#CUT THOSE CHAINS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT THAT HAD YOU PULLED APART!!!!

[cntarella]

IT WAS YEARS AGO GOD KNOWS WHEN YOU STRAINED TO TELL ME YOUR WHOLE TRUTH THAT YOU WERE NOT MINE TO SAVE THAT YOU COULD NOT CHANGE!!!!!

[littlestarlightseverywhere]

Do Your Worst

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s lover is having a hard time, but no amount of acting out can push him away

Warnings: mentions of violence (torture)

Notes: Sorry for the silence, I’ve been having terrible writer’s block but I think I did okay with this one!

Image Credit: Pinterest

Today was rubbish. Probably one of her worst days yet. 

It had been exactly two months since Hybern captured her from Azriel’s post and took her to their war camp deep in the Spring Court’s woods. Exactly two months since she’d been tortured for information she’d die before giving up. Exactly two months since she’d made peace with her death. Rhys couldn’t track her immediately, Mor and Feyre’s searches came up empty each time, and even Azriel’s shadows couldn’t pick up a clue. Azriel had driven himself mad, downright insane, trying to find her. Each day he spent every waking hour looking for clues, scouring the forests for her scent, and each day he returned to bed with nothing to show for it. It took Amren and Nesta a month to finally locate her. In that month she laid cut and bruised, chained to a wooden post like an animal, struck, cut, and burnt for every question she refused to answer. They left her in the middle of that camp, exposed to the heat of the day, the cold of the night, the rain, the wind, and the thunder. They made her into a spectacle. 

She only thought of her family, her Azriel, the entire time. My Azriel, she’d think each time they brutalized her. My Azriel, my Azriel, my Azriel. Rhys collapsed when she allowed him into her mind after they brought her home. He would never forgive himself for sending her on that mission, nor would he ever show his brother what she’d shown him, for Azriel very well would have sent Prythian to immediate war. 

And while the cuts, bruises, burns, and broken bones would heal completely, the skin of her back would forever be changed, marred with angry, raised scars from a heavy leather whip. She could barely walk. 

The first time Azriel saw the lashes on her back, he was helping her undress the night she returned home. Each movement caused her to cry out in pain. She tried to bite her lip, clench her fist, grip Azriel’s arm, tried anything to keep from crying, but nothing helped– the pain was too much. It would’ve been a mercy from the Mother to fall apart, limb by limb, bone by bone, instead. 

Azriel had seen all the other scars when Madja was working on her; those alone made him sick and wild with a hideous rage, potent enough to crumble the mountains surrounding the city into nothing more than powder on the ground. The lashes on her back– the thought of some wretched male stripping her and lashing a whip over her soft, warm skin in the mud and rocks– filled him with a fury so intense, so horrid, he could’ve wrapped his bare arms around the sun and pulled it down to earth. Set everything on fire. 

That very night, with names in his ear courtesy of the shadows and Cassian and Rhys positioned at her door, Azriel made each of those names pay. He was back by sunrise, tucked into bed beside her, wing draped over her restless body, and she was none the wiser. 

“You’re killing it,” Madja’s appointed physical therapist, Jarrah, encouraged as he watched her do her exercises. He was tall and muscled with glittering, golden-brown skin, looking ever the Summer Court high fae that he was. 

“It’s killing me,” she ground the words out, mincing each syllable as they passed through her teeth. Pain gripped her legs, lower back, and upper arms like a vise as she fought to complete a rep, the movements squeezing every last bit of energy out of her and collecting on the mat below in puddles of sweat. “I can’t do it, Jarrah.” 

“You can and you will,” he squared his shoulders at her, smile fading as he willed her to find her strength again. In recovery, he’d taught her, there were good days and there bad days– healing was not a linear process. 

Some days she did well in physical therapy and pushed herself– the pain only meant she was getting stronger. Azriel would be absolutely beside himself with pride and their friends echoed as much. 

