infatuated with you and wanting to spend as much time as he had left with you

He didn’t mind the fact he’d never be able to look into your eyes, and you didn’t mind the fact you’d never be able to look at him at all except through maybe a portrait. The two of you simply enjoyed the others presence and company, oftentimes sitting beside each other doing your own things, always having a comfortable silence between the both of you. You didn’t turn objects to stone, so if you made sure not to look at any living being, you could do things like read and he’d help make sure you wouldn’t accidentally turn anyone to stone

[yourlocaltreesimp]

You know that tired reader and yan chain thing where reader asks to use the yan links as pillows well can you make that a fic please

Ofc, ofc!

Cw: None. I describe joint pain, idc if that counts

Heroes? No. Pillows.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You never once in your life wanted to know what it was like to be on fire, but now you could safely say you did. Your feet and back aches from so long of walking, hard soled boots making each bone in your feet feel like it was snapping with every step. The pain trailed up to your knees and shins until every footfall was pins and needles. Your back was tense from being upright and the heavy pack you opted to cary, spine unable to loosen, even as you sat down. The fire snapped and popped, the only light left within the area. Unfortunately for the chain -but you in particular- Time insisted on walking the extra ten kilometres so the group would make it to the village the next morning. You let yourself fall back into the packed earth to look at the darkening sky, stars peaking through. But laying brought you no comfort, only a swell of pained muscles and sore joints.

“Are you alright, My dear?” You’re pulled from your lovely pity party by time, catching onto the apparent pain wracking your body.

“Just tired, I’m ok” You tried to sound upbeat, but it came out strained and exhausted.

“Ah, perhaps I should’ve thought twice before pushing you to hard. Is there anything we can do to help?” His voice was always so soft when he spoke to you, sitting up, you saw his expression was the perfect image of his bleeding heart. You sighed as your bones felt hallow, the ground quite literally a rock. Casting your eyes around the camp, you saw the eyes of the heroes boring into you with interest. Whatever conversations they’d previously been having thrown out in exchange for you. No magic could help you, for you were not of Hylia. No flowery words could ease your pain. No food would remedy your exhaustion. All you wanted was sleep, a good one at the least.

“Do you mind If i use you as a pillow?” The phrase slipped before you could really stop it, your cheeks nearly as warm as the fire you stared into.

“I- Uh- W-“

“As long as we’re of use to you I don’t think any of us mind.” Everyone murmured their agreements, getting ready to sleep. Sky -who was already ready for sleep at that point- was the first to allow you some comfort, laying down and letting you rest your head and shoulders on his chest, Wolfie laying across his stomach. Wind Curled inbetween Sky’s side and your chest. Legend layer on the other side of Sky, head next to yours. Wild shifted you so he could lay right under you. Hyrule Wrapped an arm around your waist from next to you. Four managed to sprawl himself the whole way across your chest diagonally, over everyone else’s arms. Time and Warriors kept first watch but traded spots with the others as the night progressed. You’d never felt so safe in your life, surrounded by people that made your heart feel full and mind less tired.

[jamesdeniscouldnever]

Alright, so hurt/comfort won the fic vote, so here we go! Written on mobile since my laptop is broke, so forgive formatting errors. Yall, this is so long. I got carried away. This is part one of a two parter, the other will take place in act 3.

Them. pt 1.

Summary: When Rolan fails to stave off the shadow curse after leaving to find his siblings in the shadowlands, he ends up more than a little bruised and lost. So, of course, it had to be them who showed up to save him again. It just had to be Tav.

Rolan wasn't quite sure where he was. Where anything was, now that he was thinking about it. The shadows and darkness that obscured the land around him made it hard to see if he was anywhere near moonrise towers or if he was truly hopelessly lost. He could feel frustrated tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away and squared his shoulders, reminding himself of the whole reason he had come out here - Lia and Cal. He *Would* find them if it was the last thing he did.

He set off down the path once more with renewed determination. He would move the Heavens and Hells to find them. He would cast himself into Avernus once more if it meant they would be safe. If they could be saved...if they weren't already dead. What if they were already dead?

The thought has him stopping in his tracks and clenching his first. Damn this. Damn Thorm for taking them. Damn Zevlor for freezing on the group. Damn himself for going after the children first. And damn that stupid cretin Tav for playing hero at the grove and then leaving them to the darkness. If they had stayed with the group of teiflings, would they be in so much trouble now? Would it have changed anything? Would Lia and Cal be safe?

Rolan aggressively wipes away a tear that's escaped and is rolling down his cheek. He takes deep breaths to try and hold back a sob and looks around once more. He's stopped under a lantern, like the few that seem scattered around the area. Probably left by those long gone. Selúne's blessing keeps him safe from falling to the curse, but he's still grateful for the light. It gives him a moment of comfort. One that is quickly cut short by the sound of inhuman shrieks and groans. Rolan quickly whips around, a cold shard of fear running through his spine. Shadows.

4 of them, to be exact. And they're quickly inching their way closer to him, not willing to step into the light but also unwilling to let him escape. He immediately conjures the first cantrip he can think of - a ball of fire - and without thinking, launches it at the nearest shadow. It shrieks and evaporates into itself, leaving three still staring at him with their featureless faces. He grounds his feet and readies himself to take them on or die trying, anything but being dragged off into the shadows.

His focus is broken when the shadows move in, enraged by the fall of their compatriot, no longer afraid of the mere light of a lantern. Before he can even move necrotic claws are ripping into his flesh, horrifying shrieks and screams fill his ears. He's desperately trying to focus, to conjure something, anything, to free himself long enough to have a chance at a fair fight. But as the shadows advance and drain him of any hope he had left, he begins to give in. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd be with Lia and Cal again. Maybe he could stop constantly running for his life...

Just as he's about to finally stop fighting and let go, a blast from somewhere up the hill sends the three shadows flying back. Not yet defeated, but away from him. Rolan lifts his head. When had he bowed it? When had he fallen to his knees?

The first sight he's met with is *them*. Tav, in all their glory, advancing with both weapon and magic, a look of furious determination on their face. They make such quick work of the shadows that had almost taken him that he's almost embarrassed to have fallen to them. As the last shadow falls they whip around, immediately making for him.

"Rolan! Thank the gods, you're alive! Are you hurt? What in the nine hells are you doing out here alone? I heard you yelling, thank Selúne I found you in time."

