#Air Spring Bellows

[driaswrld]

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.

🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog

CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *

L'INCOMPARABLE.

Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.

Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.

Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.

Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.

“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.

“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.

“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.

Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.

“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.

Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.

At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.

It was a disastrous first few encounters—

(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )

His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.

Not around you, at least.

“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.

That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.

THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.

Dearest gentle reader,

As all royal scandals do,

It started with an invitation.

We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].

This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.

What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!

Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.

But I assure you,

When it comes to matters of the heart —

Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.

You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.

And yet.

“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.

Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince

Is not the strongest.

“Some nerve you have, boy.”

Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.

You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.

And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.

“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”

Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.

You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.

No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.

“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”

You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.

“She will never be Queen.”

It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.

It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

Three months, thirteen days.

Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.

Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.

Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.

Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.

Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.

“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”

The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.

Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.

You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.

why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me

“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”

The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.

That, and the prize.

The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.

Gentle reader,

The famed jewel for the taking

This summer, is none other than—

“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.

It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .

Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.

“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”

( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )

“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”

She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.

There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.

A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.

—The champion’s jewel,

A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.

The L’Incomparable.

“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.

Three months, thirteen days.

You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.

He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.

It’s eerily similar to your childhood.

“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.

L’Incomparable.

The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.

Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.

A gift he only got to place on her corpse.

Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.

And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.

“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.

“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”

L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.

It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.

A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.

And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.

“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.

“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”

( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )

He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.

“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.

And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.

“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”

He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.

He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.

This urge—

( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )

The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—

( it will pass. )

“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”

Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.

Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.

He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.

“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”

( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )

There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.

And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.

As if you had never been there.

The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.

L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.

Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.

You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.

Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.

It made you giggle.

The palace corridors are bustling with life.

Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.

Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.

“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”

“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.

Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.

Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.

“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”

You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.

His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.

“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”

You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—

“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”

You choke. Audibly.

Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”

“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.

Oh, fair reader, it seems

Our dear protagonist has come upon

A treasure trove of memories.

“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”

Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.

“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”

“Oh, about Prince Geto!”

Dearest reader,

Suguru Geto enters.

A man of great mystique,

the northern Prince.

And striking opposite of

our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.

“Yes! About him—”

Suguru Geto.

In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.

Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.

“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”

( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )

“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?

The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.

“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.

Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.

But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.

And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.

( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )

Faithful reader,

she could not have been

more wrong.

Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.

Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.

You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.

Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.

This time, you’re taken aback.

Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—

There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.

Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.

But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.

It's almost intimate.

When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.

You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.

( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )

˚ ༘ *

The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.

When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?

Wait, why do you even care?

You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.

Darling reader,

it was in fact,

not the tea.

Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.

Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.

One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.

And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!

Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?

( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

is in denial.

“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.

( oh god, no. )

Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.

“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.

“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”

The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.

You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.

He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.

You don't doubt that.

“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”

“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.

You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.

( oh, the gloves ! )

“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.

Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.

The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.

( what a coincidence. )

˚ ༘ *

Time passes in waves.

People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.

‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’

‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’

‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’

‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’

“Bitter.”

Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.

Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.

The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.

“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”

You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.

( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )

“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”

When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”

He looks. . . disheveled.

Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—

And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .

( so that's what he was doing. )

“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.

The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?

“I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.

“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”

If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.

“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.

“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.

Marriage.

Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”

Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.

“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”

When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.

“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.

Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.

“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.

Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.

But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.

My dearest reader,

brace yourself for the

next publication.

Your kind author

bids you farewell.

[moonsprcngs]

I love love love your writting. can you do an enemies to lovers Sirius Black one shot? idk like make it hella dramatic, like fighting in the rain n then they kiss, or like a truth or dare n they have to kiss or sum. again love u sm have a good day stay healthy

hi my lovely, thank you so so much for the compliment & the request! i'm so flattered that u love my writing. i love YOU and i hope this did ur idea justice! <3 i also decided to make the reader a hufflepuff in this cause i thought it'd be a cute lil asset, hope u don't mind!

sirius black x fem!hufflepuff!reader <3

One thing about you is that you could not stand Sirius Black.

Everybody seemed to love him. Not just the students, but teachers too; even Professor McGonagall couldn't hide her smirk behind her hand when she often gave him a good scolding.

Really, the only one of the four marauders you could stand was Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew was okay, though he was far too much of a tag-a-long for your liking, and James Potter was practically Sirius' right hand man. Remus was your Potions partner and he was, admittedly, as much of a sweetheart as a marauder could get, often helping you study and walking you back to your common room when he caught you asleep in the library during his prefect rounds (which only happened once... or maybe twice).

"They're not so bad," he promised you one Potions class, watching for your reaction with a sheepish grin as Sirius and James messed with Snape's potion at the back of the room. "They're actually really nice once you, y'know, get to know them."

"Nice?" you questioned him, scoffing out a laugh and grimacing at the sound of Sirius' laughter bellowing through the classroom. "Need I remind you what Sirius did to me in third year?"

"I know, I know! But he's changed, Y/N, honestly! He's more... mature?"

Even Remus couldn't quite believe the words that had just left his mouth as you both watched the boy in question actually spit into Severus' cauldron. "Oh yeah, Rem, so mature."

One thing about Sirius Black is that he could not stand you.

He'd always believed what he did to you in your third year was harmless, something that would be forgotten within a month or two and not to be dwelled on. He knew you harboured a secret little crush on him at the time, so he figured... why not?

He really did mean it when he asked you out, though. Sure, he didn't know you too well; you were really just another Hufflepuff that he shared some classes with. But Remus seemed to like you, so he figured it could at least be a good way to make a new friend if nothing else.

"Hey."

You looked up from your book on Herbology at the rude interruption, and of all the people you were expecting to be standing before you, you were surprised at the sight of Sirius Black. You cleared your throat awkwardly, willing the immediate blush to disappear from your cheeks. "Hi?"

It came out as more of a question than you intended it to, but he grinned at you nonetheless and your face felt warm, was it warm in there?

You did a quick scan of the library in search of any of his smug little friends, but you saw no one. Just him.

He didn't wait for an invitation before pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down, still grinning ear to ear. "You free Saturday?"

You couldn't help but raise your eyebrows in surprise, your yellow tie suddenly feeling far too restrictive around your neck as you somehow managed to splutter out a "yes". Sirius pulled a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back (pink and white roses) and offered them to you with the same lopsided grin. "Meet me at the Three Broomsticks? Two o'clock?"

The only problem was... James had gotten into his head.

That same afternoon, Sirius entered his dorm with an air of confidence, not dissimilar to usual, but he had a different sort of spring in his step.

Remus and James were sat on their respective beds. The former looked up at him over his book and raised a single eyebrow, clearly noticing something different about his entrance, though James didn't look up from the Quidditch magazine he was reading and paid no mind.

"Afternoon, boys," he announced, his voice dripping with glee as he crashed down onto his bed.

"Afternoon, Pads," Remus responded, a curious tone to his voice as he kept his eyebrow raised. "What's gotten into you today?"

"Scored a date," he said, far too matter-of-factly for the grin he was still sporting. "With Y/N."

Remus' book fell shut on the ground with a thud, jaw dropped open and lost for words as James finally cocked an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

"Y/N L/N. Y'know, the Hufflepuff girl in our Potions class?"

"And Herbology, and Charms," Remus finally composed himself, now staring at Sirius with a pointed look, well aware of his friend's... reputation. "Look, Pads. I know she likes you, but you have to be careful about this. Y/N is my friend, and I don't want to see you hurt her."

James suddenly barked out a laugh, finally dropping his magazine as he engaged in the conversation. "Be careful? There's nothing to be careful about, Moony. As if Sirius is actually going to go on a date with a Hufflepuff. Don't embarrass yourself like that, Padfoot."

"Don't be such a dick, Prongs," Remus spat, tossing a cushion at his mate and hitting him square in the head. "She's my friend."

Sirius said nothing.

So the next Saturday rolled around and you arrived at the Three Broomsticks at five minutes to two. Though, five minutes to two became two o'clock, which became two thirty, which became three, which soon became four.

And Sirius never showed.

The next day at breakfast, you'd found him, slapped him across the face, threw the bouquet of pink and white roses back at him and left without a word.

Sirius Black did not like to be publicly humiliated. He decided there and then that he wanted nothing else to do with you.

It wasn't until your sixth year rolled around that Remus realised things were changing.

Gryffindor had just won their first match of the season against Slytherin and, as usual, there was a huge party in their common room.

You weren't much of a partier, usually preferring to stay in the comfort of your dorm with a book that you and Remus were bound to discuss within the next few days. Of course, you'd attend the parties when Hufflepuff won, but you were never one to join in with the other houses.

Although he knew this, Remus Lupin had a plan.

He was beginning to grow sick of the constant complaining on both sides of his friends. It was always "Come on, Moony, she's so bloody weird" or "Look at him, Remus, how on earth can you stand to be friends with him?" and, quite frankly, he'd had enough.

He loved the marauders, of course; they were his best friends, his brothers. But he also loved you, and though he knew that Sirius' young and dumb actions in third year hurt you, he really wasn't lying when he said he'd changed.

Yes, Sirius would call you weird or strange or annoying to his friends, but Remus knew he was deflecting. He saw the way something in his eyes changed when he watched you enter Platform 9 3/4 on the first day of your fifth year. He saw the way he'd been secretly pining over you for the last year.

Likewise, he knew the same went for you too. No matter how badly he hurt you, your feelings for Sirius never really left. He saw the way your gaze lingered on his friend for just a little bit too long. He knew the way you shook your head and muttered "what a dick" under your breath every time you looked away was a cover up.

The party in the Gryffindor common room was in full swing by the time Remus convinced you to join him. It had taken a lot of begging and a fair few promises to buy you more books before you agreed, and you found yourself awkwardly at Remus' side as you entered through the portrait hole.

It wasn't long until James had found his friend and immediately tugged him away. Remus tried to fight it but found him impossible, shooting you an apologetic smile before you lost sight of him. You made a mental note to demand another promise of more books when you found him again.

You accepted defeat and made your way over to the drinks table, in need of at least something before you inevitably called it a night early and headed back to the comfort of your own common room.

Smoothing the fabric of your dress down, you suddenly felt very out of place in the yellow and white floral fabric, but an unfortunately familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts before you got too caught up in them.

"L/N?"

You immediately snapped your head up and fought the urge to roll your eyes at the source of the voice. "Black."

Sirius seemed surprised at your presence, his eyebrows raised and an interesting sort of smirk gracing his features as he looked down at you. "And what exactly are you doing here?"

"Remus invited me," you kept your answers short, trying to slow your rapidly beating heart as you reached for the firewhiskey and flashed him a sarcastic smile. "Is that a crime?"

"No." His smirk only grew, seemingly amused at your snap back as he kept his eyes on you. "Not a crime at all, love."

He knew what he was doing. How dare he try and flirt with you now after what he did before.

"Don't call me that," your response came immediately and you felt yourself trying to fight the shiver that was so desperate to creep down your spine. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a party to enjoy and somebody to stay far away from."

That was an hour ago now, and since then you had already downed way too many cups of firewhiskey for your body to handle. You were so set on trying to avoid Sirius that you tried to make yourself forget he was even there at all.

An hour became two and Sirius ended up finding you back at the drinks table again, barely even holding yourself up as you tried to pour yourself a cup of whatever alcohol was nearest to you. Sirius, though definitely not sober, was painfully so compared to you, and he watched in slight amusement as you managed to get more of the liquid on your dress than in the cup.

"You alright over there?" His voice snapped you out of your pitiful concentration and in turn made you jump, even more of the liquid spilling down you when you did.

"Hello, Sirius," you responded, turning to look at him with a big smile and almost stumbling into his chest, causing him to wrap his arms around you as he caught you.

In your clouded state of mind, you couldn't for the life of you remember that you're supposed to hate this guy, and instead only found memories of the longing gazes when you racked your mind. You'd regret this tomorrow; you most certainly could not handle your drink.

"Hello, Y/N," Sirius raised his eyebrows at your state as he answered you, still amused as he copied your tone of voice. "You look like you've had enough."

You gasped as if he had just suggested you were You-Know-Who himself. "I have not!"

Despite your best efforts, your words came out slurred and Sirius knew Remus would not be happy that you're left out here alone in this state. He cast a quick glance around the common room but couldn't find a single glimpse of his mate in the crowd, and he let out a quiet curse under his breath.

I'm supposed to hate her, he thought to himself, letting his eyes fall back on your smiling face. She embarrassed you Sirius, shoved a bouquet of bloody roses at you in front of the entire Great Hall to see. But why did she have to grow up and be so bloody pretty?

"Let's get you back to your common room, yeah?" He suggested, gently taking the cup from you and placing it back down on the table.

He admittedly felt bad for you. Remus was nowhere to be found and he couldn't just let you get all the way back to the Hufflepuff common room by yourself in this state. You're just being a decent guy, Sirius, he told himself again. You'd do this for anyone.

You either didn't seem to hear him or his words didn't register in your brain, because when he placed a hand on the small of your back to carefully lead you through the crowd and back through the portrait hole, you only spoke with a grin.

"Are we going on a walk?"

"Yeah, love. We're going on a walk." Sirius couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction, but deep down he felt a little tense. With the state you were in, anyone could've taken advantage of you, and he was glad he found you before anyone else did. Maybe it was the little bit of firewhiskey still running through his veins, but Merlin, Black, the fuck is wrong with you tonight?

The walk back to the Hufflepuff common room was slow and quiet, and Sirius ended up wrapping an arm around your shoulders and taking most of your weight against him to stop your constant stumbling.

Once you'd reached the portrait, you muttered the password and allowed Sirius to half-carry you through, still not completely aware of what was going on, and the pair of you only stopped when you reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories.

He'd never been in this part of the castle before, and he couldn't stop the small smile that graced his lips when he noticed it smelt like a lovely mixture of flowers and freshly baked cookies.

You turned to face him once you reached the stairs and something suddenly clicked in your drunken mind.

"Sirius? Is that you?!"

He chuckled quietly again and nodded his head, raising his eyebrows with an amusement smile. "Yeah, it's me. You're back in your common room now, yeah?"

You took a moment to process his words through the thick fog clouding your brain and nodded your head, still smiling too before looking down at your dress. Your smile fell into a sad frown. "Oh no, it's ruined! It was so pretty!"

The boy in front of you took notice at the alcohol stains on your dress and shrugged his shoulders. "It's still pretty. I mean, you look pretty. I mean-"

If you did notice him stumbling over his words and the blush that rose to his warm cheeks, you didn't show it (though Sirius doubted very much that you did notice in your state). You simply smiled again, turning away from Sirius without another word as you all but skipped up the stairs.

It wasn't until he neared the portrait hall to leave again that he heard your quiet little drunken giggle. "Sirius Black thinks I'm pretty."

That was months ago now and you and Sirius hadn't even uttered a word to each other about that night.

Actually, if it was possible, you started avoiding each other more.

You were finally starting to admit to yourself that you had feelings for Sirius Black, but that scared you. How could you fall for him again after he stood you up in your third year? He left you there for two hours, your single butterbeer looking pathetic in front of you as Madame Rosmerta shot you sympathetic smiles from behind the counter every now and again.

You hadn't been in there since.

Little did you know, Sirius was avoiding you for exactly the same reason.

Okay, perhaps he was a little embarrassed to admit that he liked you. James was a dick that day three years ago and, although Sirius knew the both of them had matured since then, he couldn't help but worry his best friend just wouldn't approve. He knew deep down that James, especially now older, would just want him to be happy, but he was scared.

Remus had been so angry with him when he stood you up that he was also scared to face him again. Would he even believe him or force him to stay away from you for your own wellbeing?

The rain was pelting down heavily in early February as you trudged into Professor Slughorn's Potions class. The castle at this time of year was sickening, with pink and red paper hearts hovering over your heads in the hallways and fluttering around the tables in the Great Hall as Valentine's Day drew closer.

Even your professors had taken on the Valentine's theme, and you couldn't help but groan as you gathered around Slughorn's desk with the other Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

"Amortentia," the professor announced, and a group of Gryffindors standing behind you giggled to themselves. "The most powerful love potion in the world. If brewed correctly, the scent will be different to everyone according to what attracts them."

James Potter scoffed on the other side of the crowd and whispered something in Sirius' ear. The latter laughed loudly, pulling the attention of everyone in the room.

"Mr Black?" Slughorn spoke through the boy's laughter, keeping his calm demeanour. "Perhaps, since you find this so amusing, you'd like to demonstrate for us?"

"Don't mind if I do, sir," Sirius just laughed again and made his way through the group, going to stand by the professor with a cocky smirk. "I bet it's just a load of old bollocks anyway."

"Well, I suppose we'll find out, Mr Black. Tell us what you smell, won't you?"