Other days, her body seemed to give out in protest, the pain too unbearable, and she’d wonder if she’d ever be the same again. Azriel would encourage her– she knew it wasn’t pity– but she couldn’t stand it all the same. She’d collapse onto the floor against her will during physical therapy, shoving Jarrah away with shame when he’d tried to help her up each time. Sometimes, she’d wake up in the dead of night, clammy, and nauseous from a nightmare that felt more and more real each time she had one. Azriel held her to his body whenever she’d jostle awake, heaving and shaking, stroking his warm hands up and down her arms. Other nights he held her hair back as she retched her dinner into the toilet, panting and crying silent tears. 

“To expect linearity is to set yourself up for failure,” Jarrah lectured during their very first session when all she wanted to do was get to the hard stuff, to prove that she was alright– that she was still whole. Jarrah did not mind her bad days, but something died within her every time she left training without making any notable progress– every time her body failed her when her mind seemed to be giving its all. 

From the moment they started their session this morning, Jarrah noted her body was fatigued and her mind was somewhere else. Oh dear.

“We can take a break–” 

“No!” She buckled down and held her position, determined to prove to herself that even on her worst days she could succeed. It was the most enthusiastic response Jarrah had gotten all session from her so he allowed it. He watched her body tremble from the strain, the sweat bead at her temples, the fatigue in her eyes as she fought the pain in her spine. 

Her body could not bear it anymore. She felt her traitorous legs give out beneath her and the ground came up faster than she could register, faster than Jarrah could react. A strangled cry crawled from her throat as she collapsed and her body trembled in a pain her mind could barely process. 

“Fuck,” a familiar voice rang out from the gym’s entrance and Azriel ran in. Just great. What was he even doing here? After the first training appointment in which Azriel could barely keep himself from choking out Jarrah and coddling her, he agreed to not interrupt her sessions thereafter. His disregard for their agreement made her feel so small. 

“Fuck,” Jarrah echoed. He was at her side in two steps, arms outstretched to help her up, but she scooted away as fast as her leadened arms would allow, turning her face away in shame. 

“Don’t touch me!” She croaked. 

Jarrah stopped himself by the time Azriel was at her side, crouching beside her and taking up what felt like all of the oxygen in her space. Breathe, she tried to remind herself but with Azriel hovering and Jarrah a foot away, both watching her crumpled pathetically on the mats, she couldn’t. 

“Are you alright?”

“Get her some water!”

“That’s enough for today, let’s get you some food.”

“... My love?”

Azriel’s soft voice pierced through her terrible thoughts. She felt his strong hands reach under her armpits to help her up but she pushed against his biceps, swatting him off in a desperate attempt to move away. But the pain made her so dizzy, it was difficult to create any real distance. 

“Don’t!” she cried out, for it was all she could do, and Azriel dropped his hands immediately. “I can get up on my own.”

Azriel didn’t move. Jarrah placed a comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “We should give her some space.”

Azriel clenched his jaw but it didn’t stop the twitching of his upper lip. He stood abruptly, swiveling on his heels so his face was only mere inches from Jarrah’s, who’d since quickly retracted his hand to himself. To his credit, he kept his shoulders square, but even he wasn’t immune to the pure threat in the Shadowsinger’s glare. 

“My mate is in pain, she can’t even stand up, and you want to leave her like this?” He growled. 

Anger grappled her lungs, stealing whatever air she’d managed to collect. That was the problem. “I can stand up, Azriel. I’m not made of glass.” 

It took her a few minutes, but she did it. She first rotated her hips so she was on her hands and knees. With one foot underneath her, she pushed herself up, trembling, sighing, moaning as her body resisted the upward movement, but she finally stood. 

Azriel clenched his hands at his sides to anchor himself back, to resist from helping her. He knew she was capable of doing anything, that she didn’t really need him. Part of the reason he was so hesitant to pursue her all those years ago was because she was so independent that it intimidated him. Azriel wasn’t sure what he brought to the table, what he could do better that she already did for herself, how he would fit into the life she’d built for herself. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he would still do anything for her. It didn’t take away that primal need to protect her. He tried his best not to suffocate her but sometimes he couldn’t help his instincts when his love for her outweighed everything else.  

She allowed Azriel to link his arm with hers as she waved goodbye to Jarrah, silently apologizing for Azriel’s outburst. 