He had been yelling? Their hands are flitting over him, not quite touching him. Their face holds concern, their brow pinched with worry. Why were they here? Why the hells did they follow him? Why couldn't he do anything for himself anymore?

"Damn it! Damn you. All I came here to do was to look for my family, and I can't even do that! Not without needing you to swoop in to save me," his voice catches and his shoulders hunch, his will finally leaving him, "and if I had that much trouble just walking through the woods...they're dead aren't they? Lia and Cal are dead."

Bitter tears leave his eyes before he can stop them. They had come all this way, survived so long! And for what? Just to be taken by shadows and monsters. To be taken by what resembles a child's nightmare. He's about to scream every foul word he knows when two hands cup his face. Tav now kneels in front of him, having joined him on the ground. They stare into his eyes with stallworth determination and care.

"Rolan, Lia and Cal are back at the Last Light Inn. When you told me where they'd been taken I set out immediately. Lied my way into the dungeon and snuck them out of a hole in the back of their cell, the others who were taken too. And some other friends of mine. We got back, and you were gone. Umi said you'd set off into the dark alone, and I immediately came looking for you. Gods, how awful would that have been? To get them out only to lose you?"

This whole time, they've been holding his face, trying to get through to him. He was vaugley aware of their thumb stroking his cheek. He wondered if they knew they were doing it. He felt a sort of numbness spread over him. Lia and Cal were safe. They were at the inn waiting for him. His family was alive. He doesn't speak, merely tries to struggle to his feet so he can run back there as fast as possible and strangle those two idiots for worrying him and then cry on their shoulders later that night in the privacy of their room. However, as soon as he puts weight on his feet, he finds himself falling back to his knees, Tav scrambling after him.

"Rolan, stop, stop! You're hurt. There's blood everywhere. Gods, have you even noticed? Those claws shredded you like an owlbears lunch!" They're fussing over him and trying to pull him back, now searching through their pouch for something.

Now that they've mentioned it and the adrenaline is wearing off, he's keenly aware of pain blooming over almost every part of his body. The blood soaking his robes, too. Fear strikes through him once more. Would he get back to Lia and Cal after all? Just as he's about to let doubt creep in, tav places one hand on his shoulder and holds a bottle to his lips.

"Drink. It's a healing potion. It's not enough to heal all your wounds, mind you, but enough to get you back to Last Light."

Rolan drinks without another word, the bitter taste sliding down his throat. The pain lessens. Small wounds mend themselves. He let's out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Thank you." Is all he can utter. Tav helps him to his feet and braces one of his arms over their shoulders. Slowly, they begin their trek back to he inn. Back to safety. Something feels odd as they walk. And it suddenly hits him what it is.

"Where are your friends? I've never seen you travel alone. are they okay?" He questions, wondering if their found family had fallen the way his nearly had.

Tav's face flushes just a little, along with the tips of their ears. Rolan worries for a moment that he's upset them, that their friends really are gone, before they pipe up in a voice that is laced with embarrassment.

"They're fine... they're at Last Light still, I imagine. I, uh...I wasn't kidding when I said I ran to find you after Umi told me you were gone. I don't think any of them were able to keep up with me." Tav's smiles a little sheepishly at him as they walk, and he feels his own eyes soften at them. They really were such a hero, weren't they?

They approach Last Light so much more quickly than he'd thought they would. He hadn't been very far at all...damned shadows must have had him walking in circles. Despite his embarrassment, he feels himself trying to pick up the pace as the lights come into view. He wants to see Lia and Cal for himself. He wants his siblings.

Tav complies, and they quickly approach, nodding at the guards who recognize them and moving straight to the main building. Sitting at the back of the room at the bar, he spots his brother and sister, looking just as worried as he had mere hours ago. Lia sees him first.

"Rolan! There you are! What in the hells were you thinking?! What happened to you?" She's a mix of angry and relieved, he can tell, and he wraps her in a hug before she can scold him and more. After a moment, he releases her and moves to grip his brother in the same manner. A bolt of nervous anger overcomes him he wasn't truly mad, but when someone scares you in such a way what else can you be?

"You're okay. What is wrong with you two?! I was worried sick, I thought you were dead!" He begins to bark in return. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks to see Yav giving him a look.

"I was expecting a bit of a warmer reunion." They say with an eyebrow raised. He growls at them.

"I thought my family was DEAD. But... You're right. This isn't the time. I... thank you. For everything." He sighs before turning to his siblings once more, "Are you okay? Do you need anything to eat or drink?"

Cal smiles at him and grips his shoulder.

"We're alright, we promise. We're just glad to see you." And Rolan can't help but sigh, his bluster gone.

"I know. I know. I was just so worried about you."

"And we're still worried about you. Look at you! Covered in blood and bruises! You need to get that taken care of. Is there a healer in this camp?" Lia cuts in, angry little sister that she is. Tav smiles, that same kind smile they always have.

"There's not, but I know a bit about medicine. I could take care of it." They say calmly, as if afraid to trigger more yelling. Lia only smiles in relief.

"Could you? We'd be so grateful."

"Now hang on a moment, I never-" Rolan begins before a wuthering look from Lia shuts him up. He sighs and simply nods along, knowing she won't be pleased until he's well. Tav chuckles quiet before putting a a hand on his back and guiding him to one of the few bedrooms in the inn.

"Little privacy, yeah? I'm probably going to have to get your shirt off to bandage you up." Tav says with quiet encouragement. Rolan nods and finds himself sitting on the bed, pulling his robes over his head. Tav pauses when they see him, and for a moment, he swears he sees tears in their eyes. He looks down at himself and finds deep bruises and gashes covering his abdomen. He truly looked like he had been cast back into Avernus.

"What? Don't I look as handsome as ever?" He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Tav blinks a few times, fighting the watery feeling in their eyes and smiling sadly.

"Of course. You always look handsome." They say it with such earnest that Rolan feels himself blushing with heat. Thank the gods for red skin. He goes silent and allows them to look him over, applying salves and bandaging cuts where they need to. They work with such gentle hands and a feather-light touch that he wonders at them. These same hands cut and slice enemies down without hesitation. He's rarely seen These hands not covered in blood. And yet, in this moment, he could mistake them for the touch of a healer or a nurse maid. He sighs despite himself when Tav's hands caress over a particularly sore spot on his shoulder blade.

Tav gives a gentle smile and laughs quietly, their fingers smoothing over the ridges in his skin without judgment. They finish and pack up their healing items and give him a gentle smile.