You watched as Sirius leant over the cauldron and you took a moment to take in his appearance. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned a quarter of the way, his red and gold tie hanging loosely around his neck, and though you willed it not to, your heart couldn't help but flutter slightly.

At that moment, you realised that, if Slughorn was right, Sirius was about to reveal the scent of the one he loved.

"Smells like..." his voice pulled you from your thoughts as he took in the scent of the potion, "vanilla, fresh cookies, and..."

He trailed off, and his eyes suddenly flicked up to meet yours, an unreadable expression on his face as he muttered quietly.

"And, uh, roses."

Whether it was the intensity of Sirius' gaze or the fact that everybody had turn round to look at you that made you storm out of the Potions classroom, you couldn't be sure.

Not even the heaviness of the rain could stop you as you tried to get as far away from the castle as possible. What the fuck just happened?

"Y/N?"

You shook your head, refusing to turn around as you continued walking. "Leave me alone, Sirius."

"Y/N, please-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Merlin's beard, L/N, would you stop and listen to me for one bloody second!"

He'd caught up to you now, throwing himself in front of you to stop you on your course. You'd almost crashed into his chest, and Sirius suddenly remembered how you'd done the same thing at that party four months ago.

"Sirius, please-" you begged quietly, trying to push past him.

You didn't get very far as he gently grabbed your elbow and brought you back in front of him. "No, Y/N, we're going to talk. For the first time, we're going to bloody talk."

"About what, Black? What could you possibly want to talk to me about? You haven't wanted to talk to me for the last three years, why start now?!"

He couldn't help it as his voice raised slightly, and you watched him grab at his dripping wet hair in frustration. "I just openly admitted my feelings for you in front of the entire fuckin' class and you won't even talk to me!"

"Because it's bullshit, Sirius!"

Sirius stopped at this, his eyebrows furrowing as he shook his head slightly. "What the bloody hell do you mean?"

"This is just another one of your plans to humiliate me, just like you did three years ago. I'm not falling for it this time."

Successfully this time, you pushed past him, shoulders brushing together as you did. He tried to grab your wrist to pull you back but you shook it out of his grip and continued walking away from him again.

"Y/N-"

"No."

"Y/N, come on-"

"I said no, Sirius."

"Y/N, I fucking love you!"

His words halted you in place. Neither of you spoke for a moment, and the only sounds you could hear was the violent pattering of the rain and his heavy breathing.

You shook your head slowly, not even turning around to face him. "You can't. You can't do this shit to me, Sirius."

"Why not? It's true!"

His words dripped with exasperation. He seemed desperate now, his body moving back in front of you again and Godric, were those just raindrops on your face or had you been crying too?

"Sirius, I can't- I can't let myself be hurt by you again," your voice cracked slightly as you refused to look at him, feeling your throat clog pathetically. "I liked you. I really bloody liked you and when you stood me up I was so humiliated."

Something in his face softened at your words, and his voice grew quieter. "Y/N, I didn't know-"

"I haven't been on a single date since, Sirius. I can't let anyone even attempt to get close to me like that because every time they do I think they're just gonna stand me up anyway, because that's what Sirius Black did. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to fall in love with you when-"

But suddenly all words were forgotten as his lips were on yours.

Sirius' hands were now on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and some chocolate that was no doubt stolen from Remus, and it took a moment to process what was happening. But you kissed him back.

Godric, did you kiss him back.

It was a few moments later when you pulled away, his forehead finding place against yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment and your eyes took their time to flutter open, only to find him already looking at you.

"You love me, you said it yourself. Give me a chance," his voice came as a whisper, his breath fanning against your mouth as his eyes searched your features desperately.

You nodded your head breathlessly, your hands sliding up around his shoulders as you gave him a pathetically pointed look. "You pull that third year shit ever again and you're dead."

"I swear. Merlin, I swear."

You laughed quietly and Sirius broke out into a wide smile. The silence that took over you both was comfortable, the rain providing a settling background noise despite the cold that chilled your bones

"For the record, I would have smelled you too."

[antinousletmehit]

hey pretty person!

may I please, please, please, PLEASE, request some writing for Hephaestus? it doesn't have to be epic, just some Hephaestus writing. it doesn't even have to be romantic, just some chill platonic thing. i'll take ANYTHING. Hephaestus is SOOO underrated. it can be something like him taking in an apprentice at his forge or something, please, he's so cool.

please feel free to ignore!

୨୧┇Hephaestus x reader (platonic)

୨୧┇bro MIGHT like Hephaestus

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Hephaestus wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the heat of the forge licking at his face. The clang of metal echoed through his cavernous workshop as he hammered away at a bronze chestplate, its surface glinting in the firelight. It was a good day for creating, as they all were.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke his focus, followed by an eager voice calling out.

“Master Hephaestus! Master Hephaestus! You’ve got to see this!”

He sighed, though a small smile tugged at his lips as he turned to face his apprentice. You stood in the doorway, grinning ear to ear, your arms cradling what appeared to be a mess of gears, wires, and springs. “What is it this time, little one?” he asked, setting his hammer aside and folding his arms. “It’s an automatic bellows system!” you exclaimed, holding up the contraption as though it were the greatest invention in the world. “See? You wind this crank, and it’ll keep pumping air into the forge without anyone needing to work it manually!”

Hephaestus raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure it works?”

You hesitated, your grin faltering just slightly. “Well… no. Not yet. But it will!”

He let out a deep chuckle and gestured for you to bring it over. “Let’s have a look, then.”

You practically skipped to his side, setting the device down on a nearby workbench. As you began explaining its mechanics in rapid detail, your hands gestured wildly, your enthusiasm bubbling over. Hephaestus listened patiently, nodding along and occasionally interjecting with suggestions. “See this gear here?” he said, pointing to a small, poorly aligned cog. “That’s going to jam the whole thing if you don’t adjust it.”

“Oh! Right, right,” you said, scribbling notes furiously on a scrap of parchment. “I’ll fix that! Thanks, Master Hephaestus!” He smirked. “You’re getting better, you know. Not quite there yet, but you’ve got the spark.”

Your chest swelled with pride at his words, and you beamed up at him. “You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t have taken you on if I didn’t,” he replied. “Now, let’s see about getting this thing working before you burn the place down.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon tinkering with the device, laughing and joking as you worked. You couldn’t help but make silly remarks to lighten the mood, even when things went wrong. “Do you think I could attach this to a chariot?” you asked at one point, holding up a part of the bellows system. Hephaestus raised an eyebrow. “Do you want the chariot to explode?”

You burst out giggling. “Maybe! That’d be kind of cool, wouldn’t it?” He shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “You’re going to be the death of me, child.” By the end of the day, the bellows system was far from perfect, but it was functional enough to give you a sense of accomplishment. As you packed up your tools, you turned to Hephaestus with a bright smile.

“Thanks for helping me, Master Hephaestus,” you said earnestly. “You’re the best teacher ever.”

He grunted, though there was a warmth in his eyes. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still got a long way to go. But…you’re doing good work.”

Your smile widened, and with a playful salute, you skipped out of the forge, already planning your next invention.

Hephaestus watched you go, shaking his head with a fond smile. The forge had been a quiet place before you arrived, and while he sometimes missed the silence, he couldn’t deny that your energy brought a new kind of life to his workshop.

[foulworth]

pastry war

while you're in the middle of a tiff with grim, fellow stops by for a visit

“I’ll have the ghosts string you up for that! Get back here NOW!”

First comes that loud bellow, then the frantic pitter-patter of paws scampering across the floorboards. Something made of glass shatters, an awkward plonk of a piano scrapes the air, and the walls of Ramshackle thrum with this contentious game of cat-and-mouse that, frankly, leaves Fellow wondering if he stopped by at the wrong time.

“Nyahaha! Not my fault they were left out! Finders keepers, yanno!” Grim’s snickers flow out of your bedroom window, from which he leaps onto a nearby tree branch. Your arm shoots out after him, flailing around to try snatching him back inside. Grim comes to a pause just out of your reach.

“All mine!” he jeers. He wags something small and golden-brown in your face, then takes a triumphant bite of whatever it is. A pastry, probably.

Fellow leans against his cane, glancing at Gidel with a half-amused curl of his lips.

“Oh, ohh dear,” he drawls. “Look at that, Gidel—seems we’ve caught our little scholar in quite the bind. Think we oughta step in?” He glances up to the window again, just in time to watch Grim dodge a barrage of slippers and kitchen pans. “No, no. Not yet. I’m having a marvelous time watching this play out.”

Your head pops into view, sleeves rolled up with a hairbrush brandished in hand.

“Fnya!” Grim skitters out of the way, dropping a couple of pastries in the process. Splats of crusts and jam join the pile of random household objects on the grass below.

“That’s it! I’m not buying you any tuna for a week!” You prop a knee up onto the windowsill, bracing yourself to jump after Grim. Fellow tenses at the sight. For a second, the amusement slips from his face, and a furrowed brow takes its place.

You’re not that reckless, are you?

No, he doesn’t have time to figure that out.

Fellow doesn’t think twice before he glides up to the tree that Grim is perched upon. His eyes never leave you, who’s halfway out the second story window.

“Wait, wait, wait!” he calls, waving both arms to grab your attention. It’s nothing unusual for Fellow to drop by Ramshackle unannounced, but his sudden appearances still catch you by surprise from time to time. Especially when you’re busy wrangling your greedy little monster companion.

And so, despite his efforts to intervene, seeing him there spooks you into losing your footing. You grab the curtain in hopes of catching yourself, but it tears off the rod almost immediately.

“Ah! Grim!” you shout, fingertips grazing the tree branch. Everything happens so fast. You plummet, the momentum beating the wind in your eyes. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hope for the best.

And then it ends.

Something soft is cushioned beneath you. You’d be lying if you said your landing was entirely painless, but nothing broke as far as you can tell. With a tentative peek, you pat yourself down, then examine the cushion—person—that flattened himself trying to catch you.

“...I think that was one of the stupidest stunts you’ve pulled—ow—and I’ve seen my share of those,” Fellow mutters. “Next time you’re that desperate to fling yourself off a two-story building, at least give it half a thought first.”

You spring up out of his arms. “What! And whose fault is that?!”

“Yours, all yours,” he insists. He slowly props himself onto his elbows, trying to ignore the lingering burn from the collision.

“...Are you okay?” you ask.

“Eh,” he offers, sounding vague and unconvincing. “Least I'd say I came at the right time. Y'know, you've always been a sucker for leaving your mark on me.”

Very funny. You might have rolled your eyes if you weren't worried that you'd hurt him.

[danadiadea]

Okay, so I was rereading the famous "I see no difference" episode, and remind me, why do we so unanimously connect Snape's comment to Hermione's teeth at all? I don't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, and I have no problems with loving a character who made a mean lookist comment on their student in Snape's conditions, really, but I analyzed it, and it appears.... at least not as straightforward as it's most often described. Let's remember how the scene goes first:

"For a split second, they looked into each other’s eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted. ‘Furnunculus!’ Harry yelled. ‘Densaugeo!’ screamed Malfoy. Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in mid-air, and ricocheted off at angles – Harry’s hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy’s hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up – Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth. ‘Hermione!’ Ron had hurried forwards to see what was wrong with her. Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione’s hand away from her face. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Hermione’s front teeth – already larger than average – were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, towards her chin – panic-stricken, she felt them, and let out a terrified cry. ‘And what is all this noise about?’ said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamoured to give their explanations. Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, ‘Explain.’ ‘Potter attacked me, sir –’ ‘We attacked each other at the same time!’ Harry shouted. ‘– and he hit Goyle – look –’ Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. ‘Hospital wing, Goyle,’ Snape said calmly. ‘Malfoy got Hermione!’ Ron said. ‘Look!’ He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth – she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape’s back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, ‘I see no difference.’ Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight."

First of all, was the spell intended as a comment on Hermione's teeth, or bullying of her? No. It was directed at Harry. It was just a coincidence that Hermione's front teeth were naturally prominent. Did any slytherins or Snape directly connect the effect of the spell to Hermione's teeth? Also no. The girls giggle silently behind Snape's back, but whether that's because they make fun of Hermione's own teeth, or they just think she looks funny with the spell taking effect right now, is unclear. No-one laughs after "I see no difference", too, even tho Slytherins often giggle at Snape's comments, and previously mentioned girls could've stopped hiding if Snape supported their fun – but it hadn't happened. The only person who connects the effects of the spell with how Hermione normally looks is Harry in his head, imposing that view on a reader with that notion: "already larger than average". But that is never voiced anywhere during the scene but in Harry's private thoughts.

Now let's look at what was said out loud:

'Explain.’ ‘Potter attacked me, sir –’ ‘We attacked each other at the same time!’  ‘– and he hit Goyle – look –’ 'Hospital wing, Goyle,’  ‘Malfoy got Hermione! Look!' 'I see no difference.’

When we see the dialogue itself, the fact that "I see no difference" is connected to Hermione personally is more than unclear. It literally can mean "I see no difference between what happened to her and to Goyle". It can mean “I see no difference between what Goyle and Granger should do”. He could say "she looks the same" or "I don't see what's wrong" if jkr wanted to make it clear it's a comment on Hermione's appearance.

Okay, but how it was said? Was Snape smirking or speaking in a sarcastic, snide voice? No. He gave Hermione a cold look – well, sorry, I do not see such a difference between descriptions "examined" and "looked coldly". It's not like he kissed Goyle's forehead – he also just looked at his traumas, with his eyes that we know generally look "cold and empty" according to Harry. His tone isn't described here – we can assume it was also cold, and considering that Snape previously spoke in a "deadly" and "calm" voice, that's not a drastic difference as well.

Did Snape punish anyone unreasonably? No. He didn't punish Harry for attacking Goyle, which is what happened according to Draco (Snape is so prejudiced though, right?), and he didn't punish Hermione for leaving the class without permission. If Snape insulted her, then she ran away without him letting her go, yet no points were taken from Gryffindor for that – except if he wanted Hermione to do exactly what he told Goyle to do, that is go to the Hospital Wing, and that's why he didn't have problems with it. Snape only took points and gave Harry and Ron detention for publically cursing and screaming at the teacher, which is more than fair, if you ask me.

Would Snape even notice Hermione's unusual teeth at all? Harry, Hermione's best friend, didn't notice that they became shorter for a couple of months, nor did Ron. We don't ever have Snape's POV, so we don't know if he tends to notice details like that about people, but we know that his own teeth were uneven as well, and he didn't care enough to change them, or anything else about himself; and we know that he didn’t insult anyone's appearance in the books on any other occasions, making mean comments on skills or moral qualities instead. I personally quite often am perplexed when a person shares that they are insecure about some part of their body, because I don't pay much attention to that, so I wouldn't even know it's "unconventional" if they didn't tell me. What for Hermione was a feature she saw in the mirror every day and was well aware of, for Snape was a minor detail in the appearance of one of the hundreds of students he teaches. We know that Draco did notice Hermione's teeth, but Draco also makes comments on Lupin's old robes, for example, it's not unusual for him. Even if Snape noticed that Hermione's teeth looked unconventional before, "I see no difference" still totally could apply to the parallel between Hermione and Goyle, because without Harry’s commentary, the ISND connection to teeth is not only vague – it's almost non-existent.

"But Harry got mad at him! Harry and Ron cursed and screamed at him, they clearly thought he insulted her!" Well, Harry and Ron also thought that Snape was trying to kill Harry, or poison Lupin, or that him giving Neville a detention where he worked with ingredients for melting 6 cauldrons in a very short period of time was somehow unreasonable. Like I literally do not care what those boys assume about Snape, they are incorrect 90% of the time.

"But Hermione cried and ran away and was upset!". She was already "whimpering in panic" and "letting out a terrified cry" before that. Whether Hermione had taken it as a comment on her natural teeth or not, it doesn't necessarily mean that's what Snape was saying. She also got over it, and kept telling Harry he's unfair to Snape.

The only other times when Snape voiced his problems with Hermione in unprofessional ways was when he called her an "insufferable know-it-all" for speaking out of turn for the third time, and called her a "stupid girl" in a middle of a mental breakdown, reliving his near-death expierience and trying to save her. That's it.

So that's my take on it. You can agree or disagree, but frankly, I think this interpretation is at least as valid as that he made a comment on her teeth, if not making more actual sence.

[novaursa]

The Wolf Who Challenged Fire (extra chapter)

- Summary: A few extra moments that were removed from the story.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Brandon Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for adult content this time)

- Previous part (the whole story): 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The grounds of Harrenhal were alive with nosie. Rows of colorful pavilions stretched out like a patchwork quilt under the pale spring sun, banners snapping in the brisk breeze. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms had begun to arrive for the much-anticipated tourney, their entourages filling the castle grounds with a cacophony of voices, horses, and laughter.