“Let’s get you something to eat, yeah?” His voice was soft as he led her out of the gym and to the townhouse’s sunlit sitting room. “You did so good today, love.”

“I’m not hungry.” Was all she replied. She couldn’t stomach anything after such a rubbish session. Fear that she would never be the same ever again set in, but nobody would understand. No one could even fathom what it would do to her if she couldn’t keep doing her job, going on these missions, protecting this city. If she was relegated to a desk for the rest of her life, she’d have lost everything she’s ever worked for.

“Sure you are. At least something small to keep the medicine down.” 

Madja had her on a cocktail of herbs and elixirs– something for the pain, something for the scars, probably something for how fucked her mind had become– she couldn’t keep track. Azriel kept track for her. She swallowed the pills and the bitters he gave her and allowed him to rub the salve into her scars before bed. Whatever. This was life now– being shoddily held together by some combination of antibiotics, gauze, and ointments. 

She shook her head in defiance and Azriel sighed, stopping her just before the doorway to the living room where the rest of their friends sat. She was so stubborn– if she didn’t want to do something, no one could get her to do it. It was a quality he admired but also a quality that drove him downright mad at times like this.

“What’s bothering you?” 

“You mean besides healing at a snail’s pace and sitting on my ass all day in this house while everyone else goes to work– fulfills some sort of purpose? I’m doing just great.” The smile did not reach her eyes. 

Azriel tilted his head as if to say No, really. I know there’s something else. He could read her like a damn book– it had always been that way. 

She hesitated for a moment before confessing, “I don’t know if I’ll be the same ever again.”

Azriel’s face softened at the anxiety that weighed on her shoulders so heavily they sagged. 

“Of course you will, love. It’s only a matter of time.”

“It’s been two months and I can’t even climb the stairs without needing a break. My body hurts by the time I go to bed. I can still feel my back– the scars–” the words caught in her throat and she quickly cut herself off before she choked on them, unable to talk too much about it without feeling her body and mind repulse. 

“Come here,” Azriel wrapped his strong arms around her frame and pulled her into his body so close their hearts beat in sync before each other as if in private conversation. “The physical training, the medicines, the therapist, you’ve got it all going on. No one here is working harder than you right now.”

“But what if it isn’t enough,” she mumbled into his chest, a single hot tear catching on the fabric of his sweater. She turned her face into his chest to wipe the tear away completely and Azriel’s heart broke for her. He wished he could reach into her chest and pull out the pain with his bare hands, fly with it to Ramiel and drop it at the peaks where it could never find its way back to her ever again. “You know better than anyone, you could do everything right and it still wouldn’t matter. I just need to get better. Be myself again.”

“I will love you no matter what happens. Even if you are never the same, I will still love you. This changes nothing.”

She pushed him away abruptly, hastily wiping away tears as if Azriel couldn’t see them. He didn’t get it. This wasn’t about him, about him loving her. This was her life. If she couldn’t get back to who she was, fill the roles she’d spent her whole life caring about, where would she stand among her family? Where would she stand in this life? In this world? 

“But it changes everything for me,” her eyebrows furrowed incredulously. “I want my body back, my mind back. Thanks for letting me know you’d still love me if I were to be this fucked up forever, but that’s literally the last thing on my mind right now, Azriel. I don’t want to be fucked up forever, I want to get better, and I need you to want that for me too.”

Azriel tried to find the right words, stuttering in his search to say the right thing. He didn’t mean it like that. He only ever wanted the best for her– would kill for her to have what’s best for her. “I-I didn’t mean–”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” She huffed, storming past him into the sitting room. Instant guilt flooded her as soon as she left him. Azriel helped however he could. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t put himself in her shoes in this very situation, but he’d gone through something traumatic too, and Azriel definitely knew a thing or two about helplessness. Still, she felt so alone. Azriel tried, but he wouldn’t understand what it was like to be a woman tortured in a camp full of males. What that took from her. She wouldn’t explain it. 