"You should rest now, okay? I'll get your brother and sister and send them up. Let them keep an eye on you." All while saying this, Tav is gently pushing him to lay down and drawing the blankets over him. He nods without complaint.

Tav smiles again and leaves the room. Moments later, Lia and Cal appear, fussing over him and continuing their scolding. They stop, however, when Rolan begins to cry in relief. His family is alive. He is safe. And it's all thanks to that stupid hero. His hero. Tav.

They hush and talk and jabber on as the night goes on, until eventually he falls into a peaceful half-sleep. He can hear the voices of his siblings but not discern what they're saying. His relaxes in the moment and welcomes the oncoming sleep. He thinks he hears a door opening and a third familiar voice joining the others. Who is that?

He is too far gone to wake and check for himself, but when he feels the unmistakable sensation of a cool hand gently pressing against his forehead as if checking for fever, he knows. Its them. He finally let's go and allows himself to give into a full sleep, but swears the last thing he feels before all fades to black is a mouth gently kissing his forehead. Them.

@illidariiii @potato-dragons @miwn8 @tieflingteatime

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

TWENTY-NINE EXCERPT:

Tonight, the moonlight shone through the rippled window glass of the lake depths, illuminating the darkened shades of green of their Slytherin dormitory. The source of those heart wrenching sounds came from one bed, the one nearest to Harry’s bed.

Tom…

Harry stood up with his wand in hand, double checking for wards or traps that might’ve been set by Tom, but there were none. Frowning at that, Harry pulled back the curtains, stepped towards to the bed, and closed the curtains behind himself. Harry turned back in the darkness, drawn towards Tom’s agitated mumbling in his sleep. Harry cast a silencing charm around them, just in case, and eased himself onto the edge of the bed with his torso twisted towards Tom’s head. Somehow, sitting on the bed didn’t wake Tom up.

That’s not normal. He better not curse me for this…

Harry lit his wand with a gentle lumos, dimming its intensity, and lowered it towards Tom’s face. It revealed a sheen of sweat on Tom’s brow, which was crinkled in pain; pale lips were parted in quiet agony. Seeing the distress on Tom’s sleeping face shattered Harry’s heart into endless pieces. Tentatively and ever so lightly, he placed his left hand on Tom’s shoulder and shook it.

Just as Harry touched him, Tom’s eyes burst wide open; he gasped a stuttering breath, as if drowning for air. He moved. Fast, so fast—Harry couldn’t retaliate: Tom shot out with lightning precision, wand magically in hand, its heated tip digging painfully into the bottom of Harry’s chin and forcing Harry’s head to tilt backwards. Harry froze. Those dark eyes stared at him, dull, yet wild in their light.

“It’s just me,” whispered Harry. His hand was still on Tom’s shoulder, so he chanced a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Tom twitched, eyes barely darting towards the touch, before they snapped back onto Harry, hard and unwavering. “You were having a nightmare.”

Silence.

Tom stared at him. With his torso halfway twisted off the bed, he caught his breath as if he’d been sprinting, his chest heaving up and down a few times. He visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once. His last large exhale was slow and long. “Oh…” he whispered. The tension slowly drained from his body, his shoulders dropping slightly, and the pressure beneath Harry’s chin lessened. “I… my apologies if I disturbed your sleep.”

The wand lowered and Harry let out a breath. “No, it’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Tom dragged a hand through his hair, grimacing. Tom set his wand beside his pillow and made an attempt to wandlessly vanish the sweat from his body. It didn’t work. He gritted his teeth; he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. On his second try, Tom succeeded, drying the sweat from his skin, hair, and pajamas.

What… what the hell… hang on, has he been struggling with his magic all this time, too?

Fuck.

Did lack of sleep make using magic more difficult? Harry knew Tom had been struggling with his classes a bit, but… had he really spent the last two weeks not in full control of his magic? How the hell had he managed to hide it for so long?

‘My lord, are you all right? Did you let him hit you?’

‘Yes.’

But that’d been a lie, hadn’t it?

With rising horror, Harry realized Tom had not taken that cutting curse from Archibald Nott for Slytherin political bullshit clout. No. He hadn’t been able to defend himself. If Harry had declined Abraxas’ request to search for Tom, who had expressed concern about his whereabouts that night, Tom might’ve been hurt far worse. So much worse. Archibald Nott had been downright lethal.

Fucking hell, I’m pants at noticing shit. I should’ve…

I’ve got to do better. I’ve got to start keeping an eye on Tom and the other Slytherins, like Voldemort said.

Tom met his eyes briefly, before he collapsed backwards onto his pillow and covered his eyes with his right forearm. He exhaled again, low, deep, and exhausted to the deepest of soul depths. Harry marveled at this display from Tom, shocked that he’d been allowed to witness it.

“I didn’t want you to suffer through your nightmare, so I woke you,” said Harry in a low voice. Tom didn’t move; he didn’t acknowledge him. After a beat of silence, Harry shifted to leave to give Tom some peace. “Sorry, I’ll go—”

A hand shot out, clutching Harry by the wrist.

“Stay.”

[huntingingoodwill]

dancing with a ghost (j.m.)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

desc: "you told me once that people do stupid things for love. you were right." you pull down joel's walls, and he lets himself dream of another life with you, one of boring bliss. it makes it so much more painful when you betray him. still, he's tethered to you. endlessly.

In another life, Joel would have wanted to meet you in a way that was mundane. He dreamt of it. You were the girl in the aisles of a supermarket, under fluorescent light. You were sipping coffee in a cafe, hands leaching warmth from your mug. You breezed past him on a walk in the park, and you would have compelled him, in all your magic, to talk to you. 

Instead, he first laid eyes on you past the barrel of his gun.  

Why the fuck did he agree to go on patrol on his own? 

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, setting a tremor in his fingers that he urged to keep still. 

“I’m alone,” the words cracked in your throat as you noted the sheen of primal fear that fell across his eyes. He was an animal with its ears pricked, detecting if there was another stranger lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. You pressed your back into the splintered corner of the cabin, breaking through cobwebs. 

“Why are you here?” he rasped.

Your eyes widened, mouth falling open as you searched frantically for the words. 

“My boyfriend, I was with his camp…” you swallowed thickly, the pinch of heartbreak and shame blooming behind your eyes. “...they packed up and left me when I was asleep. Took my jacket.” 