Brandon Stark stood near the stables, his broad frame casting a shadow over the trampled grass. His wolfish grin was in full display as he clasped hands with Robert Baratheon, who had just arrived with his usual swagger, his booming laughter echoing through the air.

“Gods, you look as if you’ve been dragged behind your horse,” Robert bellowed, clapping Brandon on the shoulder with a force that nearly made him stumble. “What’s the matter, Stark? Lost your taste for ale and mischief?”

Brandon chuckled, shaking his head. “Not all of us can carry a cask of wine under our belt, Robert. Some of us have to keep our wits about us.”

“Wits?” Robert snorted, his dark blue eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s what I have Jon for.” He gestured toward Jon Arryn, who was just dismounting nearby, shaking his head at Robert’s antics.

Brandon opened his mouth to reply, but his attention was drawn to the far end of the grounds, where a procession of crimson and black had begun to arrive. The Targaryens. The unmistakable silver hair of Rhaegar caught the light as he dismounted with practiced grace, his indigo eyes scanning the crowd with a calm intensity. His armor, polished and gleaming, reflected the sun’s rays, making him look every bit the prince he was rumored to be.

And behind him, trailing with a regal but subdued air, was the unmistakable figure of Y/N. Your gold-and-silver hair caught in the wind like threads of fire and moonlight, your lilac eyes bright even from a distance. Aerys had placed you at the head of the entourage, parading you like a prized possession. Brandon’s chest tightened as he watched you, his heart thundering against his ribs. He hated seeing you like this—used as a pawn in your father’s twisted games.

Robert followed his gaze, his expression turning sly. “Ah, so that’s why you’ve been brooding. The dragon princess has caught your eye, has she?”

Brandon forced his gaze away, shaking his head with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Robert.”

But Robert’s laughter died as another voice, calm and cold, interrupted their exchange. “Brandon Stark.”

Brandon turned to find Rhaegar standing a few paces away, his face composed but his eyes steely. The prince’s voice carried a weight that silenced the noise around them, and the animosity between the two men was visible.

“Prince Rhaegar,” Brandon said, inclining his head slightly. His tone was respectful, but there was no warmth in it.

Rhaegar’s gaze flickered briefly to Robert, who lingered for a moment before giving Brandon a pointed look. “I’ll leave you two to it,” Robert muttered, clapping Brandon on the shoulder before walking away.

When they were alone, Rhaegar took a step closer, his voice low. “I know.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow, his wolfish grin returning. “Know what, exactly?”

“Do not play coy with me,” Rhaegar said, his tone bitting now. “You think no one notices, but I see the way you look at her. My sister.”

Brandon’s grin faltered, replaced by a harder expression. “And what of it, Prince Rhaegar? Y/N isn’t yours to command.”

“She’s my blood,” Rhaegar said, his voice firm but laced with something that sounded almost like jealousy. “And your obsession with her is reckless. You put her in danger every time you come near her.”

Brandon laughed bitterly, crossing his arms. “Danger? From whom? You? Your mad father?”

Rhaegar stiffened, his indigo eyes narrowing. “From herself. From the court. From whispers that could ruin her—and you. You think Aerys won’t notice? That he won’t act?”

“I’m well aware of what your father is capable of,” Brandon snapped, his tone icy. “But I’m not going to stand by and let her rot in that cage you call a family.”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightened, his composure slipping for a moment. “You have no idea what you’re doing, Stark. You’ve already humiliated your betrothed, Lady Catelyn, by going behind her back. Do you think you can take what isn’t yours and not face the consequences?”

Brandon stepped closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. “What isn’t mine? You speak as if you have a claim, Rhaegar. But she’s no more yours than she is your father’s.”

Rhaegar’s eyes flashed, the jealousy unmistakable now. “She deserves better than you, Brandon Stark. Better than a reckless wolf who drags her name through the mud.”

“And what would you offer her?” Brandon shot back, his voice cutting. “A lifetime of being paraded like a prize? A future as another piece in your father’s madness?”

Rhaegar said nothing, his hands clenched at his sides. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and simmering rage.

Brandon shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t care about her. Not really. You’re just afraid you’ll lose whatever game you’re playing.”

Rhaegar’s composure returned, his voice steady but cold. “This isn’t a game, Stark. If you care for her as you claim, you’ll leave her alone before more damage is done.”

Brandon’s gray eyes met Rhaegar’s, his defiance unyielding. “You don’t tell me what to do, Targaryen. And if you think I’ll walk away, you don’t know me at all.”

Rhaegar exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “Then you’ll both pay the price.”

Without another word, the prince turned and walked away, his crimson cloak trailing behind him. Brandon watched him go, his fists clenched, his chest heaving with the force of his anger.

From the distance, you caught his gaze for a fleeting moment, a subtle smile playing on your lips as Aerys’s entourage passed. Brandon’s resolve hardened. Whatever price there was to pay, he would bear it. For you.

The Godswood near Harrenhal was cloaked in shadows, its ancient weirwood whispering secrets to the cool night air. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the canopy of leaves, casting silvery patterns on the mossy ground. It was a place of quiet reverence, but tonight, it was a sanctuary for stolen moments.

Brandon Stark waited, his breath misting in the chill of the night. His wolf’s-head cloak lay discarded on a nearby boulder, leaving him clad only in his simple tunic and breeches. He leaned against the trunk of a weirwood, its pale bark cold against his back, his thoughts a chaotic storm of longing and despair.

The crown of blue roses he had placed in your lap during the tourney still lingered in his mind, the way your lilac eyes had softened, the faint curve of your lips as you accepted his defiance of duty and expectation. It had been a reckless act, one that had already ignited whispers throughout the realm. But for Brandon, it had been worth it.

The rustle of leaves broke the stillness, and his heart leaped. You emerged from the shadows, your dark cloak wrapped tightly around you. Even in the dim light, your silver-gold hair caught the faint glow of the moon, a beacon that drew him toward you.

“Brandon,” you said softly, your voice carrying a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Are you mad to summon me here?”

His lips curved into a faint smile, though there was a shadow of sadness in his gray eyes. “If I am, it’s because of you.”

You stepped closer, the tension in your posture easing as his warmth enveloped you. “You’re a fool,” you murmured, though there was no heat in your words. “We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now.”

“And yet you came,” Brandon countered, his voice low and steady. “Because you feel it too.”

You hesitated, your gaze searching his face. “This is dangerous,” you whispered. “We’ll ruin everything.”

Brandon reached for you, his hands gentle as they settled on your waist. “Everything’s already ruined,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the inevitable. “This might be the last time I see you. Let me have this. Let me have you.”

Your chest tightened at the raw emotion in his voice, the vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. “And what happens after?” you asked, your voice trembling. “When we go back to our separate lives? When duty pulls us apart?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his forehead resting against yours. “But I know that right now, I can’t let you go.”

The walls you had built around yourself, the ones meant to shield you from pain and regret, began to crumble under the intensity of his gaze. “Then don’t,” you whispered.

His lips were on yours before the words had fully left your mouth, the kiss fierce and consuming. There was no hesitation, no pretense, only the overwhelming need to feel, to remember, to claim a fleeting moment of happiness in a world that would never allow it.

Brandon’s hands moved to your cloak, slipping it from your shoulders as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. You arched into him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic as the heat between you grew unbearable. The layers of clothing separating you were shed with desperate hands, discarded onto the soft moss below.

“Gods, Y/N,” Brandon murmured against your skin, his voice thick with longing. “You’re everything I’ll never deserve.”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Don’t say that. Don’t ruin this moment.”

His eyes softened, the storm within them giving way to something gentler. “You’re right. Let me show you instead.”

He lowered you onto the ground, the cool moss a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. His movements were unhurried yet deliberate, every kiss, every caress a silent promise. When he finally entered you, he paused, his gray eyes locked on yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice trembling.

You shook your head, your hands running along his shoulders. “Don’t stop. I want this.”

The rhythm he set was slow at first, each movement deliberate as if he were memorizing every moment. But as the passion between you intensified, the pace quickened, your bodies moving together in a feverish dance. The quiet grove was filled with the sounds of your shared desire, the world beyond forgotten in the haze of your union.

Brandon’s hands clutched your hips, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate. “I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, the admission raw and unguarded.

Your heart clenched at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “And I love you,” you replied, your voice breaking.

When the peak came, it was like fire and lightning coursing through your veins, leaving you both trembling in its wake. Brandon collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as his chest heaved with exertion.

For a long while, neither of you spoke, the only sounds the quiet hum of the forest and the steady rhythm of your breathing. Finally, Brandon broke the silence.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Leave all of this behind. We can go anywhere, be anyone.”

You shook your head, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Every time you ask me this. You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” he demanded, his frustration evident. “Why do we have to live by their rules? Why can’t we be free?”

“Because it’s not just us, Brandon,” you said softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. “If we ran, it wouldn’t just be us who suffered. Your family, my family—everyone would pay the price.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he held you closer. “I’d burn the world for you.”

“And that’s exactly what they’d do if we tried,” you replied, tears slipping down your cheeks. “We have this moment. Let it be enough.”

Brandon didn’t reply, his silence heavy with unspoken words. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his touch lingering as if trying to memorize the feel of you.

When the first rays of dawn began to break through the trees, you sat up, gathering your scattered clothing. “I have to go,” you said, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his gray eyes filled with anguish as he watched you dress. “Will I ever see you again?”

You paused, your back to him as you fastened your cloak. “I don’t know.”

As you disappeared into the early morning mist, Brandon remained in the grove, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this had been your last night together. And yet, the memory of your union, of your love, burned brightly within him—a flame that would never be extinguished.

The First Meeting, before Harrenhal

The air around Riverrun was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and river reeds as the royal procession arrived in a cascade of color and sound. Black and crimson banners fluttered in the breeze, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen stark against the muted gray sky. Trumpets blared, their sharp notes cutting through the hushed murmurs of the gathered crowd.

Brandon Stark stood near the gates of Riverrun, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his wolf’s-head cloak resting heavily on his shoulders. He had never been one for pomp and ceremony, and the sight of the royal entourage left a bitter taste in his mouth. His father, Lord Rickard Stark, stood beside him, his expression unreadable as they awaited the arrival of the Targaryens. Nearby, Lord Hoster Tully looked equally somber, though there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

Brandon shifted his weight impatiently, glancing toward the banners. "All this for a mad king," he muttered under his breath.

Rickard shot him a warning look. "Mind your tongue, Brandon. Aerys may be mad, but he is still king. And we are here to settle your future, not ruin it."

Brandon grunted but said no more, his gray eyes scanning the procession as it drew closer. The clatter of hooves and the creak of wagons filled the air as knights, courtiers, and servants passed through the gates in a seemingly endless stream.

At the heart of the procession, seated in an ornate litter draped with silken curtains, was King Aerys II. Even from a distance, Brandon could see the disheveled pale hair, the too-thin frame, and the fevered gleam in his eyes. Aerys looked more like a ghost than a king, his presence both unsettling and magnetic.

But it wasn’t Aerys who caught Brandon’s attention.

Trailing behind the king, astride a white mare, was a woman who seemed to have stepped out of a dream. Her hair, a shimmering cascade of gold and silver, caught the light like molten fire. Her lilac eyes, bright and keen, scanned the crowd with a mixture of curiosity and caution. She rode with the ease of one accustomed to grandeur, her posture regal but not rigid. The gown she wore, a delicate blend of black and red silk, clung to her figure in a way that seemed effortless yet impossibly elegant.

Brandon felt his breath catch in his throat. He had heard whispers of Princess Y/N Targaryen, the Jewel of the Realm, but no description had done her justice. She was beauty incarnate, her presence commanding without being overbearing. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

"That’s her," Hoster Tully murmured, leaning slightly toward Rickard. "The king’s youngest daughter. A rare sight outside the Red Keep."

Rickard gave a curt nod, but Brandon barely registered their exchange. His gaze remained fixed on you as you rode past, your head turning slightly to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. For a brief moment, your eyes met his, and Brandon felt as if the world had shifted beneath his feet.

The look was fleeting, but it was enough. Enough to send his thoughts spiraling, enough to set his heart racing in a way it never had before.

Later that evening, the lords of the Riverlands and the North were invited to a feast in honor of the royal visit. The great hall of Riverrun was a blaze of light and sound, the long tables laden with food and wine. Minstrels played lively tunes, their music weaving through the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes.

Brandon sat beside his father, a goblet of wine in hand, his attention divided between the boisterous conversation of Robert Baratheon across the table and the occasional glimpse of you seated at the high table. You were beside your father, who alternated between loud proclamations and quiet mutterings that made the courtiers around him shift uncomfortably. Rhaegar sat on Aerys’s other side, his expression calm but distant, his eyes occasionally flickering to his sister with something that resembled worry.

Brandon tore his gaze away when his father nudged him. "Focus, boy. Lord Tully is speaking."

Brandon turned his attention to Hoster, who was discussing the details of the upcoming wedding. Catelyn Tully, seated farther down the table, blushed at the mention of her name but said nothing, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"The arrangements are nearly complete," Hoster was saying. "With the royal visit, we can finalize the dowry and announce the betrothal to the court."

Brandon nodded absently, his thoughts drifting back to you. His father’s scolding voice broke through his reverie.

"Brandon," Rickard said pointedly. "Are you paying attention?"

"Yes, Father," Brandon replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

Hoster leaned toward Catelyn, giving her an encouraging nudge. "Go on, my dear. Speak with your betrothed."

Catelyn hesitated but eventually stood, smoothing her skirts as she approached Brandon. Her steps were light, her face flushed, though her eyes darted nervously to her father for reassurance. Brandon rose out of courtesy, forcing himself to focus on her even as his gaze kept drifting toward the high table where you sat.

"Lord Brandon," Catelyn said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "It’s… good to see you again."

"And you, Lady Catelyn," Brandon replied, his tone polite but distracted.

She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, glancing at her father for support before speaking again. "I hope you’ll find Riverrun to your liking during your stay. My family is… eager to welcome you properly."

Brandon nodded, his attention only half on her words. "Riverrun is a fine place, Lady Catelyn."

His gaze flicked back to you, catching the way your eyes sparkled as you spoke briefly to a courtier. You laughed at something Aerys said, though the sound didn’t reach him. He saw the stiffness in your posture, the mask you wore to hide whatever emotions lay beneath.

Catelyn noticed his distraction, her expression faltering. "I… I hope you’ll find our match agreeable, my lord. My father has worked hard to ensure—"

"Of course," Brandon interrupted, his voice distant. He forced himself to look at her, offering a small, strained smile. "I’m sure we’ll do well together, Lady Catelyn."

Her face reddened, and she lowered her eyes, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Hoster called her back to her seat, and she offered Brandon a quick curtsy before retreating.

Brandon sat back down, his fingers tightening around the goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes found you again, lingering on the way the firelight caught the golden strands of your hair. Whatever the future held, he couldn’t deny the truth that burned in his chest.

He would marry Catelyn, as his father and duty demanded. But his heart, reckless and wild as a wolf, had already chosen with a little more than a single glance.

The moon hung low in the night sky, its silver light spilling over the quiet gardens of Riverrun. The day’s festivities had given way to the soft hum of crickets and the occasional murmur of guards patrolling the castle grounds. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of river water and blooming jasmine.

Brandon Stark moved through the shadows with practiced ease, his cloak blending into the darkness. His father would have skinned him for slipping away from the feast, but Brandon couldn’t stay. Not when he’d caught a glimpse of you stepping out of the hall, the faintest flicker of exhaustion marring your otherwise regal demeanor.

You were not alone, of course. Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, trailed a respectful distance behind, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. A silent sentinel. Brandon had watched as you’d wandered into the gardens, drawn to the quiet solitude they offered.

Now, he stood at the edge of the garden, his heart pounding as he caught sight of you beneath an ancient weirwood tree. The pale bark glowed in the moonlight, the red leaves rustling softly in the breeze. You sat on a stone bench, your head tilted back to gaze at the stars, the soft glow of the night casting an ethereal light on your features.

Brandon hesitated for a moment, his usual confidence faltering. What would he say to you, a princess of the realm? But then your voice broke the silence, soft and melodic, as you hummed a tune he didn’t recognize. It was enough to draw him forward.

“Princess,” he said, stepping into the moonlight, his voice low and steady.

You startled slightly, your eyes widening as you turned to face him. For a moment, there was silence between you, the night holding its breath. Then, your lips curved into a small, polite smile.

“Lord Stark,” you replied, your tone cool but not unkind. “Should you not be enjoying the feast?”

Brandon shrugged, his gray eyes studying you intently. “I’ve had my fill of wine and empty words. The gardens seemed a better place to spend my time.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity flickering in your gaze. “And yet you seem to have followed me here.”

Brandon chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You caught my attention, Princess. I’d be a fool not to introduce myself.”

Ser Gerold shifted behind you, his presence a subtle reminder of the distance that should remain between a Stark of Winterfell and a princess of the Iron Throne. But you raised a hand, a silent gesture that eased the tension.