Azriel watched her storm off, feeling as if he was failing her all over again. Every night, he watched the dullness in her eyes grow as he handed her the medicines. When she laid down in their bed with practiced monotony so he could rub the salve into the scars stretched across her back, he bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from crying. They were nasty things, raised and swollen with blood and she flinched every time he touched them, as if he were delivering the lashings all over again. She was hurting and he felt so helpless. He vowed to always protect her and take away her pains but he could do neither of those things and the thought of it ate him alive everyday. Only the Mother knew the true lengths he’d go to for her. That man would do anything. 

In the sitting room, Azriel brought her a sandwich that he put together in the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen insisted that would make it, but he politely refused. He wanted to be the one to do it. 

“Az, I told you I’m not hungry,” She murmured as he handed her the plate. 

“You need to eat something if you want to keep the medicines down,” He reasoned again. 

“I know what Madja said, I was there,” She snarked, crossing her arms. She was so tired of people telling her what to do. Jarrah telling her what exercises to do, Madja telling her what medicines to take, Rhys telling her that she shouldn’t try to work again so soon, Feyre telling her she should take more walks, Cassian telling her to drink less wine, Azriel forcing her to eat more food. 

“Okay, darling,” He placed the plate on the table when she wouldn’t take it from him. 

“Turkey and swiss, okay!” Cassian peeked at the sandwich, nudging her arm. “And he cut it in half too.”

“Just the way she likes it. In half though, not diagonal– too much crust in one bite if it's cut diagonal,” Azriel smiled from where he sat across the table from them. She could have cried at the sight of him, at the love in his eyes, in his voice. Words were never his strong suit but Azriel more than made up for it in acts of service. This was how he showed his love. This was him reaching his hand out, begging for her to take it, to let him in. To let him help. 

And she didn’t know why she had such a hard time letting him in. She didn’t want to seem incapable of anything, and letting herself fall apart the way Azriel would allow her to terrified her. She’d never fallen apart before. She didn’t know how she could do it without completely tearing herself and every past wound open again. It broke her heart to watch his smile falter when she didn’t reach for the plate. 

“I’m going to bed,” she stood up as quickly as her body would allow and left the room. It was too much. Azriel’s disappointment, everyone’s expectations, watching her, studying her, readying themselves to be there for her if she did explode. She never needed this much attention in the past– to receive so much of it all of a sudden made her feel like she was made of porcelain and everyone was expecting her to shatter at any moment. She could hardly breathe in that room and needed to get out before something within her cracked further. 

The stairs loomed before her, mocking with how many there were. Grabbing the bannister until her knuckles paled, she hoisted herself up one step at a time, maneuvering her body so that her entire weight wouldn’t be on one leg for too long. 

Nesta appeared behind her, climbing the steps she’d taken over the course of minutes in just mere seconds, with a stack of books in one arm and a handful of her gown in the other. Nesta stopped a couple steps ahead, turning around and looking down at her through long eyelashes. 

“Well this is pathetic,” Nesta snorted. 

“Fuck off,” she meant to sneer, but it came out in a breathless huff instead. Pathetic indeed.

 Nesta let her skirts fall from her right arm as she extended it toward her. 

“I don’t need your help.”

“You definitely do.”

“Don’t you have those smutty little novels to get back to?”

“Shut the fuck up and take my arm, or bust your ass on these stairs, I don’t care.” 

Begrudgingly, she took Nesta’s arm. Neither of them spoke, but Nesta patiently guided her up the stairs, supporting her where she needed it. Out of the entire Inner Circle, she got along the most with Nesta. Their conversations usually followed a very similar pattern as this one did, but only because they each saw a little piece of themselves in the other, even if they never mentioned it. 

“Heard you being a bitch downstairs,” Nesta finally spoke when they cleared the last stair and stood at the landing so she could catch her breath. 

She couldn’t find it within herself to take offense. “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. I don’t know why I do this,” she confessed. She didn’t need to explain further. Nesta automatically understood. When they locked eyes, that silent comprehension flowed between them again and for the first time since arriving back home from the war camp, she felt relief. The kind of relief that made your heart beat out of your chest and go a little dizzy. The kind of relief that came from being completely understood without having to spend the energy trying to put the thoughts and feelings into comprehensible words. 