His eyes roved your body, taking in the threadbare clothes you were left with, anxiety and cold pricking your skin with goosebumps. He felt a twinge in his heart he fought to stave off. 

“I’m sorry I came here. I was walking for so long, and when I saw the cabin…” 

He swallowed thickly, resolve faltering as he looked at you, eyes dark as he stared at you through thick lashes. You wouldn’t last much longer out there, with no weapons, no supplies, not even a jacket. 

“Stand,” his gruff voice commanded. “Don’t make me say it twice.” 

You scrambled to your feet, scuffed boots clattering against the rotting floor. His calloused palm shot out towards you, travelling quickly up your sides. No hidden weapons. 

He begged himself to stay strong. To cast concrete over his heart, stifle the pang in his heart. Pull the trigger. 

He huffed out a sigh, dropping the rifle to his side. The tension in the air seemed to disintegrate as his fingers lifted to meet the bridge of his nose, a headache blossoming in the back of his skull. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” he held out his canteen toward you. “Drink.” 

The slosh of the water made you salivate, and you gulped it down, barely registering as Joel slipped his jacket off, wrapping it around your frame, the fabric still warm with his body heat. 

Dead leaves crunched underfoot as he led you outside, hoisting you up onto his horse. His hands lingered for a moment on your waist before he mounted the saddle, gripping the reins.

“Hold on,” he muttered. He sought out your arm, directing it to his waist. Your arms snaked around his side, loosely finding their place over his stomach. He tried to ignore the kick of his heartbeat as he felt the weight of your hand against the pack of muscle at his core.

The steady click of the horse’s hooves against the trail soothed you as the two of you headed toward Jackson. A heavy calm settled over you, and you felt yourself slump forward with fatigue, cheek pressed against Joel’s hard shoulder. You nuzzled into the warmth that radiated off him, the steady thrum of Joel’s heartbeat in your ear. 

“Water-” 

“Whiskey.” you interrupted Joel. Afternoon sun still streaming golden through the windows, it was quiet in the Tipsy Bison, save the noise of your fingers tapping against the bar. 

“You just got here and you’re already tryin’ to drink up all our booze?” Joel’s words dripped with derision. 

“I thought it’d warm me up.” you shrugged, a soft smile playing on your lips. It almost won him over. Almost. 

“Water,” he repeated to the bartender. “Keep an eye on her.” 

He pulled his jacket tighter over your frame, pulling the zipper up, knuckles brushing against you. 

“This’ll keep you warm. Don’t move. Be good, now.” 

“I’ll be the best.” you replied. In spite of himself, the corners of his lips threatened to turn up in an incredulous smile. 

He stalked away toward the corner booth where Tommy sat, his brother’s eyes examining you. 

“Looks harmless enough.” Tommy conceded, chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “But we can never be too careful.” 

“You saying she’s a raider?” Joel questioned, turning to cast a look in your direction.

Your eyes met his, a crackle of electricity seeming to fly through the air. He turned back around, clearing his throat in an attempt to disguise the heat spreading across his face. 

“Maybe. You said her boyfriend’s camp just ditched her in the middle of nowhere? Assholes like that would do anything to survive. Birds of a feather…” he trailed off. 

A silence fell between the siblings as Joel processed his words. 

“I couldn’t just leave her out there, Tommy. I couldn’t.” he muttered. He had already felt tethered to you out there, knowing he wouldn’t let himself abandon you. He had to protect you. 

“I want to trust you, Joel.” Tommy said.

Joel’s eyes peered at him, a flicker of determination glimmering in the pits of his dark eyes. 

“Then trust me.” 

Tommy sighed solemnly, nodding in concession. 

“Okay. Just… be careful.” 

Joel nodded gravely. 

“She can stay with me. I’ll keep an eye on her.” 

With a final grave glance in your direction from Tommy, Joel rose to his feet. You listened to his heavy footsteps as you eyed the thin film of water left at the bottom of your glass. 

“I’m taking you home.” 

Laughter bubbled in your throat. 

“You’re direct, aren’t you? At least be a gentleman and buy me a drink first.” 

He blinked at you, hiding his surprise behind a cough as he attempted to regain his composure.

“Funny.” he said, sardonic.  

“I wasn’t entirely joking.” you hummed. 

He slid onto the stool beside you, eyes roving across your profile. The sunlight glinted off your eyes.

“Two whiskeys.” he said. 

Your finger traced the rim of your glass as the bartender set it down before you, eyes trained on the dark amber liquid that pooled in your cup. 

His eyes travelled across the curve of your nose, your lips. Your hair fell into your face, grazing your cheek. His fingers flexed at his side, longing to reach out and push it away. He gripped his glass tighter in his hand. 

“What happened out there?” the words seemed to leave his lips before he could stop himself, his gruff voice stilted as it cut through the quiet. “You… said you were with your boyfriend’s group.” 

He immediately regretted asking, worried he was pushing too far, pushing you further back into yourself. 

“Yeah.” you breathed out a shallow sigh. “Brought me out to a neck of the woods I wasn’t familiar with. Said it was getting dark, that we had to stay the night.” 

Your eyes glazed over, and Joel could almost see the memories flashing through your mind. 

“I woke up and they were gone.” you continued. A pit of sorrow nestled into his stomach as he imagined you, eyes fluttering open to greet the morning light. Alone. 

“I should have known. They were…” the words seemed to stick in your throat. “They had been calling me dead weight for months, because I refused to help them.  The things they did to innocent people in the name of survival. I couldn’t.”

Raiders. Tommy’s words flashed through Joel’s mind, but his heart softened at the determined, faraway gaze you had, looking out at nowhere in particular. 

“Still,” you let out a laugh, the noise tinged with bitterness. “I trusted him. I even believed, for a while after, that he’d come back for me.” you mumbled, taking a swig of your drink. 

He looked at you as you winced at the bite of the alcohol, and he could clock the almost imperceptible glassy shine of your eyes, of tears you were too determined not to spill. 

“Why?” he asked, voice barely audible over the slosh of the liquor, the words rumbling deep in his chest. “Why’d you believe him?” 

He wished he could take the words back. He felt tortured in the ensuing silence. 

“Love.” you said, the word slicing through silence. Joel’s dark eyes held your gaze. “People do stupid things for love.” 

The light from Joel’s lamp cast a warm glow across the peeling wallpaper, the lightbulb emitting a quiet buzz that rang out through the silence. 