“And so you have,” you said, your voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement. “Brandon Stark, son of Lord Rickard. Your reputation precedes you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin wolfish. “Does it, now? I hope it’s a good one.”

“That depends,” you said, your gaze steady. “Are you as reckless as they say?”

Brandon’s laugh was softer this time, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Only when the occasion calls for it. And you, Princess? Do you always wander the gardens alone, or am I just fortunate tonight?”

You smiled, a genuine one that softened your regal bearing. “I needed air. Riverrun is lovely, but the court can be… stifling.”

Brandon nodded, his expression turning more serious. “I can imagine. Aerys doesn’t seem like the type to let his children wander freely.”

Your gaze flickered downward for a moment, a shadow passing over your features. “No, he does not. My father values control above all else.”

The vulnerability in your voice caught Brandon off guard. He had expected haughtiness, the arrogance of royalty, but instead, he found a woman weighed down by chains she could not escape. He took a step closer, his tone softening.

“You deserve more than this,” he said, his voice low. “More than being paraded like a prize.”

You looked up at him, your lilac eyes searching his face. “And what would you know of what I deserve, Lord Stark?”

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding. “Enough to know that you’re more than what they make you out to be. More than just a Targaryen princess.”

Your lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across your face. Then, to his astonishment, you laughed—a soft, melodic sound that sent a thrill through him.

“You’re bold, Lord Stark,” you said, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Most men wouldn’t dare speak to me like this.”

“Most men don’t have wolves at their back,” Brandon replied with a grin, his confidence returning. “And I’m not afraid of dragons.”

You studied him for a long moment, your gaze lingering on his sharp features, the way his gray eyes burned with unspoken intensity. “Perhaps you should be,” you said softly, though there was no malice in your tone.

“Perhaps,” Brandon said, stepping closer still, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I’m not.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken words, the distance narrowing as your gazes locked. Ser Gerold cleared his throat pointedly, breaking the moment.

You stood, smoothing your gown as you straightened your posture, your regal mask slipping back into place. “It’s late, Lord Stark. I should return.”

Brandon inclined his head, though his eyes remained fixed on you. “Of course, Princess.”

As you turned to leave, your steps graceful and measured, you paused for the briefest moment, glancing back at him. “Goodnight, Lord Stark.”

“Goodnight, Princess,” he replied, his voice tinged with something deeper.

He watched as you disappeared into the shadows, Ser Gerold following close behind. For the first time in his life, Brandon Stark found himself truly captivated. You were fire and ice, strength and vulnerability, a contradiction he couldn’t ignore.

As the night deepened, Brandon leaned against the ancient weirwood, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. He knew, even then, that this was only the beginning.

The secluded bank of the Tumblestone River lay bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, its surface shimmering like liquid silver. The air was cool and damp, the gentle murmur of the river blending with the rustling of the willow trees that framed the hidden spot. Brandon Stark stood beneath one such tree, his broad frame partially concealed by its drooping branches. He shifted his weight, his hands resting on his belt, his gaze fixed on the path that led to their meeting place.

She would come. He knew she would. And yet, his heart raced as he waited, the thrill of the forbidden coursing through him. Every fiber of his being told him this was madness—treason, even. But when he thought of her, her eyes filled with a fire that mirrored his own, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The faint crunch of footsteps on the damp grass broke the quiet. He turned sharply, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword before he saw her emerge from the shadows. You.

You moved with the grace of a cat, your black and crimson gown trailing lightly behind you, the silver threads glinting faintly in the moonlight. Your hair, a cascade of gold and silver, was left loose, and the sight of it made his breath catch.

“Lord Stark,” you said softly, your voice carrying a playful edge. “Do you always skulk about like a wolf in the shadows?”

He grinned, stepping forward to meet you. “Only when I’m waiting for a dragon to appear.”

You laughed lightly, the sound sending a thrill through him. As you drew closer, his eyes drank in every detail of you—the way your lips curved, the delicate rise and fall of your chest, the faint blush that dusted your cheeks.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Brandon admitted, his voice low.

“Neither was I,” you replied, glancing around as if to ensure no one had followed. “But here I am.”

He stepped closer, his voice softening. “Why?”

You hesitated, your gaze locking with his. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About the way you looked at me. About the things you said.”

Brandon’s grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more intense. “You haunt me, Y/N,” he said, his tone raw. “Every moment I’m not with you, I wish I were.”

You looked away briefly, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your gown. “You shouldn’t say such things,” you murmured. “If anyone found out…”

“They won’t,” Brandon said firmly, reaching out to gently take your hand. His touch was warm, grounding, and you allowed it, your fingers curling around his. “No one has to know.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the river’s gentle song filling the space between you. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Brandon stepped closer, his free hand rising to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”

You didn’t reply, your lips parting slightly as your gaze flickered to his mouth. That was all the encouragement he needed.

Brandon leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and searing. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze, caught between caution and desire. But then you melted into him, your hands finding his shoulders as you returned the kiss with equal fervor.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more consuming, as the thrill of everything forbidden wrapped around you like the night. Brandon’s fingers found the ties of your gown, his movements deliberate yet trembling with restraint.

You broke the kiss, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you looked up at him. “Brandon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and longing. “This is dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice rough. “Not tonight. Just let me have this. Let me have you.”

Your heart pounded as you searched his face, seeing the same desperate yearning that mirrored your own. Slowly, you nodded, your hands moving to the clasp of his cloak.

The cloak fell to the ground with a soft thud, and his hands resumed their work, loosening the laces of your gown. The cool night air brushed against your skin as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Brandon’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing against the edges of his tunic. “And you’re wearing too much.”

His grin returned, wolfish and full of promise. “Allow me to fix that.”

Piece by piece, his clothing joined yours on the ground, the moonlight painting his skin in silver as you ran your hands over his broad chest. His warmth enveloped you, his touch igniting a fire that burned away all thoughts of duty, of consequence.

Brandon’s hands were steady yet tender as he explored every curve of your body, his calloused fingers igniting sparks wherever they touched. You shivered beneath him, your skin warm against the cool night air. The world beyond this hidden grove seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sound of your breath and the rustling of leaves.

He leaned over you, his gray eyes searching yours for any hesitation. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.

You nodded, your hands sliding up his broad shoulders, holding onto him as if he were your anchor. “I trust you.”

Brandon’s lips brushed against yours, a fleeting kiss that carried both passion and reassurance. Slowly, he positioned himself, his movements deliberate as he gave you time to adjust. As he began to push into you, a gasp escaped your lips, your body tensing slightly at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice strained, his forehead pressing against yours.

You shook your head, though your breaths were uneven. “It’s… different,” you admitted, your fingers digging into his arms. “But don’t stop. Please.”

His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his movements gentle, giving you time to acclimate. The initial discomfort ebbed, replaced by a growing warmth that spread through you like fire. You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing beneath him.

“Brandon,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “You can move.”

His eyes darkened, the restraint in his expression melting into something raw and unfiltered. He began to move, his rhythm slow at first, each thrust measured and careful. But as your hips rose to meet his, a quiet plea on your lips, his control slipped. His pace quickened, his passion no longer tethered as the two of you lost yourselves in each other.

The intensity built between you, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. His hands roamed your body, his lips pressing kisses along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, your breaths mingling as your moans filled the secluded grove.

“Gods, Y/N,” Brandon groaned, his voice hoarse. “You’re… everything.”

You couldn’t find words, your own voice caught in the overwhelming sensation that consumed you. You arched into him, your body meeting his with wild abandon as the two of you chased the peak together.

When it came, it was like a storm breaking—a rush of pleasure that left you gasping, trembling in his arms. He followed you moments later, his body shuddering as he buried his face against your neck, his breaths ragged.

The two of you lay tangled together, your hearts racing in unison, the cool night air wrapping around your heated skin. For a while, there was only the sound of the river and the quiet murmurs of your breathing.

Brandon broke the silence first, his voice low and filled with a bittersweet edge. “I don’t want to let you go.”

You turned your head to meet his gaze, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “Neither do I.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as he looked at you with a mixture of longing and determination. “Say the word, Y/N. If you want to leave, I’ll take you. Wherever you wish to go, we’ll go together. I’ll keep you safe, I swear it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your heart ache. You wanted to say yes, to run away with him and leave behind the chains that bound you. But reality was a cruel mistress, and you knew the truth.

“It can’t be,” you said softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. “You know it can’t.”

Brandon frowned, his hand dropping to your shoulder. “Why not? You don’t belong in that cage. You’re not theirs to control.”

“And yet, I am,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through his hair. “If I left, it would bring ruin to my family, to yours. My father… he would burn everything to the ground.”

Brandon cursed under his breath, his frustration palpable. “I don’t care about the consequences. I only care about you.”

You smiled faintly, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “And I care about you. Which is why I can’t let you destroy yourself for me.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his breaths heavy as he tried to reign in his emotions. “You deserve better than this,” he said, his voice cracking. “Better than him. Better than all of them.”

Your thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed. “For tonight, I had better. I had you.”

He kissed you again, this time slow and tender, as if trying to memorize the taste of you. When he finally pulled away, his hands lingered on your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“I have to go,” you said, your voice heavy with regret. “If I’m gone too long, they’ll notice.”

Brandon nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed to hold you close and never let you leave. “Go, then,” he said quietly. “But don’t forget this. Don’t forget us.”

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I could never forget.”

With a final kiss, you rose, gathering your discarded clothing and slipping back into the shadows. Brandon watched you go, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time he held you.

And yet, he knew this night would stay with him forever, a memory burned into his soul like the heat of your touch. For you were fire, and he was a wolf drawn to the flame.

[mediumgayitalian]

In his head he is brave enough to say it: gods, you are beautiful in the moonlight. He is. He has made Nico weak in the knees since they were fifteen and new and fragile as spun glass, and he does now. In the moonlight his radiance is much subtler; he is opal and pearl and quartz, he is shining and multifaceted.

Instead he traces the bob of Will’s throat, his long, freckly neck, cratered with burn scars and cupped with a raised white scar from years of endless picking; follows the wild winding wisps of his hair, barely held back by his old sunglasses, compressed in coils around his head like a pen spring squished to the size of its threads, creaking with the weight of its own potential energy, brimming with the imagined burst of its future; memorizes the fluttering flap of his feathering eyelashes, the delicate dips of his deepened Cupid’s bow, the roughened raze of his wide rowdy hands. All of him is in motion, always, but now especially, hands twitching on the wheel, head thrown back, mouth wide and shaking along with his shoulders.

“I really like your laugh,” and it’s quick, vowels tumbling over each other and tripping the consonants, a queue of clumsy hopefuls scrambling over shoulders and clasping hands. The pretty laughter fades and arched eyebrows replace it, poorly hidden surprise, twitching smile lines, and Nico looks deliberately forward, mortification cackling along each of his wire-tense muscles, dancing along the shimmering heat of his face. “It’s. Wide.”

“Wide?” asks Will carefully, craning his neck to glance in his blind spot, whispering chuckles dancing along to the beat of the blinker.

“Wide,” Nico confirms, flicking out his hands. His fingers are not nearly as long, nor as wiry or corded, but the scarring is mirrored. Nicks and scratches and burn marks and calluses, topographic maps of time spent.

Will’s turn is successful — the strawberry baskets dip dangerously from their precarious perch on backseats, but don’t fall, shifting over and around each other to burst tiny globules of stretched taut flesh, rubbing against rough reed ribbons. Nico inhales deeply, and the sweet is almost nauseating, summer fruit twisting in the air along with lavender body wash and Blistex and Texas summer sun.

“You take up space.”

“My laugh?”

Laughter in his words in his hands in his skin, in his eyes, in the coils of his hair, in his grass-stained heels, in the bends of his scar-bleached knees. In the dancing dots of his face arms chest legs. In the dip of his bottom lip, crater under his too-big front teeth. In the jut of his crooked spine and wide hips.

“What about my laugh?”

It is in his words more often than not and in Nico’s dreams even more so. It curls around the blurry edges of his dreams and weaves into daisy-strong chains, dangling from the too-high ceilings of his nightmares, coiling around his arms and chest and back and yanking with the force of breaking ribs, the force of bellows, the force of clasped bloodless hands. Dragging him across trench gouged ground to bright light and clear air and the distant memory of summer rain.

“That you like, I mean.”

“It’s snorting,” Nico confesses. Will reddens, and Nico smiles, under the heat of it grows sunflower and dandelion and tinted brown-eyes Susans. “Um. Loud.”

“Geez,” Will grumbles, “tell a guy the truth, why don’t you.”

Nico has never seen gold under silver nightlight and it fascinates him, how Will sparks and shimmers, how when the sun sets it does not fade away. How the tiny specks of precious metal weave through him like tinsel and glow in veins of sweet summer memory; how the warm night billows and blows around him lovingly, how the breeze from the open window greets him like a precious grandchild, a beloved nephew. Seedchild; beloved of the earth and sun, performer under the moon, the stars.

Will’s wide hands inch across the dash, brushing over the ancient radio dials and dipping over the skipping cassette, pausing by the base of the gearshift and resting, limply, palm open, fingers cracked and spread. Knuckles popping and chittering amongst themselves, hiding in the bent hoods of wrinkled skin. Nico lowers his heavy hands on the heated hopeful hesitance, curling his cool fingers around much longer ones, and squeezing, once, twice, thrice.

“I like your laugh,” he repeats. He rolls his shoulders, hands flexing, twitching, pulling.

Will’s hand tightens. The road opens up and the Atlantic glimmers beside them, moon whispering to its rippling waves, and he smiles, grins, wider than before, and he is laughing, again, and it is wider even this time, as wide as the sparkling silver water.

“I hear you.”

He squeezes.

You are beautiful in the moonlight. You are beautiful all the time.

Nico squeezes back.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

The Sorry Doll

Witches are the most powerful creatures a doll could conceive of. They hold complete mastery over magic, whatever that may be, to build life itself anew. A mere doll could never imagine the depths of power you hold, let alone comprehend it. Just as you designed them.

Your doll returns from your errand. Just as you commanded, the thing sets your supplies beside your writing desk, leaving you be. It is unconcerned with what you are writing, as a good doll should. It is simply obedient, following-

"Miss?" It asks with hesitance. Its body is still, head tilted curiously.

You set the quill back into its ink, letting the raw mana spill from the pages as you turn your attention towards your creation. You lean forward, tersely entertaining it. "Yes, Luna?"

It freezes for a moment, just as a good doll should.

"Could this one... ever become a witch?"

You falter. Your persona of disconnected elegance bursts into a smirk, barely holding back a condescending giggle.

Your spirits wane. That thing isn't laughing with you. It's serious.

You muster a scowl, and your doll flinches, as a good doll should. You bore into its facsimile of an expression, and just as the doll begins to consider stepping back, you invoke it. Your voice is calm, no hint of emotion, yet it rattles the walls, bellowing throughout the manner.

"Kneel."

You hear a crunch as the doll's knees hit the hardwood of your study. Such an inconsiderate toy. It tries to keep its eyes steadily locked onto you in anticipation, as a good doll should, but you can see the fear making it shake. "This one is very sorry Miss," is quickly shakes out. Like a child reciting a script. "This one will nev-"

You quiet it with a gentle touch to its chest. The doll tries to squeak out more, to grovel as a good doll should, but the magic flowing into it freezes it in a twisted perversion of stillness. "Not yet you're not." you taunt, watching the doll's face try to contort as it feels the magic touch its core.

This one's purpose is to serve. To be obedient to you and you alone. To follow any task as best it can, fulfilling every whim and leaving no detail untended.

This one's purpose is to beg for forgiveness.

The doll gasps for air as your magic returns to you, some useless instinct from its time as a person. It falls into its hands, at first gagging, then sobbing.

"This one is very, very sorry, Miss." A breath deeper than it should be, trying to steady its voice. "This one could never hope to be a witch, it was a very bad doll to bother you with something so foolish. Please, if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive this one, it would do anything to earn it from you."

You recline and smile, satisfied with your work. This is your favourite way to play with your dolls. "I'll consider it." It looks up to you, tears leaving barely-there streaks down its porcelain, almost daring to smile. "But only if you pluck all the grass in the yard."

"Thank you, Miss!" It lowers it's head to the floor, before springing back up to its knees to bask in your mercy. "Thank you, thank you! You won't regret this, this one will do perfectly, it promises!" It clambers to its feet and rushes out of the door, finally leaving you alone. 

Over the next few days, you watch it slowly pluck every blade of grass out of your yard, one at a time. Sometimes it collapses through the night, but the other dolls are kind enough to wake it and allow it to continue repenting, just as good dolls should.