You shot up, the springs of Joel’s old mattress groaning. 

“I can’t sleep.” you announced into the quiet. 

Joel started from the sudden noise before he relaxed, heartbeat slowing after the sudden rush of adrenaline. He shifted in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. 

“Try.” he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“I have been trying. But it’s a little hard to sleep when you’re sitting in the corner watching me.” 

“Performance anxiety?” he raised a thick brow, the lines in his forehead deepening. A quiet laugh left your lips, and his lips tugged upward. “I promised Tommy I’d keep an eye on you.” 

Four long nights. Joel could already feel the weight of sleep tugging at his eyelids, the air he breathed thick with fatigue. Tommy had been coming in the early hours to take over, just enough for Joel to achieve a short, fitful sleep on the couch.

So far, he’d been watching a lot of nothing. You hadn’t done anything to indicate you were up to no good. He had felt comfortable around you, a strange calm settling over him whenever he allowed himself to forget your associations with the raider group. Still, the tendrils of caution always seemed to itch at the back of his mind. You were disarming. He almost trusted you. Some part of him was scared of that, how easily you threatened to knock down his walls.

Maybe he was just tired. 

“You need sleep.” you stated, drawing your knees up to your chest, Joel’s sheets pooling around you. 

“Didn’t sleep much before you got here.” he responded, palm attempting to soothe the bundle of knots forming at the base of his neck. 

“Try.” you echoed his words. “I can sleep on the couch.“ 

“No.” Joel said. God knows how long you were wandering out in the woods without a proper place to lay your head.

“Then come over here. It’s big enough for the both of us.” you said.

It wasn’t the possibility of you robbing him blind that gave him pause, though it should have been. Besides, you had been on your best behaviour so far.

What had caused his heart to quicken its pace was the idea of being in the same bed with you. Embarrassed, he tried to tamp down those emotions, heat pooling under his skin. He shot a look at the bed, the sheets looking so soft, drawing his tired frame towards them. Being able to lie down in his own bed would feel like heaven. 

Still, he stared at you, unsure. 

 “I’ll just lie down, close my eyes, and if you wanna lie down, you can come over here. I won’t be any the wiser.” 

Closing your eyes, you relaxed back into the mattress, snuggling into the duvet. 

He stared at the outline of your shape beneath the duvet. He felt a yearning for sleep, a magnetism between him and his bed.

The floorboards creaked as he stood hesitantly, making his way across the room. He moved onto the bed, the mattress dipping comfortably beneath his weight as he allowed his tense body to be enveloped by the comfort of his bed. 

“That wasn’t so scary, wasn’t it?” you teased, eyes still closed, feigning sleep. 

He couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and you let out a laugh. 

“He laughs! I didn’t know you knew how.” you teased. 

“Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it.” he joked, unable to stop himself from smiling. 

“You should do it more often. I like your laugh.” you mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. 

He looked back at you, the words hanging heavy in the air. 

“I like yours.” he mumbled, warmth spreading throughout his body. 

You felt the tension that he held begin to dissipate, muscles relaxing as he settled into the bed. His breath was steady, the heave of his chest comforting. You seemed to be drawn toward each other, the warmth of each other’s bodies a comfort that pulled you closer. 

“Thank you.” your quiet voice interrupted the comfortable silence that fell between you two. 

“For what?” he muttered. 

“For everything. For taking me in. I’m happy I met you.” 

“I…” Joel began, hanging on the precipice of something. “I’m happy I met you too.” 

“I wish we could have met under different circumstances.” you hummed. “Normal circumstances.”

“Life’s a lot different than it was before.” he muttered. 

“Astute observation.” you joked. He reached for a pillow, whacking you softly in the side as you shook with laughter. “Sorry, sorry! Life before…” you sighed, considering the idea. “When I had dreams. Grand aspirations.” you chuckled, reminiscing. 

“What sorta dreams?” 

“I wanted to be an actress.” you laughed, a little embarrassed, pressing your blushing face into the sheets. “I was gonna be a fuckin’ star.” 

“Yeah?” he smiled, turning to look at you. 

“Oscar-worthy.” you replied. 

The room dissolved into laughter, quiet chuckles echoing through the air. 

“What did you want to be? What was your dream?” you whispered. 

He exhaled, a distant look in his eyes.  

“I guess… I wanted to be a good dad. A good husband.” 

You were quiet for a moment, before you reached for him, searching for his hand in a sea of sheets. You slipped your hand over his. 

“You were the best.” you whispered.

“How would you know?” he scoffed. 

“I do. I just do.” 

He looked at you in earnest, softened by fatigue and the secret vulnerabilities people are only brave enough to show in the quiet hours of the night. He turned his hand, folding it into yours. He squeezed it, thumb running across the ridges of your knuckles. It was his way of thanking you. 

In the early hours of the morning, when Tommy arrived to help Joel keep watch, he found the two of you, entwined. 

It was the best sleep Joel had gotten in a long, long time.

The Tipsy Bison hummed with the laughter of its patrons, drink tinging their voices with a warmth. Joel pushed past a crush of tipsy bodies, eyes scanning the room. 

His gaze landed on you, an uncontrollable smile greeting his lips. A solitary figure on the corner stool, your head tilted toward the bar in concentration as you scribbled on a scrap of paper. 

“What’ve you got there?” his gravelly voice, barely audible over the buzz of the crowd, rang in your ears. You slid the paper off the surface, tucking it into your pocket before he could take a good look. 

“Nothing.” you murmured. You ignored the questioning look he gave you, and the guilt that bubbled up in your stomach because of it. You pushed yourself off the stool, walking toward the jukebox. 

He felt the gnaw of doubt more and more around you. It was ridiculous, considering you spent your nights drawn close to each other in sleep, his sheets now perfumed with your scent. He felt that urge in the pit of his stomach, the need for everything between you to be alright. He wanted you to like him. It made heat bloom in his collar. 

You turned your head, and gave him a smile, and suddenly everything was okay. He was drawn back in, moving to stand beside you. 

“How was your day?” he asked. 

You held out your hand, the edges of your fingernails dark with dirt. He chuckled, taking your hand as he examined it, thumb skimming the skin of your knuckles for a second too long before he remembered himself. 

“Poor thing.” he muttered, missing the warmth of your hand as you slipped it from his. 

“I like the greenhouse. Feels good to contribute.” you smiled.

He reached out, ruffling your hair. He had asked Tommy to let you help out around Jackson, and you took to what little duties you were given like a duck to water. 

“How was patrol?” you asked. 

“Tommy talked my ear off again.” he rolled his eyes, earning a snort from you as you drummed your fingers against the peeling veneer of the jukebox. “I wish I was patrolling with you, instead.” 

Regret pooled in the pit of his stomach as you didn’t respond. He had revealed too much. He watched you, the jukebox’s blinking lights setting your eyes alight, neon reflecting off your gaze. 

“Penny for your thoughts.” he muttered.

You raised your eyebrows. 

“I was just thinking about how we’d work together on patrol.” 

“What’s the verdict?” 

“I think we’d make a good team.” you smiled, and he felt the weight of anxiety lift itself off his shoulders. 

“Good.” he said, trying to hide how happy it made him. “I’ll talk to Tommy about it. If I can get a word in.” 

Laughter spilled from your lips as you held out your hand toward him. His brow furrowed in confusion.

“I want my penny.” 

“I… don’t have any on me right now.” 

“I loathe liars.” you snarled in mock disdain as you landed a smack against his bicep, unable to keep up your grumpy countenance for more than a second before it dissolved into a grin. “Then, how about… a dance?” 

His eyes widened, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. You loved that you could surprise the unshakeable Joel Miller. 

“No way.” he shook his head determinedly, even as you began pulling on his hand. 

“Performance anxiety?” you questioned. “Then we’ll go outside.” 

You tugged on his arm, hauling him toward the door. He let himself be led by you, an incredulous smile on his face. 

It was beginning to grow warmer, but the bite of the cold outside still refreshed you as you took a breath of the clean, thin air. The door swung close, and the music and noise of the crowd muffled, seeming to recede in the distance. 

The light from the bar cast a strip of gold across the side of his face, illuminating the salt and pepper scruff on his jaw. You reached out to lace your fingers behind his neck, his shoulders stiffening at the brush of your hands against his hair. You took your hand away, leading his hands to your waist. His broad palms splayed out against your waist as you began to sway. 

He began to relax into your touch, dancing in time to the cry of the crickets and the muffled song that played from within the Tipsy Bison. He couldn’t focus on the noise, on the upkick of dust on the dirt road, on the grass that swayed along with you, on the quiet bleat of the sheep in their pens. He looked into your eyes, a shimmer of warmth spreading through his chest. 

“What do you do all day, when I’m out on patrol? Besides working at the greenhouse.” he muttered, hands warm against your waist. 

“I think of you.” you smiled, and he hated the way the words made his heart stutter. “And I go on walks. Long walks.” 

He frowned, eyes hardening.

“You shouldn’t be wandering out there alone. We got the wall, but pockets of raiding parties can get in through the weak spots.” 

“I know.” you muttered, resting your temple on his shoulder. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he felt your warm breath fan across his neck. 

You pulled away from him, and he ached for the feeling of your closeness as you did. 

“You’re gonna have to teach me to shoot if you want me on patrol with you.” you said. 

“You don’t know how?” 

“I have an idea.” you said, springing into action as you mimed holding a rifle at him, shoulders shuddering with laughter as you pretended to pull the trigger, the noise of mimicked gunshots spilling from your lips. 

“You really are an actress, aren’t you?” he laughed. “It’s more like…” he planted his hands on your shoulders, twirling you around to face out into the dark silhouettes of Jackson’s buildings. He adjusted your hands, pulling your back flush against his chest as he readjusted your posture. He sweared you could feel his heartbeat against your back. “This.” 

Your arms fell to your sides. You swivelled around, chest pressed against his, before your hands found the nape of his neck, his soft, dark hair grazing your hand. You pulled him close. 

He kissed you, under the ink black night, his lips grazing yours as you felt the scratch of his beard against your cheek, his rough hands roving your sides. His lips were soft, his hands warm against your skin. You leaned in closer, that warm sensation he felt whenever you were near seeming to shoot out from his fingertips, coursing through his veins. He wanted to stay that way, forever. 

That night, the two of you fell asleep once more in each other’s arms, his arms enveloping your frame, breath shallow against your neck. 

After he left for patrol the next day, he was all that was on your mind, haunting you with every step on your long, long walks around Jackson, your feet leading you to those weak spots he warned you about, where pockets of raider parties lurked, the scrap of paper clutched tightly in your hand. 

Days off-patrol were spent in sleep. It was as if that was how you bonded, the trust you showed each other when you allowed yourselves to doze off in front of the other, to hold each other. If not, you were talking, coaxing words from Joel, memories about life before, information about Jackson’s operations. There was kissing, too. Stolen moments in the kitchen, underneath awnings, away from prying eyes. 

Days like these, when you were on patrol with him, you would watch the trees blur as you travelled past, eyeing the broad expanse of Joel’s back as he swayed on his horse.

He drew to a stop before a creek, dismounting. You had often stopped here for breaks on your route, and you had grown familiar with its waters.  

“I need a break.” he grumbled, searching his bag for his canteen. 

You followed suit, feet hitting the grass as you lifted your chin toward the sky. The sunlight flashed behind your eyelids, its warmth kissing your face. 

“Let’s swim.” you hummed. 

You slipped off your shirt, Joel averting his eyes as his cheeks tinged with red. The warm air hit your skin as you took the opportunity to slip your newest note from your back pocket, tucking it under a rock near where your clothes pooled atop the grass.

Joel watched your back disappear beneath the water’s glassy surface. 

The itch of unease returned to him. He felt watched, like someone’s eyes were boring into the back of his skull. He looked around. Nothing. 

“C’mon!” you called out over the splash of water.

Nudging the paranoia aside, Joel pulled his shirt over his head. 

You swam up to him as he slipped into the creek, his body cutting through the water. Water beaded on his bare chest, pooling in the hollow of his neck. You smiled, leaning forward to kiss the base of his throat, droplets hanging off the scruff of his beard. 

Your hands ran over his shoulders, wicking water off the surface of his tanned skin. Your fingers found his hair, entangling themselves in the silver-dark locks. His arms searched for you underwater, wrapping themselves around your waist. 

An unsettling silence seemed to ring in his ears. Something was wrong. He still felt watched. He searched your gaze. The light reflecting off the water shone into your eyes, obscuring them for a moment. Perhaps he was imagining it, but as the light flickered through your gaze, it seemed to be empty. Like you weren’t quite there. 