At some point, it figured out to use bags to collect the plucked grass, before you made it apologize for wasting materials on its selfish penance. It was a cute spectacle. When you found out, it acted as if it was caught stealing, before you could even explain why it shouldn't. This is why it's one of your favourite dolls, it's always so eager.

You grow bored of the spectacle once it begins to make progress in your back yard. "You're forgiven." You say in a huff, reverting it to it's more useful nature. The doll turns from the grass, giving you some look that you don't recognize on a doll. "Now go make me some tea, would you?"

The expression, whatever it was, fades into a docile neutrality. "Yes Miss, right away Miss.". And so it leaves, fulfilling its purpose, just as a good doll should.

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART SEVEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: things start crumbling down.

wc. 2.1k

warnings: violence, blood, lots of profanity, angsty af, small comfort | authors note: omg im so sorry yall the worst is almost over soon i promise lololololol

(nowhere girl masterlist)

Rain droplets start hitting your skin so you hope that’s reason enough for Yen-ho and his gang to leave you alone. Maybe just maybe, Yoon did something right by telling him to back off but you can never be too safe. Instead of heading to the dining hall, you make your way towards the library and weigh out starvation. Much better than a beating.

Today you’re hyper aware of your surroundings until the first spring showers have finally started. In the worst time possible. You try booking it to the other end of campus before you get drenched head to toe. Of course you forgot to pack a jacket the day your parents decided to disown you.

“Get her!” a muffled voice shouts from a distance.

Your breath hitches but your fight or flight instincts kept telling you to run so you started running till your legs were sore. However, running while trying to keep your belongings in your person was no easy feat as you kept having to adjust the strap of your portfolio tote so it wouldn’t slip off. But the adrenaline was kicking. Your heart race kept increasing, and you lost sensation in your legs. You think you can make it to the library hall and call for security.

“Gotcha!” a male voice snarls. He hooked his arms around your waist knocking the air out of your windpipe and lifted you off the ground from behind. “Yen-ho, I got her!”

You tried using all your body parts to push Yen-ho’s friend away but the more you fought back the tighter his grip on you became. Now you had trouble breathing.

“Shit, it’s a fucking rainstorm today.” the other friend complains as he and Yen-ho sprint towards you.

“Let’s her to the alleyway before anyone sees!” Yen-ho orders, using his hands to block the rain from his eyes. He gives you a malevolent smirk before his friend carry’s you over his shoulder.

“Stop it you bitch!” the guy barks as you tried to punch his back. It was no use, he’s as solid as a rock.

He pins you against the wall of the alley and grabs your left arm while the other guy grabs your right. You are forced to stare up at Yen-ho, who’s looking you up and down like a predator eyeing their prey.

“Thought you could get away huh? Yoon texted me this morning.” he begins his monologue. “She said to leave you alone. Thanks to you, now she thinks I’m some woman beating prick.”

“No, really? Because that’s exactly what you are.” you say brusquely.

He knees you right in the stomach. The pain is searing in your middle and you can feel your lips begin trembling, unable to hold back tears.

“Quiet! I’ll teach you what happens when you keep disrespecting your elders.” he barks. His teeth flare like a wolf. “Hey, pass me those.” he points at his friends to your tote and laptop scattered on the ground. Your heart drops to the pit of your bruised stomach.

“No, don’t do it! No fuck you—fuck you!” you cry out when he breaks your laptop by folding it on its wrong side. You hear the loud snapping sound it made, even through your louder cries. “Stop it, stop it please stop it!”

You feel yourself bellow out more profanities but aren’t sure if you said them out loud or if it was just in your head. The pain of watching him stomp and tear every work in your tote was so unbearable. His friends got a tighter grip on your arms when you start dropping on the ground, unable to hold yourself together anymore. You just want to curl down and sob. Everything was gone now. Everyone is gone.

Instead of watching anymore further, you drop your head to the ground letting your soaked hair conceal your face.

“No, no, no, you have of watch.” Yen-ho’s minion says and grabs a chunk of your hair to pull your head up giving you no other options but to look. You can’t fathom how quickly all of your years worth of work can just be gone in seconds.

When Yen-ho is finished he wipes the rain and sweat off his forehead and eyes. He turns to look at you and cackles at how defeated you look. It amuses them how you’re slumped on the ground shaking with tears pooling your eyes. They made you become a person who is nothing but drenched, pathetic and hopeless.

“Hey, don’t look so innocent now.” Yen-ho says. He bends down to meet you at eye level, grabbing your chin so you will look into his eyes. “I told you that I would bring justice into my own hands, didn’t I?”

“Yen-ho. Let her go.”

You hear a familiar husky voice ring past your ears but you can’t help but think that it’s just your imagination. Afraid to look deeper into Yen-ho’s dark eyes you close your eyes and silently sob some more.

“Kang Sae-byeok? No fucking way. It has been forever how you’ve been?” Yen-ho gapes, eyeing the taller girl then down at your trembling one. He roars with laughter yet again after connecting the dots. “Oh no, don’t tell me this your little girlfriend! Fuck I should’ve known you were a fucking lesbian too with the way you kept rejecting my moves on you!”

Sae-byeok doesn’t do nor say anything except maintain strict eye contact with Yen-ho. He sighs and signals for his friends to drop you. When they do, you don’t pick yourself off—Sae-byeok’s breath hitches when she sees your weakened state from the corner of her eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he scowls. “You’re going to slice my neck open with that little thing?”

Sae-byeok’s grip on her pocket knife tightens.

“Just wait until my dad finds out you’re still alive. You’re in deep shit, Kang so make sure you got his money before we come and find you.”

“When your dead beat father does come I can’t wait to tell him about the time you called the cops on him just so you can go pop his clients pills.”

Yen-ho trembles in rage while his friends hold back their laughter. His face gets so red the rain hitting his skin could evaporate. “Hey, shut your mouths and get her!”

One of the minions snatches the pocket knife from Sae-byeok giving Yen-ho the opportunity to use his foot to kick her square in the chest. When he lands on the ground he uses this opportunity to jump on top of her and start getting in his furious punches in. Some Sae-byeok was able to dodge but most she had to endure. She can taste the familiar metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

“Yen-ho, stop it! Leave her alone!”

The heavy rain only was able to let Sae-byeok see a blurry figure of a poised looking stranger desperately approach Yen-ho. She holds him back by his chest and shouted in his face some more to level with him but all Yen-ho saw was red. Red in the form of Kang Sae-byeok.

The minions stand by confused when Yen-ho stops, not realizing that it was by force but it gives Sae-byeok the perfect opportunity to reach for you.

You were sprawled on the floor when you hear Sae-byeok call out your name, bringing you back to reality. You too only saw red in Sae-byeok’s face, not from fury but from blood.

“Sae-byeok, your—your face.” you were able to croak.

“No time. We have to run.” she says breathless and lifts you up by both your forearms.

You didn’t have time to register what just happened, you just know that Sae-byeok is the one holding you firmly by your wrist helping you sprint out of campus grounds. Although the rain was cooling off your agitated body, it blinded you from seeing where she was taking you.

“Sae-byeok, I can’t—can’t anymore.” you wheeze after running for who knows how long. She slows down when you do and leads you to the back of nearest building. You throw your back on the moistened bricks of the restaurant you’re hiding behind to catch your breath, but it hurts to breathe. It felt like you were inhaling fire.

It might’ve been five minutes, hours, or days of you just catching your breathl until you regained some of your composure. Eventually you did regain some of your senses back, that’s when your eyes adjusted to the sight in front of you.

Sae-byeok was also breathing heavily, short hair disheveled, looking down at the ground and kept wiping the blood dripping down from her nose with the end of her sleeves. You’re having a hard time believing that she is here in front of you, saving you from a fate that could’ve been much worse. But you didn’t have time to think about what just happened to both you when you know that she is here enduring pain caused by your adversity.

“We have to go to a pharmacy.” you breathe out. “You’re bleeding too much.”

It was like Sae-byeok reduced in size, feeling so small letting you see her in this broken down state.

“Okay.” she manages to say.

This time you were the one having to guide her. Luckily, you were familiar with this town as it’s still near campus so you’ve wandered them countless times. It was a ten minute journey to the nearest pharmacy but neither of you walked with urgency. Not even the spring day rain made either of you hurry due to exhaustion and dehydration.

You guide Sae-byeok by the small of her back underneath the awning of the pharmaceutical building. She slowly crouches down on the sidewalk. When she sits down, she starts clutching her stomach and her face begins to contort when the adrenaline goes away. Now all she can feel is sharp throbbing pain.

“I’ll be back quick just hold on.” you reassure her with a quivering voice.

Sae-byeok can only groan in pain so you bolt into the pharmacy and grab anything that could help soothe her aches. Tissues, pain killers, an ice pack, water bottles, all crammed in your arms as you make your way to the counter.

“At least those idiots didn’t take my wallet. Fuckers.” you scowl when you patted down your jean pockets and pulled out your thin wallet case.

The cashier throws you a skeptic glance while quietly scanning the items. You didn’t notice the concern in their eyes when all you kept doing was looking through the door to see if Sae-byeok was still sitting there conscious.

You sit next to her, placing the shopping bag in between your thighs and start pulling everything out. You take out a handful of tissue paper and reach over to wipe the blood dripping down Sae-byeok’s nose when she flinched back.

“It’s okay, I’ll do it.” you say reassuringly.

Sae-byeok stares at you, and you wonder what could she be thinking. The tension in her shoulders start subduing so you hesitate to try again. To your relief, she stays still while you wipe the blood that reached all the way down to her chin.

She stares over the rain hitting the pavement and lets the noise of the droplets tapping the ground soothe her. When she didn’t feel your body heat near hers she peers over at you. You’re holding out a bottle of water and pain killers to pass it over to her. Deja vu overcomes her.

Swallowing the pain killers and chugging the water, she savors the feeling of hydration until she hears the quiet sounds of someone sobbing.

When she observes you, she realizes that you must’ve gotten a lot taken away from you today. Not just your paintings and sketches, your dignity and hope could be gone with them.

You tried to conceal yourself from Sae-byeok by having your back facing her and covering your face hands with your hands. But you couldn’t control the cries that dared to escape your lips. Sae-byeok’s fingers start twitching, fighting the urge to reach over and find a way to console you.

Cheol is the only person she knows how to comfort. With anyone else it feels wrong, but she is aware that this moment is bigger than her. She knows that feeling of having everything you loved and worked hard for get taken away. The feeling is like a void swallowing you inside out and all you can do is watch as everything comes crumbling down. Sae-byeok yearned for the warmth of another and for them to tell her everything will be okay. But it never came for her.

You hear your name being called out mid sob.

You feel Sae-byeok gently turn your body to face her and without warning she just wraps her arms around you. Her wet strands of hair sticking to the side of your face when she kept pulling you closer like it was her mission was to extract all the pain you were feeling by this embrace. You accept this kind gesture by letting yourself melt into her touch.

“I’m so sorry for all the trouble I caused. I’m so deeply sorry.” you whisper sincerely, tears still streaming down your face. Sae-byeok responds by rubbing your back, but you quickly understand it’s her special way of accepting your apology.

She hopes that you will feel a little elated with the news that she might’ve found a place for you to stay. But she’ll wait as she is aware that you need to feel comforted more right now.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Brave Enough

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

genre: kinda angsty

el's thoughts: this is part one! part two will be done soon (hopefully) :)

The young girl’s screams echoed through the Potter’s back garden as James forced the training broomstick to go faster. The cold spring morning air whipped through their hair and past their faces causing Y/N to bury her head between his shoulder blades. 

“James! You be careful with her!”

“Don’t worry, Mum! She’s just being dramatic as always.”

“I’m alright, Mrs. Potter! I promise!” Y/N called back after smacking the bespectacled boy in front of her. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist as they both sat on his brand-new broomstick– gifted to him by his father against his mother’s better judgment. 

“Why can’t you just ride the extra one if you don’t want to go so fast?” He grumbled.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I don’t know how to ride it, you idiot.”

“Then learn how to,” he pointed out.

“I don’t want to,” she huffed. “Anyway, that’s why I have you.” 

James could feel her smiling brightly behind him as he chuckled. “Fair point I guess.”

The pair had been best friends since birth, given that their parents were all friends when they were at Hogwarts. The children had heard of all their fun stories and constantly looked forward to making memories as bright as their parent’s when they finally got their letters. They had a good few years before they turned eleven and each day felt like an eternity, but they always had their fair share of mischief and fun to pass the time. 

~

Footsteps pounded up the steps of the Potter’s manor. Giggles fell from the eleven-year-old’s smiling lips as she pushed open the heavy wooden door with a bit of a struggle. 

“I got my letter!” Y/N yelled into the house as she kicked off her shoes by the front door and slipped on the extra pair of slippers they kept for her. Euphemia’s laughter could be heard from the kitchen and the young girl quickly followed the sound. She ran into the kitchen and slid to a stop by the counter with a wide smile.

“Happy birthday, Darling!” Euphemia placed a kiss on the girl’s cheek. Fleamont Potter followed by placing a kiss on her head.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I got my letter!”

“We know,” the youngest Potter laughed. “We could hear you from your house.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Well sorry for being excited.”

“No need to be sorry about anything, Y/N/N.” Fleamont chuckled. 

Euphemia served both children slices of cake before she and her husband left them in the kitchen. James was quick to finish his slice and had started pestering Y/N for hers. 

“Shove off, you had your slice.” She grumbled as she slid her plate away from him.

He sighed and laid his head on the counter, waiting for her to finish. “We’re going to Hogwarts.”

Y/N giggled excitedly, “I know! Isn’t it exciting?”

“We’ll be leaving home,” James muttered into his arm that he used as a pillow.

“Yeah…” she sighed. “But at least we’re going together. We’ll have each other!” She smiled brightly at him and moved her plate back in front of her, silently offering to share.

~

“You’ll never guess what happened today!” James nearly bellowed as he strutted through the common room door and made his way to the other marauders sitting on the sofa chairs and couch. 

Y/N rolled her eyes and threw herself down next to Sirius. “Lily looked at him!” She sighed dramatically with a hand across her forehead. “Can you believe it?”

Remus and Sirius snickered while Peter said words of congratulations. James glared at the girl as he sat on the floor next to her legs. “That was my news to share.”

“Too bad,” she teased and stuck her tongue out at him. 

The loud giggles of Y/N’s dormmates sounded from the door interrupted the guy’s conversation. Y/N was quick to jump to her feet, nearly kicking James in the side as she caught up with the girls. “Save me.”

“We heard that!” Sirius hollered back to her. 

“Whatever!”

The girls walked up the staircase and filed into the dorm. 

“Guess what I heard today?” Marlene asked as she tossed her bag to the floor beside her bed and walked to the bathroom. 

Y/N picked up her bag and placed it on the blonde’s trunk. “What did you hear, Marls?”

“McLaggen has a massive crush on you and rumor has it that he’s planning on asking you out soon. My guess is within the next day or so.”

The y/h/c-haired girl choked on her breath. “McLaggen? Quidditch, future ministry worker McLaggen?”

Marlene shouted from the bathroom, “You’ve spent so much time with the boys you’ve gone stupid.”

“Oh, lay off her will you?” Lily spoke up with a chuckle. “It’s not her fault they were her only friends.”

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard she gave herself a small headache. “Shut up the both of you.”

“Right. Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you so you would be prepared.” Marlene strolled out, shaking out her blonde curls. 

“Prepared,” Y/N nodded with a far-off expression. “Wait. This is the first time a guy has shown interest in me!”

The other girls laughed at their oblivious friend. “Oh, girl.”

“That’s far from the truth. But it’s the first time one has been brave enough to do anything about it.”

“Brave enough?” asked Y/N, surprised. “I’m that terrifying?”

“Not you,” Lily sighed. “James.”

“James!?”

~

Hogwarts hallways were always crowded between classes, so it was no surprise to Y/N that she could barely make her way through them to reach her next class. First-years ran between the taller students, and sixth-year students ran just the same. Y/N avoided every nudging shoulder while she flipped through her Defence notes as she walked to her Divination class. 

“Y/N!” A voice shouted over the chatter in the hallway. “Hey, wait up!”

She froze in her steps and looked around to spot the source of the voice. McLaggen waved his hand in the air to grab her attention as he shoved his way towards her. 

“Hi, McLaggen.” Y/N smiled politely.

“Hey, how are you?” His bright smile made her cheeks hurt just watching him.

“I’ve been good-”

He cut her off, nodding. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

“Oh,” her eyes widened at his forthright question. “Um, I would love-”

“McLaggen!”

The boy’s face drained of all his color so quickly, that Y/N would have found it humorous if she hadn’t recognized the voice behind her.

“Actually, I think I have plans. Sorry! Maybe some other time!” His words were rushed as he quickly turned around and rushed down the opposite end of the corridor.

‘So much for being brave enough to do something about it.’ She spun on her heel within seconds and strutted over to the group of three who parted the sea of students as they walked. 

“You!” She jabbed her finger hard against James’ chest once she reached him. “You obnoxious, annoying, bothersome, appalling, troublesome, dreadful boy.”

“That’s a lot of words,” James muttered to Sirius and Remus who stood beside him.

“Not nearly enough to describe you and how I feel at this very second.” If looks could kill, James would be six feet under where he stood. “Just who do you think you are?”

“Euphemia and Fleamont's son?”

“Your mother would be ashamed of you right now.” Y/N raised her hand to slap his shoulder. “And your father raised you better than this.”

James caught her wrist before she could hit him again. “Woah woah. Hold up, firecracker. What are you talking about?”

She quickly raised her other hand and slapped him anyway. “I’m talking about you scaring off people who have an interest in me!”

The brunette shot a glance of pure horror to Sirius, to which he only responded with a shrug. Remus rolled his eyes and sighed, “You had this one coming, mate. I told you not to do it.”

Y/N turned on the tallest marauders and glared. “You knew he was doing it and did nothing to stop him?” 

“I-”

Sirius quickly cut him off in a weak attempt to save at least one of his friends. “We have class, so sorry, darling. And don’t forget, it’s James who’s been friends with you much longer than we have. Okay, bye now!” He reached for Remus’ hand and pulled him into a sprint away from the furious girl.

“Traitors,” muttered James.

The halls started to clear as classes went back into session. However, Y/N couldn’t bring herself to care about being tardy to her Charms lesson at the moment. Her anger cleared but settled into a tearful heartache.

James panicked at the sight of her teary eyes. “Y/N/N…”

“James, why?” she asked with a sniffle.

“I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“But you can’t protect me from that. I want to go on a date and I want to be sought after like the other girls. I want to ask a guy out to Hogsmeade and not be turned down.”

“But Y/N-” James started but was quickly shut down.

“No James. You have chased after Lily every day for the last four years! How is it fair that you get to chase after my friend while I sit back and watch? The only guy I’ve ever hoped would show interest in me, only to watch him go after one of my best friends. Then I find out that you scare off everyone else.” A few tears had fallen from her eyelashes at this point. “How is that fair, James?”

He stared at her with wide eyes. “The guy you hoped would show interest?”

Y/N’s heart dropped to her stomach. “No… James, don’t do that to me.”

She groaned loudly. “That’s what you pay attention to?”

“Well, the girl I’ve had a crush on for years just admitted she feels the same!”

“Y/N…” 

“You don’t get the right. That’s just mean.” Her voice was so small and she felt so vulnerable. Before James could say another word she cleared her throat. “I’m late for class.” She walked away from him slowly, as if in a daze. She could feel her heart crack in her chest as she walked away. She knew that there were a million better ways she could’ve handled the situation, but now she had to deal with the cards she played. 

This wasn’t the end of the conversation, but she just needed a bit of time. Some time to breathe and straighten out her thoughts. She just needed some time. 

[archivewriter1ont]

Echo and the Cadet Batch Chapter 24: The Decision

art by @littletroggo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58834273/chapters/165656317

Summary:

The relic has activated and now the Batchers are scrambling to understand what it has against them in particular AND how to operate it so they can return to their own time. But that raises a new question for the four grown 99s. Because if going back to the Negotiator means leaving little Echo and Fives, and losing Ninety-Nine all over again.... Do they WANT to go back?

SNEAK PEEK: ⬇️

A million alarm bells went off simultaneously in Hunter’s head, hammering at his temples and rattling his brain with such force that he could barely hear his own voice bellowing through the din.

“Get down!”

He was already springing from his seat and was vaguely aware of Tech doing the same. The world was a spinning blur of blinding gray and a searing blue that hadn’t been there before, a glow that rose from the relic and felt crinkly against Hunter’s skin. Sharp, electric smells flooded the air around him as he dove through it, the sharpness slicing at his nostrils. 

It was a weird sensation. He hated weird sensations, and this one was almost otherworldly.

But he pushed it aside, deciding to ignore the strange things the artifact was doing to his senses at the same instant that his hand brushed the warm body he had lunged to cover. Fives’s yelp was more than half fear and whatever made up the other part was lost in the way it exploded in Hunter’s keen ears as the sergeant yanked the boy the rest of the way off Wrecker’s shoulders and crushed him to his chest. 

The sergeant heard a second yelp as Echo got the same treatment, except the older twin was squished into Ninety-Nine as Wrecker snatched up both of his more vulnerable brothers. He shielded the two of them from the glow, keeping his back to the relic and his head bent over them to prevent the light from touching them.

Hunter did the same to Fives, covering the cadet as best as he could and wishing for a moment that he had Wrecker’s bulk. The boy was frozen, eyes squeezed shut as he curled into Hunter’s arms and waited for whatever would happen next.

[the rest is at the link above!]

❤️Tag List: @leapingbadger, @badbatchposts, @maybe-some-words @littletroggo @spinoqueenwrites @carbon-corrie

Let me know if you want to be added (or removed.) ❤️

[kana-daydreams]

ms. delinquent || sakura | humour | 0.8k

°*:･ᰔeveryone, but sakura, knows you're a girl.

tags: cross-dresser!f!reader. tall!f!reader. gender stereotyping. mild swearing.

wbrk masterlist

The soles of your well-worn black sneakers skid back to a screeching stop; your gakuran, coloured the same and thrown casually over your shoulders, billowing behind you like a cape against rushing wind.  

Further to your left, a chorus of male voices erupts. They bellow your name in exuberant cheer when you manage to dodge, with practised ease, the strong arm that intentionally hurtles a fist towards your face; while others egg on your split-tone haired opponent and junior who continues to throw punch after punch at you across the courtyard of your school— the infamous Furin High. 

“Going soft, already? Don't tell me yer thinkin' about backing out.” Sakura teases with a wide grin when you gather some distance between you both. “Thought you were the second-years’ Top Dog?!” he adds, his predatory grin growing further before he starts sprinting in your direction, lunging at you with a raised fist.

Just like you, Sakura was determined. Determined to find out who was the strongest between you two.

Determined to be the strongest.

He’d posed the challenge of a duel after he witnessed yesterday with his own eyes, you practically eliminate an entire squadron of guys twice your size without a single scratch marking your surprisingly flawless skin. And kept on pestering you the entire day like a petulant child that didn’t get their way, until they did.

Well...it wasn't as if you weren't itching for a fight with the emotionally reactive teen who’d defeated Shishitoren’s second-in-command.

So why not indulge him?

You scoff. "Who said anything about backing out?” Your body twists to the side, evading his punch and you slip behind him, your hand catching a hold of both his wrists. You pin them firmly against his back, then lean down slightly, lips inches away from his right ear. “Huh? Kitty cat.” You drawl and Sakura’s body involuntarily shudders at your warm breath, ticklish against his ear.

Your lips curve into an amused smile as you watch the tip of his ear colour a deep red, before he forces himself free from your grasp.

“D-Don't call me that, y-you creep?!” He springs back, arms up and fingers curled into fists, in defence. 

“Aww, but you're such an easy tease.” You coo, clutching your stomach, unable to stifle your fits of laughter. “It’s cute.”

Sakura growls at your words. “Ain’t nothin’ cute about me! If anyone’s cute, it’s you, pretty boy!” 

His words catch you off-guard, your lips forming a small ‘O’, heat warming at your cheeks. You peer down, bashful from his 'compliment'.  “You think…” You squirm, voice soft almost timid as you raise a shy gaze to look across at him. “You think, I’m cu—” A sudden force barrels into your stomach and you feel as if all the air has been knocked out your lungs.

Your face scrunches and a grunt falls from your frowning lips when you notice the smug look on Sakura's—your assailant—face, your body falling backwards from the force.

“Heh, that’s what you—”

“You asshole!”

Sakura feels a tight grip pull on his shirt, his blue and yellow eyes drawing wide. 

“If I fall—you fall!”

 And he does— directly on top of you.

His head lies buried against your stomach, his nose catching a muted floral scent, both your limbs tangled together.  

Sakura groans and his hands attempt to find purchase to pull himself up. But when they do, they cup something soft…squishy? And definitely not solid ground. 

Your breath hitches. Sakura freezes. Everything and everyone stills—silence.

Sakura feels a shock ripple through his body, and the hairs on his skin standing tall like soldiers. 

He lurches…? Scurries back, seemingly teleporting as far as he can away from you, and points a finger, wiggling it aggressively in your direction. "W-why is t-there a lump of f-fat on your chest?!"

You push yourself up on your elbows, before sitting fully upright. "Why do you think, dumbass?" You mumble, heat fanning lightly across your face.

And when it clicks—your floral scent, your plush chest masked by an oversized white shirt, and the softness of your body underneath him— Sakura’s ready to combust from all the heat burning underneath his skin.

He looks up at you. He looks down back at his deflowered hand and then up at you again, his lips refusing to cease their relentless quiver. “Y-You’re a g-girl?” He swallows thickly, the feeling of the full mound of your boob he'd attempted to use as leverage, still tingling in the palm of his hand.

You confirm his question with a single nod.

"I just...my hand was...it touched—"

"My breast?"

Sakura sucks in a breath, his face growing impossibly more red. He then clears his throat in a futile attempt to collect himself. “...But how? Are you sure you're a woman?" He arches a brow. "T-There must be a mistake. You've always seemed so...so rough. Way to aggressive and so mas—”

Sakura never gets to finish his sentence when his mismatched eyes cross, and he doubles over in pain from the powerful punch that meets him square in the stomach.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[ssplague]

Benighted Beloved

Chapter One 

Masterlist

(Read the PROLOGUE first)

Mature 

Dragon King Bakugou x Moon Princess y/n

Warnings: A/B/O themes, soulmates, mating, sex, manipulation, power and control.

Oh how can one’s feelings

spin a tale so profound? 

For only true love shall

Determine whether darkness 

Or light shall abound?

The clouds of mist stemming from your shaky panting breaths resemble tendrils of smoke unfurling from the snout of a dragon. The vapors dissipate as they flow up towards the darkening sky. You had been running for at least an hour now, with no thought of stopping. Regardless of how much distance you’d put between yourself and the castle which you had escaped from, it would never be far enough. Sweat stung bleary e/c orbs as it slipped from your forehead down into them. The mud that you had carefully packed over the scent glands on each side of your neck was becoming itchy as it flaked off. It wasn’t just on your neck though; Each wrist had so much mud caked around them it almost resembled an earthy colored bangle. As well as the insides of your thighs, they were coated in it as well. Now that it was getting dark out you would have to be even more careful of getting tangled up in thorn bushes or slapped by jagged branches. The tiniest drop of blood would have him centered in on your location as soon as the breeze carried its scent to him.

All of these precautions were necessary when you were fleeing for your life. The gigantic disadvantage of just who was sure to begin pursuing you at any moment, already meant luck would be the only thing on your side.

Slivers of moon light forced their way between gaps in the tree tops.

He has to of returned by now.

Once that man steps a single foot inside the castle, your absence will be made instantly apparent. Not from the fretting of the structures hired occupants as they frantically searched for you, or threw themselves at the king’s feet pleading for mercy, shrieking apologies. None of that noise alerted King Bakugou of your disappearance, nothing so trivial. 

It was the sudden feeling of emptiness that caused tightening in his chest, the return of that lonely longing in his soul.

Ignoring the idiots prostrating themselves before him, the beast of a man turned on his heel and exited the castle. Anger was coursing through his veins, white hot fury made his blood boil, sparks began emitting at random from clenched fists as he lost control of his thoughts. The hulking physique of the Dragon King was always imposing, but as his cloak billowed behind him in the night air, the man seemed to be growing larger. Anyone who had previously been out on the castle grounds was nowhere to be found, and good thing because even the bravest man’s heart would have given out as his eyes caught sight of the approaching ruler. 

Katsuki Bakugou could easily be mistaken for the devil himself as he storms across the court yard. Muscle began swelling beneath the flesh of expanding limbs as they grew larger. The teeth that were clenched in a snarl elongated and sharpened, horns sprouted from the king’s skull to accompany the wild blonde hair atop his head. Smatterings of Glittering gold scales could be seen mixed into the majority of the inky black ones that made up his protective hyde. The now large ruby irises were iridescent as they shined with what resembled hellfire itself. Where the king had been standing, a dragon of monstrous proportions now stood. Leathery wings expanded outward as the beast threw back its head to release a bellowing roar. With that, it launched itself skyward and zoomed off into the night.

You were kneeling down at the bank of a small stream, gulping down handfuls of water as you tried to catch your breath. The soft rustling of bushes across the way had you frozen in fear, ready to spring up and start running again.

The head of a doe pokes out from a bush, you and the animal blink back at each other for a moment.

Your body sags in relief, deeming you not to be a threat, the doe and her fawn come to stand on the opposite bank. Both dipping their heads down to drink, you watch them with a small smile on your face as you begin to reapply mud atop your scent glands.

The fawn watches you with its head cocked to the side, curious as to what you were doing. All of the sudden both deer’s are on high alert and that was a good enough cue to you that it was time to get going. The three of you all bolt off in separate directions. Your legs were practically screaming in protest, feet were undoubtedly swollen inside your soaked slippers.

The one thing you were thankful for was the thick cloak you’d thrown on before making your daring escape.

You had never wanted this life to begin with, you’d merely been minding your business walking down the beach when you stumbled across him. Seeing such a beautiful man laying there with such grievous injuries, you were compelled to help him.

                         🏝️

One year prior

The people of this village had a shrine erected to the moon goddess Selene. Upon entering their midst, the island dwelling folk took one look at the crescent moon on your forehead and immediately welcomed you. Their crops were flourishing and nets were bursting with fish ever since you had taken residence within the shrine. It was far from easy to lug such a heavy man to your current home, but you inevitably succeeded. At first Katsuki was anything but grateful for your help. He scoffed at your efforts and cursed you out while doing your best at nursing him back to health. You took it in stride, never hesitating to clap back at the man with a gorgeous face and terrible attitude. As time went on you two had grown fond of each other, he knew you were the only one in this life for him.

Eventually the day came where he needed to return home, not once had he ever mentioned his title.

So when the young monarch confessed his feelings to you as he gripped your hands tightly, informing you that you were to be his future queen and he would soon return to bring you home, you were shocked. When he released his hold on you to step back and became a giant dragon, you screamed in terror, falling to the ground. Shrieking even louder as you attempted to scramble backwards when the beast leaned down to rub its snout against you.

I’ll be back for you soon, I promise.

You heard it clear as day inside of your head, lifting a shaky hand to caress the beasts sparkling scales. 

The magnificent creature closed its eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of your touch. Then it was gone, leaving you standing there with misty eyes and a trembling lip. That was the first time you had experienced grief that stemmed from loneliness. All the while you remained silent. Watching the dragon flying on the horizon until you could no longer make out its shape.

“We wanted to tell you…but felt it wasn’t our place” the village priestess and wife of the chieftain says, coming to stand by your side.

“Tell me what? That he was royalty? Or a dragon?” You attempted to joke, failing to notice how grave the other woman’s expression was.

“To tell you that he is a monster, goddess born please you must flee from here, that man has caused rivers of blood to flow across these lands ever since he came of age”she pleads with you,“Katsuki Bakugou is more beast than he is man, his soul has been permanently darkened by all of the lives he’s taken and misery he’s sewn”.

“Please elder tell me more about this dragon king…I need to know what exactly I’m up against…”

A short time later you’re seated around a table of other women, a few men are leaned up against the walls of the chief’s home, including the man himself. Every person in attendance has told you the frightening stories of the dragon king’s cruelty, how he revels in the blood of his foes, commands a massive army made up of both beasts and men. You sit silently, soaking all of this information in, thinking back on the time you’d spent with Bakugou.

“I know what you must be thinking my dear, the man from our stories couldn’t be the one you’d helped…It’s only natural for a kind soul like yourself to want to see the good in others” a very old woman addressed you softly, reaching her gnarled hands across the table to gently grip your’s “Selene shines through you in every aspect of your life, you are a strong, smart, beautiful woman with an aura as pure as snow….A treasure that no mere mortal could ever create”.

The women at the table all chime in:

“Those reasons are surely few of the things that lead to the beast’s fascination and resulting infatuation with you…” 

“A pure soul reaching out to one that’s grown so dark over time….”

“A beacon of light shining across a blackened ocean, a diamond hidden amongst coal” 

Then the men speak:

“Dragons are self serving, stingy, beasts; Anything that shines beautifully they can’t help but be drawn too”

“They will obsessively seek out whatever it is that they desire, disregarding rationality and consequence”

“Once they get ahold of whatevet is they hide it away, if they can keep from destroying it beforehand that is, they may treat their hoard delicately, but how many of those treasures do you think were crushed under foot? Speared by talons?”

The villagers were right.