A snap of a twig cut through the air, and Joel jumped, his neck craning as he began to swivel around before you pulled him close, lips crashing against his. Your hand cupped the nape of his neck, pulling him toward you as his hand sailed up your back. He kissed you, his lips slick with water, gentle as he held you close. 

“We should go.” he muttered, pressing you to his chest. Your cheek fell against his bare shoulder, his voice rumbling in your ear. The calming weight of your head, the glint of the afternoon sun, and the quiet flow of the water doing nothing to calm him as he looked around, still wary. 

You waded out of the water, his hand in yours. As you pulled your clothes back on, you took note of the now overturned rock, the grass bare where your note once was.

“Stay here. I’ll check the next room to see if it’s clear.” Joel grabbed hold of his rifle.

Patrols had led you back to where you first met. The air in the cabin was thick with dust, but it was much-needed shelter for the night. You nodded, tugging his hand to pull him toward you. 

“Be careful.” you reached up to plant a kiss on his temple. 

He nodded, giving your hand a squeeze.

He scanned each room, senses on high alert as he stalked through the cabin. 

A creak of the floorboards rang through the air. He swivelled around, hurrying into the cabin’s study in the direction of the noise. His feet slammed against the floor as he entered the room, gun aimed and ready. 

The silhouette of a man made a run for the woods, ducking out of the backdoor before Joel was able to get a good shot. Joel’s chest heaved as he raced after him, firing a couple shots in the man’s direction, missing as the stranger ducked in between the trees, receding into the forest. 

Fear coursed through his veins, heart slamming against his chest as he ran back inside. 

“We gotta go!” he called out to you, before he paused, eyes catching on the desk, the termite-infested hunk of wood and dust that sat in the corner of the room. 

The intruder had left the drawer open. 

He approached with caution, hand reaching to brush across the open compartment. A letter, hastily folded, had been thrown inside.

He unfolded it with shaking hands. 

This is the last thing I’ll send. Take what you need, don’t hurt anyone, leave. It ends here. I don’t want to hurt him.

Joel ran his fingers across the groove of your handwriting, eyes travelling to where you had drawn a crude map of Jackson, circling the weak spots in the wall, easy targets for raiders. 

Joel blinked hard, his heart leaping into his throat. No. His eyes had to be deceiving him. His hands quaked as he read the next line, another set of handwriting scrawled as a reply beneath your message. 

Tomorrow, 2 a.m. We’ll attack when they sleep. Keep sending info, or he gets it.

Joel’s eyes travelled toward the desk drawer, another scrap of paper resting at the bottom of it. He lifted it toward him. You had copied the patrol roster in your careful handwriting, the information of every Jackson resident on patrol, their route and schedule. The intruder had circled Joel’s name. A threat.

His gaze burned, the heat of betrayal and sorrow blooming behind his eyes. He felt everything he thought he knew crumble around him, tearing his heart down with it. He felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if you were right there, plunging in a knife. It was all a lie. He had trusted you. You were in contact with the raiders this whole time. You had been feeding them information, risking the safety of everyone he cared about. You lied to him.

“Joel? What’s wrong?” you called out, the noise of your footsteps snapping him out of his daze. 

You appeared in the doorway, his heart flooding with a mix of unspeakable emotion. He wished he could take back what he knew, to pretend it was all okay. To go back to holding you. 

“You’re breaking my heart, baby.” he muttered. 

Your eyes widened as your gaze locked in on his hand, the notes hanging dejectedly from his fingers.

You grappled for your rifle, aiming it at him with more poise than you had let him know you had. 

You knew how to shoot, he realised. Another lie. He watched your posture. Perfect, if not a little shaky. You were nervous, shaken in your regret. You didn’t know if the person at the end of your gun was the enemy. You didn’t want him to be at the enemy. 

“Stay away.” your voice wavered, your unease bobbing to the surface of your voice.

Joel’s fingers twitched at his side, reaching for his knife. 

“Don’t move. I’ll blow your fucking hand off.” you warned. It sounded unsure. 

He watched you. You were beautiful. In every other life he’d still believe in your beauty. He’d take hold of those hands you were using to aim a weapon, and lace his fingers through yours. 

He thought, then, about how nice it would be, to live those other lives with you. Making coffee for you in the mornings, washing the dishes together. He wished he had the opportunity to be boring with you. Instead, you were holding a gun at him, fighting to survive. In another life, the two of you would never fight.

He caught you off guard. 

Rushing forward, he pushed you onto the floor, ripping the gun from your grasp, the rifle sent skidding into the far corner of the room. The air was knocked out of you, and your breath stuttered as you struggled beneath him, his weight pressing into you as he grabbed onto your wrists. 

“Who are you?” he implored, heartbreak tainting his words, voice cracking as they left his lips. He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He stared into your eyes, his big brown eyes, broken with despair, searching and finding nothing. “There’s nothing there.” He muttered, defeated. “There was never anything there. It was all a lie. You weren’t there.” 

You wanted so desperately to protest, to beg for his forgiveness. You kept quiet. You had pushed him too far. He wouldn’t believe you. 

“You got what you wanted. You were a clever little actress, weren’t you?” The venom in his words disguised the pain that caused his voice to shudder. 

He lifted himself off of you, hands reaching for his rifle. 

“Stand. Don’t make me say it twice.” 

You listened, rising to your feet before him. 

His rationality screamed at him, urging every cell in his body to shoot. To eliminate the threat to the life he had built in Jackson, to protect the people he cared about. 

They all seemed to fall away when he thought about you. He cared about you. He loved you. 

He put his finger on the trigger. 

“You told me once that people do stupid things for love.” he paused, his words weighing heavy in the air. “You were right. And…this might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Take the food and water from my pack and run. Don’t come back.” 

It was his last gift to you. The tether between the two of you held strong. He’d always protect you, even when he shouldn’t. 

He watched you disappear into the woods, and thought of another life.

[azsazz]

Moonlight Rising

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Isn’t this what living in the Night Court is all about? AKA: You feel like one of the stars and you love Azriel because he reminds you of the thing you adore the most, the moon.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,409

Notes: This is the song that inspired this fic and I literally listened it to repeat while I wrote this. 💙🌙 

_________________________________________

“Look at the moon,” you murmur, eyes awe-filled and casted towards the sky.