The man that you met was on deaths door, Bakugou was probably more vulnerable with you than anyone else had ever seen him. Anger is a result of fear, now the man’s crude language and sharp tongue made sense. Unfortunately, now that he was back to his beastly self, there was no telling what would happen between the two of you. 

Or what would happen to you…

So you agreed to leave, accepting hugs and parting gifts from familiar faces, promising to return when it would be safe to do so. As you set sail on your one person raft, you admired the beauty of the moon shining down on you.Thankfully the mainland was only a day’s journey from here, and once you reached the shore you set off again. The best plan of action was to head west, but your journey towards the neighboring kingdom still took you through Bakugou’s territory.

Maybe I jumped to conclusions?

You couldn’t help but wonder as you rest atop a down tree within an unfamiliar forest. The village folk had no reason to mislead you, they were sad to see you go after all…

Still, the monster they described was nothing like the Man you had spent time with. How unfortunate would it be if all of this turned out to be a complete misunderstanding?

                            🔥

Seven moons later a red dragon soared over the vast ocean with ease, but the person atop its head was riddled with anxiety.  Katsuki opted to have Kirishima fly him back to the island, that way the king could enjoy holding you close during the ride back.

Back home both people and creatures alike were all excited and joyfully anticipating the crowning of a new king, as well as a queen. After all this time thinking they wouldn’t ever have another one.

The current Queen Mitsuki was thrilled at the prospect of finally being a grandmother, she had just about forced her idiot son to at least reproduce with one of the now out of work concubines. Katsuki may hold the title of “Dragon King”, but he has yet to officially take the throne. It was traditional for the first in line to be mated before being granted the right to rule. The kingdoms oracle had foretold the young monarch’s eventual meeting with an ethereal beauty capable of soothing the savage beast residing inside of him, and the two of them would rule together over their prosperous kingdom for many decades to come. At least that is the official part of the prophecy the public was privy to…

“Land here Shitty hair, we don’t want to frighten her” Bakugou commands his companion, making an effort to mask the excitement in his gruff voice. Once the king dismounts, the crimson dragon begins to shrink and soon a red haired man of similar stature appears in its place. Both men walk through the now silent village, so focused on the task at hand they fail to notice the lack of activity or occupants. On the edge of the village a short forest path leads to the shrine where the king stayed with you. Kirishima stops short and allows Bakugou to walk up the short staircase alone.

“I’ve returned for you, just as I promised I would” Bakugou announces before sliding open the door. Instead of the beautiful woman he was expecting, the shrine was empty…a single insense burned beneath the painted moon.

No sign of the woman he loved.

Sensing the distress of his best friend, Kirishima comes to peek inside, seeing the empty space makes his heart ache for the man beside him.

“Maybe she’s out enjoying the sun? Why don’t we walk around a bit, I’m sure we’ll find her!” The red head 

suggests, always the optimist.

The suggestion is met with silence, and now the absence of this island’s inhabitants dawns on both of them.

Unbeknownst to the dragon shifters above, the villagers had fled down into the island’s underground cave system.

It was the best shot they had at avoiding the vengeful Dragon King’s retaliation. Yes all of them were far beneath the surface where they planned to reside for some time to come. Well all of them with exception of one…

“Did you really believe she would wait for you after finding out all of the awful things you’ve done?  After she learned the truth about you?” A voice calls out from behind the two shifters. They turn to see a man similar in age but his build was drastically smaller than each of there’s. He was the village chief’s eldest and most arrogant son, Shindo. The newcomer shows no respect to the royalty before him, his eyes are narrowed and he sneers at the king he hates so much.

“A monster has no right to claim one that is goddess born, your darkness will suffocate her light, the blood on your hands will sully her pure heart, im sure you know that though…but you don’t care do you, your majesty?” Shindo taunts.

“Where is she?”

Three words are all he gets in reply to his mockery of the king.

“Where is she?”

The question is repeated, gradually becoming more aggressive and louder than the time before.

“Somewhere you won’t be able to reach her” the dark haired man replies with a shrug, all he’d wanted to do was get under Bakugou’s skin and obviously he’d succeeded.

Just as Shindo turns his back on the Dragon king, does he feel something yanking him backwards. A shocked cry follows the agony of sharp talons stabbing into his shoulder.

“Tell me where she went and maybe I’ll be merciful and make your death quick, or I can peel your flesh off In tiny little strips, before I roast you alive on a stick like a pig” 

So began an interrogation turned execution, the screams resulting from it had all of the birds on the island taking flight. 

Kirishima watched as Bakugou washed the blood off of himself in the ocean, the kings cape hung off his faithful companion’s outstretched arm. Flames shot up towards the darkening sky as a raging inferno engulfed the empty village behind them. A rare grimace had replaced the red head’s usual shark toothed smile, beads of sweat lined his brow and dribbled down his broad back. The only sympathy within the red dragon shifter’s heart was for his best friend; Not an ounce was spared for the people that had now lost their homes, nor the bastard that had his life snuffed out by royal hands. This was the price to be paid for causing the king such immense grief. They got off easy honestly, maybe the two dragons would return when the rats thought it was safe to come out of wherever they were hiding. Only to end up being massacred by unforgiving talons and teeth. Once the blonde exits the water he takes his cape back, fastening it, and giving his comrade a simple nod before both of them begin to shift. Neither one of the massive dragons spared the burning island a glance as they took off toward home. 

                              💐

“Oh what should I do now? I have no idea” you huff, somehow you ended up in a picturesque meadow.

Various types of flowers are surrounding you, all of them are so colorful and vibrant. You apologize to each one you plucked from the earth, nimble fingers setting to work on weaving a crown to set atop your head. “Id gotten so comfortable with life at the village I’d almost forgotten that I’m not originally from this world…nor am I used to such solitude…” Your whispers are carried away by the wind as it begins to blow rather harshly.

                           🍃

“I think that’s good enough to replenish my stock for now, guess I’ll head back and drop these off before I go back to the capital, better hurry if I want to make it in time for Kaachan’s return” the green haired male says to no one in particular, wiping the sweat from his freckled brow. “Oh no looks like a storm is approaching” Izuku mumbles as he exits the dense forest and takes in the darkening sky over head “Damn”. Upon reaching the floral meadow the first drops of rain begin to fall, just beyond the flowers hidden by a clump of trees, sets a small house his deceased mother used to call home. It now serves as a miniature library, as well as a laboratory that the greenette uses to practice his alchemy. The spontaneous down pour is surprising in itself, but the sudden boom of thunder, and flash of lightning is unnerving. What could have caused such a sudden severe change of weather? Another loud boom sounds above but a frightened scream comes from somewhere in the meadow.

Emerald eyes squint against the pelting rain as they scan the surroundings, and then he sees her.

A lone figure shivering amongst the flowers, hands clasped over her ears and eyes squeezed shut.

Midoryia wastes no time hurrying over to the frightened woman, “Hey there! Are you out here all alone miss? Have you been injured?”.

Your eyes open as you hear the concerned tone of a stranger, opening your mouth to reply a bright strike of lightening hits a tree mere yards from where you sit.

A yelp escapes you and suddenly you have one of the man’s arms in a tight hold. “Oh no you’re soaked, c’mon I have shelter just ahead and I’m sure you would appreciate a change of clothes” the green haired stranger gives you an infectious smile that you do your best to return, allowing him to lead you out of the storm. 

A/N: Thoughts? Should I open a tag list? 

[edenisabellee]

overripe nightshade

an original poem by edenisabelle

there’s an old dog barking in the window; powdered-sugar muzzle pressed to the pane as he bellows against the glass.

the night is warm—too warm, even for a florida summer—but the heat doesn’t bother us. we move through the city like something poured, syrupy liquor sweet on our tongues.

the air is thick with the scent of jasmine climbing up old brick and the potent edge of cigarette butts crushed into concrete.

my friend extends his hand to me, and i’m thankful he does, for without his palm in mine i think i’d fall; pointy heels and soft soil never mesh well.

the cicadas are chirping loudly tonight; or maybe they’re late-spring crickets finding a tune, eager for an audience. either way, the insect choir is wild and loud, but not loud enough to drown out the drunken giggles that bounce from our throats. we’re bright and stumbling, like we’ve just remembered we’re alive.

our shadows ripple on the pavement, dragged long and warped by the burnt-orange glow of a broken streetlamp. my skirt clings to my thighs, damp with sweat and memory, and i swear i can feel the heartbeat of the city thrumming through the soles of my shoes. somewhere, music stumbles out of a bar; off-key jazz or maybe an old soul record scratched just right.

we don’t speak much, don’t need to. the night's doing the talking; through clinking bottles left on windowsills, through laughter leaking out of alleyways, through the slap of our feet against the sidewalk in mismatched rhythm. his thumb traces lazy shapes on the back of my hand, like he’s writing a story only the skin can read.

we cut through a narrow side street, where vines hang heavy and low. a stray cat darts past, pale and fast, its eyes catching the light like marbles. i wonder if it’s going somewhere, or just running for the joy of it. i wonder if that’s what we’re doing, too.

there’s something about this kind of dark—velvety, open, alive—that makes everything feel just a little more possible. even the ache in my ankles feels romantic, and the way the city hums feels like it’s humming for us.

[georgiapeach30513]

Feels Like Sin

Summary: This isn't the life that you thought you would live, but Jax isn't going to let you go. You belong to him. ONLY him.

Pairings: Fae!Jax Teller X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, kidnapping, chasing, a form of drugging, dub con, dry humping, voyeurism, unprotected sex, mentions of overstimulation, spanking, creampie, humiliation, obsession, secrets and lies, self mutilation (Jax), 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.2K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You dig a small hole in the dank bag. You need air. Sunlight. And a way to process your fears of what was happening to you. Looking through the pathetic hole to see yourself moving in the wrong direction. Faeries of the Spring Court never ventured here.

Branches turn into gnarly thorns, and you squeak in fear. Kicking your leg on the back of the ogre that stuffed you in here. “Easy does it, you pipsqueak. The king will love you.”

“No!” You start to blubber. Where was your king? Steve would protect you. Or would he? Even he didn’t come into the Dark Court. He only saw the king when there was a meeting of sorts. So you were told. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Suck my cock then,” his laugh bellows out before he drops you and the bag on the forest floor. You peek your head out, gasping for fresh air, but it is too damp. Fog hangs over in the forest, making it impossible to see five feet in front of you.

“Well go on, tiny,” his chubby little hands start to reach into his pants, and you slam your hands over your eyes, shaking your head no. “What’s wrong? You telling me you never had the shiny king’s cock in your little holes?”

“No, Steve never asks us to do that. Steve is kind, he isn’t like you!”

“Oh, bullshit. You are the most frivolous of the courts. All you do is fuck,” of all the lies in Collingswood, you had never done anything of the sort.

“That’s summer,” you sniffle, still refusing to look at him. You could feel his warm breath too close to you, and you try to shuffle away from him, but his sweaty hand holds tightly to your foot. “Steve doesn’t…he wouldn’t,” his finger tries to push your hand off your eyes, but you keep them covered. “No! I don’t want to look at your disgusting penis!”

“You’d rather be eaten by the Dark King instead of sucking my cock? I can find another flower faerie. You are the prettiest ones in the glen. So delicate,” he flicks his fingers over your hair, and you want to sink into the earth.

“You smell so nice. Have the prettiest smiles. Won’t you show me your smile, tiny?”

“I have nothing to smile about. You’re going to shove your disgusting penis into me, and I don’t want it,” tears flow out your eyes and you try to remember your warm spot beside the creek. A perfect spot to dance in the wind while your king smiled at you. He wasn’t like the rest of them. Steve was good. He loved and adored his court.

“Your king isn’t as precious as you want him to be.”

“He’s not kidnapping faeries from other courts to be fed on, is he?”

“He just makes his queen watch as he fucks his flower faeries.”

“No he doesn’t,” you scream, yanking your arms off your eyes. The oaf of a fae was sitting down in front of you. Invading your personal space, but fully clothed. You hate him for the lies that he spews about your court, and your king, “Steve would never.”

“You know nothing about your king. All faeries run off sex.”

“Steve runs of pure kindness,” his laugh bellows through the glade, but then he surprises you, leaning forward to touch the petals of your dress with an odd tenderness. Making you confused with the quick change, “Stop that!”

“We don’t get flowers here, pipsqueak.”

“All these thorns, and no roses?” He shakes his head no. His eyes flick up towards you before quickly looking away. “What’s your name?”

“Lee. Now get in the bag. Jax is hungry.”

“Oh, god, he’s going to eat me.”

“Most women would love to be eaten by Jax and his magic tongue. But he doesn’t eat flesh. He eats emotions. Seeing how his latest meal was stolen from him, I need you to be afraid. Suck my cock or get back in the bag,” you thought you were making some progress with the troll, but no. He is still threatening you. “Go on, little bit. I got a big cock just for you.”

“Oh my god!” Your scream echoes through the thorns, and Lee smiles when a shift in the wind happens.

“Run,” he whispers, and you don’t hesitate to jump up, sprinting as far away from him as possible. Too caught up in your tears to realize you are running deeper into the maze of thorns. And he laughs. Cleaning up his bag before making his way to his post. Chuckling at how stupid flower faeries were without their king. Predictable in their simpleness.

Jax licks his lips, already savoring your fear. His ringed fingers burn with anticipation. You wouldn’t be scarred or tattooed, but being scared was the next best thing. Your panting breaths pulses in his veins, and his eyes dart in the direction you were running. Right to him.

He was a drug, and he knew it. They all feared him, and yet always ran right to him. He hoped you’d only be as delectable as Andy’s human. You couldn’t be. She was damaged. She was supposed to be for Jax. He could feel it. Could still taste it.

He fakes a pout when he hears you cry out in pain. Flower fae were too stupid to wear shoes in his realm. But then again, they were never asked. They were forced. Remained here once their sunshine was drained. Ashamed to go back to their king that would hold them, and share his light.

But they were forever corrupt. Filled with Jax’s darkness, and willing to do everything for their king. Would serve him in ways that would be thought of as sinful. But it was just pleasure. Flower fae were not meant to stay in darkness. They needed their king and sunshine to bloom.

You gasp as you see his shadow stand up. Seemingly so much larger than Steve. Your comfort and safe space. He was terrifying. “Don’t run. You need your foot looked at. Some of those thorns are poisonous,” you gulp, finally pulling out the giant thorn in your foot, and Jax takes a deep inhale at the scent that permeates the air.

“You do suck on people’s blood,” you whine. Having to sit on the floor of the forest, and hold your foot. It hurt worse pulling it out.

“It’s all lies they tell about me, sweetheart. Can I?” Jax squats down in front of you, reaching for your foot. What other choice did you have than to extend it to him. He looks at the hole from whence the thorn was before licking his thumb and pressing it to your foot.

Instant relief. That is until you see smoke billowing off you, and the pain. Scurrying out of his grasp, you look at the scorched upper part of your foot, “What did you do?” He holds up his hands, and you notice the rings on his fingers had created a scarred effect on his skin.

Indented in on him and singed on every finger, “Iron,” he answers softly. “Makes me stronger. Makes the legends of me more fearful. Helps me feel my own pain when all I can usually feel is others. Imagine pain being something you feed off. You forget your own self and what it actually feels like. This helps me remember me. And now it no longer works. But my ugly hands remind people of what a psycho I truly can be.”

“So you do want to eat me?”

“Not you, you tiny little thing. Your emotions. The dark ones that Steve won’t allow you to have. What type of flower are you?” You grunt at him. You are getting tired of everyone talking bad about your king. Steve wasn’t anything like they were saying. He just wasn’t. He was good.

“Aw, did I offend you? What silly name did Lee call you? I was going to call you by your flower, but I’ll take what he said.”

“Tiny and pipsqueak,” every word is short and enunciated. You hate him. Both of them. You want to go home and back into the sunlight. Have Steve pull you up into his lap where he holds onto you, letting you absorb his warmth.

“Keep hating me, Tiny. Your petals are pretty,” you are a pretty little thing. Smaller than the others were. Adorable. Your fear was matched just as equally as your loyalty to your court. There was a bite to you. “What kind of petals are they?”

“Rose,” you stub up, refusing to look at him. He was a monster. You heard all the stories. Steve warned you about Jax, and why you shouldn’t trust him.

“Do you prefer that name?”

“I’d prefer to go home.”

“In time, Tiny. I am hungry,” you put on a brave face, but your lip trembles. Delicious. You are almost as intoxicating as Andy’s human. His human. She belonged with Jax. Andy hated humans. Jax treasured them.

“I think you and I could help each other. One quick taste, and then, I have a job for you.”

“Will I get to go back home?”

“Depends on how good you do. Now crawl over into my lap, let me get a little taste. It won’t hurt. In fact, it’s almost orgasmic,” you furrow your brow as you look at him. “Oh, you haven’t sat on Steve’s lap, huh? Had him stuff you full with cock?” You had sat on his lap, but not to do something as disgusting as that. Steve was warmth. He was change and growth.

You shake your head as you start to crawl towards Jax. Perfection. “It’s the best drug you’ve ever had,” he whispers, reaching over to grab you up, and putting you on his lap. You wince at the feeling of his rings touching your exposed skin.

His nose tickles up your neck as he inhales your scent. Flattening out his tongue he licks up the column of your neck before you feel a prick on your sensitive skin, and then dreams. Like there are clouds floating around your body. High and in a world of your own. Whimpering at the feel.

Lee peeks at you and Jax. Selfishly wishing it was his lap that you were grinding on. Your eyes are so blown wide with pleasure you didn’t even know what you were doing. Jax did. He moans right along with you. He bet you tasted like heaven. If there was one.

Your petals rise up and show off your glimmering skin. You had marks etched on you. No wonder you smelled like that. He knew it when he threw the bag over your body. You are special. Beautiful. Perfect. Immaculate. Different than the other flower fae he had captured.

“Ahh,” Jax moans, pulling off your body. Letting you ride out your high as you rode his stomach. “You need a taste, Lee?” Lee could be jealous, but Jax was generous. Waiting until Lee sits down before he shuffles your body on him. Biting on his lip as you grind down on him.

“She’s a pretty little thing, huh?” Lee nods his head as his breathing picks up. You are perfect. “She’s tasty. Wonder what the honey between her thighs tastes like? Maybe one day I’ll get to indulge. I have something bigger planned for her. I need humans. I need their ink,” Lee’s hand nervously tries to keep your thigh covered. Jax shouldn’t know about it.

“She’s adorable. While the veil is still open, I want her to entice broken humans to me.”

“But, sire?”

“You can accompany her, just don’t be seen. You might scare them. Enjoy your ride, and put her in my bed when she passes out from her pleasure. Poor thing never felt an orgasm before. Too bad she won’t remember it. But she will crave me,” his dark laugh bellows out before retreating into the thorns. Jax was always up to something. Lee could only tolerate it.

But for now, he was going to rub his hands up and down your thighs. Let you ride out your high for as long as you need. Beautiful. Perfection. Sinful. You’ll fit right in. Letting yourself go into darkness as your petals shift over your skin. Getting sight of your perfect tits as your nipples start to poke out.

Cupping both your breasts, his thumb rubs over the hardened buds, and you moan. Overcome with this new feeling. His finger and thumb close over each nipple, and he squeezes. Adding more pressure when you start to whimper. You like it. Love it. The darkness is already spreading through you. Spring shouldn’t enjoy even a little bit of pain. They were innocent and vanilla.

He wants you tied to his bed begging for him. But for now he’s going to enjoy the vision of your tits bouncing in his face and wanting more. More pain. More Lee. More darkness. He’ll give it to you. He’ll give you everything that Jax refuses.

“You get back here!” Lee growls as you run through the forest of thorns. Knowing where to duck and jump at just the right time. His goal was to keep you away from the king, and he’s succeeded most of the time.

“Argh!” He screams out when he loses sight of you. “You’re not going to like what you see!” His voice yells up into the sky. Shaking his head, he starts to sludge towards Jax’s palace. You’d brought him a human, and your deepest desire is to see what he did with the humans. Lee’s job was to keep you away from those creatures as Jax fed. He failed. He would pay. He is not looking forward to Jax’s wrath.

Slinking through the hallways, you listen to Jax’s deep groans. The screams of the human makes your skin crawl the closer you get. He has to be torturing her. Eventually murder her. Your morbid curiosity gets the best of you as you skip a few of the tiles, knowing that they would alert Jax to your whereabouts.

His door is opened a bit, and you have to peer through it. Watching his scarred back where his wings used to be. The skin is raised and still raw. Rippling with every thrust of his hips. The human woman’s hands start to claw into his skin, but he slams her hands above her head, growling something in her ear.

You can’t look away. You’d never seen your new king in such a vulnerable state. Completely nude with the woman. Unable to tell if she’s in pain or if those were cries of pleasure. Leaning into the door, it creaks and Jax turns his head. His minty green eyes locking in on you. His mouth sets into a frown, before he smirks.

Moving off the woman he turns her to look at you. Placing her on her knees before his hips slam into her backside. She is blind and doesn’t even see you, but his cold eyes stare at nothing else but you. Gnarling his teeth as he slaps her rounded ass, and you go to turn. “Don’t you dare!” He growls.

“You wanted to see. Watch it,” he chuckles as you start to step backwards, but your back hits Lee’s chest instead.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” his breath is warm on your neck as he whispers right into your ear. “She’s enjoying it.”

“Why is she screaming then?” You can’t look away. It is horrible the way he is angrily jabbing himself into her.

“Pleasure. Some people get off on pain,” Jax’s hand wraps around her hair, and he forces her to look up at you. Make you see the recoil in her breasts. Her eyes are dead. “He overstimulates them before he ever enters them. This is what we call fucking. She’s so blinded by the over indulgence of pleasure she doesn’t even know where she is. Won’t remember coming beyond the veil.”

“He looks like an animal. He does this to all my humans?”

Lee’s hand slides over your stomach, pressing you tight against him, “Your humans?”

“I brought them to him. I bring them to slaughter.”

“They won’t remember much. He devours their sadness, their pain, and then he pleasures them with pain. They need him just as much as he needs them,” he moans on your neck. Unable to contain himself. You had started to roll your body with Jax’s movements. It isn’t as harsh as his stabbing, but it was just what Lee needs. Letting your tight little ass circle on his swollen crotch.

“They’ll be a new human tomorrow. Just flashes of a memory of this moment,” Lee sees Jax’s eyes flick to your thigh, and he stares horrified at your bare leg. Your petals had rode up, and the veining of your mark could be seen. Quickly he tries to pull it back down, but Jax knows what he saw. Lee has been lying to him.

Slapping at her ass again, Jax’s motions begin to jerk before he stops all together. “You want to clean me off?” He grins, pulling out of her, and he turns her behind to you. “You see how gaping I made her? Go on, darling, push it out.”

“Jax!” Lee shouts from behind you as you spin around, and hug yourself to his chest. “Enough!” Jax lets the woman’s body fall to the bed and he stalks over to Lee poking him hard on the shoulder.

“You’re too damn soft on her.”

“And you are bonded to her, and still want to embarrass her.”

“You were supposed to be watching her. She wanted to see. Wanted to see what my cock is used for, and now she has. You did that bitch a favor, Pipsqueak. She was in the depths of despair when you brought her to me, and now she has a high better than any fucking drug. She’ll go back with the humans as new woman. She won’t be sticking a needle in her vein, or having sex for money. She’ll have aspirations. You did a good thing,” his voice starts to calm, and the anger no longer right at the edge, “Pip? C’mere, darling.”

“No,” you mumble against Lee’s chest, “You’re naked, and smell of her.”

“Darling, I just want to hold you. It’s what you really need.”

“I said no!” You dare to look over at him, and his brows furrow. “I don't need you!”

“The hell you don’t! You’ll always need me, Pip. And you!” His gnarly finger points at Lee, “You have failed me, yet again. You have one job, keep the Pipsqueak away from my sessions. And you’re a fucking liar.”

“I’ve not lied to you,” he only wasn’t honest. He knew Jax would become obsessed with the mark on your leg. It was hardly noticeable. Nothing to get excited over.

“Withholding information is a lie, and punishable by death!”

“No!” Screaming, you turn around holding your arms out in front of Lee, “Don’t you touch him! I will tell Andy!”

“Don’t you dare scream your idle threats at me. He gets punished.”

“No,” you no longer scream, and Jax tilts his head down to look at you. “Punish me instead. He didn’t do anything. I did this. I came to find you because I needed to know why I couldn’t watch. Lee didn’t do anything. Jax, please, he’s my only friend.”

Jax’s hand goes to your chin, and he lifts you up to fully look at him. You grit your teeth as his iron rings burn your skin. You had learned well, and the urge he has to praise you gets pushed down. Now wasn’t the time, “I can’t hurt you, Pip.”

“And I can’t let you hurt him. Punish me. Do what you want.”

“No,” Lee pulls you tighter to him, but you shake your head looking at Jax. Your new king. And you wouldn’t allow him to hurt your friend.

“Please, use me instead of Lee,” Jax loved it when you asked nicely. Something inside of him stirs every time that your soft voice pleads for him to do something for you.

“Show me your leg,” Lee told you never to let Jax see your thigh, but what choice did you have now. You slide a petal over to the side, and Jax gawks at the vine that was fairly small. He sinks to his knees, and presses his nose against your thigh, sniffing up the length of the vine before his tongue flattens on your skin, and you push him away from you.

“Your punishment is to be in my bed every night. And you…I’m not finished with you, you miserable excuse of a man.”

“He is no man,” you remind Jax. “And neither are you.”

“Get this cleaned up, Lee.”

“I won’t sleep in the bed where you’ve had other women. I don’t want them on my skin,” Jax lets out a low growl, but his eyes move to the raw skin on your jawline. You took the pain. You were becoming part of his court, and still not growing weaker like the other flower fae. But, they would have already been bouncing on his cock. So you did deserve different quarters.

“Fine. Care to join me for a bath, Pip?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself. Lee, get used to useless work, you coward.”

“Pip, come here, darling,” you look across the room into the bed where Jax sits, shaking your head. “You get your tiny little ass in here, I feel we need to talk.”

“You won’t hurt me?”

“Do you remember our bargain?” You shrug your shoulders, walking a bit more into the room. Faerie bargains can be a bit difficult, and you aren’t sure about your own with the king of sly words. “I can’t take from you as long as you bring me my humans. Have I ever taken from you, Pipsqueak?” Shaking your head no, Jax lifts his hand up to you, wanting you to take it on your own.

“I haven’t. We have both kept our end of the bargain.”

“But…I’m taking Lee’s punishment.”

He pulls you in between his thighs. His fingers no longer clad with iron rings, and his hands rub softly up and down your legs. Gone is the pain you always feel when he touches you. No longer a scent of burning flesh. A permanent indentation from his self caused pain of wearing iron. His thumb toys on the line of your mark, and you push him away. “Don’t fight me, Pip, you will lose.”

“Are you going to make me?”

“Make you what? Take my cock? No, darling. I have no desire to squeeze myself in your tiny little body. Why do you want to take on Lee’s punishment? He failed his job, and he was hiding your little secret from me.”

“It’s not a secret,” Jax raises his eyebrows as he stares down at you. “It’s not!”

“Where did you get them? You let someone mark your body, and didn’t tell me. You know how I love the taste of ink. Where did you get it?” His finger goes back to the edge of your mark, and as long as he doesn’t drift up him higher, you’ll allow this space.

“I was born with it.”

“That’s impossible. Only…Pip, who is your father?” You shrug your shoulders because you truly didn’t know who your father was. But you aren’t lying about the vines. “Let me taste it.”

“No,” his stomach rumbles with frustration. You always denied him at first. “That’s why I bring you humans. Lee said you shouldn’t know unless you asked. You never asked,” his hands on your thigh, roam up to your hips, settling on your waist before he lifts you up, and forces you on his lap. Straddling him, and your mark pokes out from beneath your dressing gown. It was getting darker. Bigger. More vibrant than before. The color was just as dark as his own.

“Do I scare you?”

“You can’t hurt me.”

“I can’t take from you. You can give to me though. There’s the difference, my tiny little Pipsqueak. You should know to make your intentions clear when making a bargain. I could make you scream and beg for me to take from you just to stop the pain. You’d do well in remembering that. Touch me. Go on, touch me. Run your dainty little hands up my chest. We’re bound together, darling, I own you. I can do whatever I want to with you, as long as I don’t take from you. Not even your life, but there are things much worse than death. Touch me!” He screams right at your face.

Your hands slide up his decorated chest. Using your fingers to trace the outlines of his own tattoos. Smiling when he starts to shudder, and then you slide down his back. Rubbing the pads of your fingers over his marred skin where his wings used to bed. “Enough!”

He pushes you onto the floor, and buries his face into his hands, “No one ever touches me there.”

“Why?”

“My cruel brother had them ripped off my back. Laughed as I crawled away from him. People want to act like I’m the monster, why don’t you ask Andy how many humans he has killed. I have never once killed a human. I leave them more human than they were before. I was made to be the villain, and stuffed into this desolate forest of thorns, but I make due with what I have. Stronger than he ever could be because I allow the pain to happen. Pain makes us more…human,” peering up into his minty green eyes, you lean your head to the side.

Jax didn’t fear, but he longed to be human. Wanted to feel the way a human did. “Humans love.”

“I have no love to give, Pip. It’s why I feed off their emotions; it's something real. Not this too long of a life that we are forced to live,” Jax was the second oldest faerie in the glen. Only his brother was older than him, and you wondered just how old he was. What he has seen in his life. What he has felt. Once upon a time Jax and Andy cohabited together.

“What do you do with them…”

“Would you want to feel it?” His grin turns devilish as his foot pushes your thighs apart. Staring at your core, “You’re curious,” heat radiates from you, and onto his foot. You were more than just curious. You are quaking with the need to feel it.

“It will hurt. You promised not to hurt me.”

“My word is as useless as dirt. But I assure you it’ll only hurt for a moment.”

“And then you throw me away just like your precious humans?” He runs his foot up through your center. Letting his warmth linger over your mound, and you tremble. You had never felt something quite like that before. Although it was familiar.

“I’d never throw you away, Pip. That’s a promise.”

“Your word is as useless as dirt.”

“This doesn’t feel good? Doesn’t it make you want and need my touch? Shake your head no at me, I can feel your pulse in between your legs. Just sit in my lap, and I’ll show you how good I can make you feel.”

“I have stipulations,” gulping, you look up at him. You did want to know what it felt like, but there is something you desire more. “I will, but I don’t want you inside me, and I want to know why Andy did that to you.”

“Not tonight, but I will tell you. In time. If you allow me to see all of you,” standing up, you knock off the shoulders of your dressing gown. Letting the thin material slide off your curves, and onto the floor. Bringing your arms up to cover your chest, but he shakes his head no, “I said all of you.”

Dropping your hands to the side, he lifts up his finger, twirling it around, asking you to do the same. Taking one step at a time, you turn around. Baring everything to him. Feeling his eyes trail up and down your body, you shudder. He was looking at you like his next meal, “My beautiful tiny Pipsqueak,” his? Your breathing speeds up as you turn back around to look at him.

“Now, let’s put you to bed, crawl back on my lap. I’ll give you the smallest taste of my sin,” your feet feel like lead as you put one in front of the other. Crawling onto his lap, and his thumb goes back to your vine. Sliding up and down it, while also dipping lower to your core. “I should have asked you to spread your legs. Maybe I could have seen where this leads to.”

“Is it me, my body, or the vines that I have no control over that you desire most?” Giving a bit of a smirk, Jax watches as the vines deepen, ridges sprout along it with every grind you do over his body. Your brain might not remember, but your body did. Craved him, and the friction.

“They’re changing,” he hums, finally looking up at you. “Does this mean your darkness is blooming? Or are you going to deny me again?” You sit silently, apart from your heavy breathing. Gripping onto his shoulders, you bare down even harder. Letting your body give into the temptation and pleasure as you pinch your eyes closed. Going outside of your mind for a moment.

Jax’s eyes flick over to the door, holding those blue eyes as he bends closer to your bouncing tits. Giving a smile before his mouth circles around your pebbled peak, and you mewl. Moving harder. Faster. Giving to him what he has wanted, while he watches the man conflicted.

Lee goes from glaring at Jax to watching your beautiful body writhe over him. The tent in his pants is painful, straining against his clothes. That should be him. You offered yourself up for Lee’s punishment, and yet, here he is still being punished. Always. Jax knew the hold that you had over Lee, and he tortured him with it.

“Let me enter inside of you, Pip!” He begs, moving his mouth to your other tit.

“Tell me about Andy,” his sucks turn into a bite, and you laugh. Leaning back, you rest your hands on his knees, letting him view your tattoo even closer. “Then look at what you will never have.”

He doesn’t even care about the tattoo, just your puffy cunt that was on his stomach. He growls out your name as you move to get up. “You have no power over me, Jax. We’re bonded, but you don’t own me. Lash at me, spank me, do whatever you need to in order to pay for Lee’s punishment. We’re done for the night.”

“I said in my bed!”

I was in your bed, and now I’m leaving to get some sleep. You can have all of me if you tell me about Andy,” Lee’s eyes flash bright blue before he steps back in the shadows. You didn’t need him right now. You were doing just fine on your own. “Let me take your pain.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Then suffer alone,” you whisper, grabbing up your gown before walking back to your own bed. Glutton for punishment. Jax would never get over it, and with that came his suffering. His downfall. His own living hell.

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