“You always say that,” Azriel responds just as softly, admiring that look on your face, committing it to memory. He’s afraid that speaking too loudly will wake the glowing beacon hanging above or draw your attention away from it.

The silver of the moon reflects in the pools of your eyes and he feels so lucky that it’s him you’re here with right now. It’s like a secret between the two of you in the late hours of the night when it’s just you and him and the moon, the rest of the court asleep and dreaming. But not the two of you. No, you’re here, hand in hand and walking amongst their dreams, the stars.

You shrug, grinning, and as your gaze slides to him the admiration doesn’t falter. It makes his heart flutter and his bones soften. “I like to see what she’s up to way up there. How she’s feeling.”

“How she’s feeling?” his brows furrow as he glances up at the moon in question. It’s big and full,  painting of metallic light, casting a magical sparkle throughout the streets. “What do you mean?”

“You mean you don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” he questions, and he realizes that he’s let his guard down, too comfortable in your presence. He calls upon his shadows from where they’re lazily trailing along the winding path, but they have nothing to report.

“Oh, come on! Here,” you shake your head, pulling Azriel to the center of the square, “Lie down with me.”

Azriel watches you fall to the ground in the center of the square, settling onto the uneven cobblestones on your back, looking up at him with a brow raised.

He glances around the streets. It’s too late for anyone of sound mind to be roaming around. The arts district is quiet.

So he joins you, planting himself directly beside you. His wings are tucked awkwardly and they brush against the rough ground beneath him but he’s willing to lay for as long as you want if you keep looking at him like that, love-drunk on stardust. 

His heart thumps in his chest like the first time you’d ever held his hand.

“Now close your eyes.”

Azriel stares at you. You’re so beautiful in the moonlight like this, happy and free.

You squeeze his hand with a soft smile, urging him to follow your instruction. Your lashes kiss the tops of your cheeks. “Close your eyes, Az.”

His cheeks burn, but he does as you say, adjusting himself, the pattern of the cobblestones is uncomfortable but he’s slept on worse. He wonders if he complains enough you will give him one of your massages that always turn into something more–

It’s quiet. He can hear your breath, the sounds of bugs serenading the night.

“You feel that?” 

Whatever you’re feeling he doesn’t. But what he does feel is the warmth of the palm of your hand on his own, the bones of your knuckles pressed to his, your fingers utterly relaxed in his slightly tense grip. He can feel the sliver of moonlight in his chest, that string from his mind, his body, his soul, connecting him to you, to everything that you are. It shimmers.

“Yeah,” he breathes anyway, “I feel it.”

“Do you think the stars gaze back at us?” You stun him sometimes. When you’re not taking his breath away with your beauty you’re asking him silly questions he’s never considered, patiently awaiting a serious response.

He loves you for it. Your mind, unmatched.

“I suppose they could be,” he ponders, turning toward the stars. “Although they’d probably think us crazy for lying on the hard ground in the midst of Autumn staring up at them.”

You laugh and his heart soars.

“What do you think that one does?” you ask, pointing to a star just north of the moon.

Azriel tries to pinpoint exactly which one you’re talking about but there’s so many in such close proximity that he doesn’t think that he can, but he answers anyway, an amused smile on his lips.

“A baker, I reckon.”

Your finger shifts in a different direction, “And that one?”

“Swordsman.”

“How about that one over there?”

“Town fool,” it rolls off his tongue easily, the rapid fire back-and-forth.

“And her?”

“Thief.”

Your hand falls and you make a face at your mate. “A thief?”

He shrugs in response, “What? They can’t all be nice.”

You huff in disagreement. You suppose he’s right though. It did look a little dimmer than the rest.

Letting the night wash over you once more, you settle. Being out under the moon and the stars with Azriel is something that you’ll never tire of. And you’re thankful that he’s willing to go with you, whether it’s admiring them from afar or answering your playful questions or flying you with them, across the night sky.

“Why do you like the moon so much?” Azriel breaks the comfortable silence, voice barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

You swallow thickly, blink slowly as all of the reasons you love the moon rush through your mind.

“There are many reasons,” you start, thumb brushing over the rough scars of his hands. You let your head fall to the side and he’s already staring at you, golden eyes so different from the silvery moon in the sky. They look like the sun, and light up every part of your soul with just a single glance, in the same way that you are the moon, seeing through all of his darkness.

“Tell me your favorite.” It’s soft, small smiles like you’re sharing a secret.

“I think your hands are the first thing I loved about you,” you admit.

Azriel frowns, nearly dropping your hand. Your fingers tighten around his loose ones so they don’t slide from yours.

That wasn’t what he had asked. He didn’t ask you to lie to him, didn’t ask you to bring up the marred flesh over ruined muscle and charred bone. He flinches because when had they stopped becoming a constant reminder and were now just…a part of him?

“Why?” Azriel’s throat is tight and his heart pounds in his chest. His eyes hurt, prickling with the unfamiliar feeling of tears, something he hasn’t done in years, and he wonders if the moon is actually affecting him in some way. He doesn’t want to talk about this but he wants to know why such an ugly part of him can be the thing you loved first about him.

“Look,” you nod back towards the moon but he doesn’t look away, eyes flickering between yours as if looking for any sign that you’re lying to him or about to change the subject.

You flood the bond with the warmth that the sun within him makes you feel, and he looks.

Taking his hand that you haven’t yet let go, you raise them up into the air between you, until the back of his palm sits next to the moon in your line of vision.

“Look at them,” you whisper, teary eyed and soft smiled.

And Azriel does. He’s overcome with emotion as he stares back and forth between the moon and his own hand, really looking. It doesn’t take long for him to understand why you’ve said what you did, with the way that the roughness of his hands look like that of the moon. Dips and pock-marks alike, both imperfect and rough but yet somehow they’re your favorite things in the world.

He sucks in a harsh breath as he assesses, and you let him take his time, watching the realization wash over his features in the bright moonlight. His long, inky lashes clumping together with wetness, the bob of his throat as he swallows the lump of emotion lodged there. You can feel what he’s feeling, down the open bond. Never closed, not for you. Apprehension and fear melting away into something more, something stronger. Love and pride.

“We’re the same,” he breathes, tearing his gaze from his hand and the moon shining down.

You nod, a tear of happiness slipping from the corner of your eye that reflects silver in the light. Azriel brushes it away with his fingers, hand still holding onto yours tightly.

“I love you to the moon and back, Az.”

“To the moon and back, (Y/N),” he promises.