“I know. It’s not your fault.” The words fell softly from Nesta’s lips. It was the last thing she said before she led her to the library. They sat in arm chairs across the fireplace and read for hours in each others’ company. No one came looking for her. No one tried to force a plate of food down her throat. No one wanted her to do those stupid mobility stretches. Nobody was asking her if she was okay. It was everything she needed. So why did she still feel restless, like something was missing?

Azriel.

She left the library after she’d calmed down. In the quiet, amongst the books, when she thought that was all she needed, she felt misery instead. She needed Azriel. She wanted to lay in bed with him forever, feel his skin on hers forever, stay in his warmth forever, feel their heartbeats sing side by side forever. Azriel forever. Nothing else would compare. 

When she reached their room, it was empty. Disappointment flooded her chest, but she knew Azriel was giving her space. As she moved closer to the bed, she found a new plate of food waiting beside a note. A remade sandwich, cut down the middle as always. 

Your favorite. Was all the note said. 

Indeed it was. She polished off the sandwich in a matter of minutes, as ravenous as she was. Actually, she was hungry when Azriel first offered one to her in the sitting room, but she was too stubborn to take it then. 

The bath towel beside the note on the bed was warm to the touch. From the soft sound of trickling water in the bathing room, she knew he’d run her a bath. The air above the tub smelled of sandalwood– his scent. As she stripped off her clothes and lowered herself into the warm water, the scent encompassed her as if he was in the room with her right then, waiting to join her. 

Surely, an hour or two must have passed. Her eyes pried open, the water and soap around her body in the tub still warm and feathery like a winter duvet. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, only that it was the best sleep she’d gotten these past two months. For the first time since coming home, she slept with no nightmares and no nausea to rouse her from rest. She didn’t even dream. She simply passed out.

When she finally left the bathroom, her body wrapped in the towel he’d warmed for her, she found Azriel sitting on the bed with a book nestled in his large hands. As she stepped through the doorway of the bathing room, he looked up, smiling softly. Pure love shone in his eyes like a beacon, flashing and blinking in the darkness that war camp left her in. 

At the sight of his soft smile, the gentleness of his features, the relaxed sag of his shoulders, she felt something break. 

Sensing a shift in her demeanor, he lowered the book, eyebrows knitting together. 

"What's wrong?"

Those two damned words. She bit the inside of her cheek, walking weakly to Azriel's side of the bed. He placed his book on the nightstand and sat up straighter, anticipating her next move. 

She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, and laid her upper body against his torso, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms wrapped around his body tightly, breathing him in like he was the oxygen she lived off of. Anything else, anything that was not Azriel, and she could just die right there. 

He brought his arms around her tightly, heart sinking when he felt her hot tears on his neck. She did not shake. She did not sob. He only felt the wetness on his skin and the erratic heaving of her chest against his as she fought to regulate her breathing.

He did not say anything else. He held her, unmoving except to rub her back or run his hand over the back of her head, smoothing her hair. His other hand held the back of one of her thighs to keep her in place as she grew increasingly limp in his arms. 

"I've been such a wretch." Her voice was heavy and filled with sorrow. "I've been such a wretch to you. I'm sorry Az."

"Oh my love," He held her as close as he could, willing her to feel the love he held for her in his chest. His love for her ran everywhere his blood did, from his toes to the top of his head, every day and every second, his astonishment of her coursed his body like an electrical current keeping him alive. Without her,  there was no pulse. 

"How do you put up with me?" He felt her wipe her nose on his shoulder and he couldn't help the smile on his lips.

"Because I love you, and I know your anger has nothing to do with me."

"But you should not have to put up with it."

"I will put up with anything when it comes to you. You don’t ever have to worry about that when it’s you and I,” He pulled her back so he could look into her eyes. “You went through something horrible. You’re going to need time to work through it all, but I will be here for every moment of it. I’m sorry if I’ve been suffocating you, darling. I only do it because I can’t help it. When I see you hurting I wish I could take all of it from you and put it in me.”

“I never want you to hurt,” she told him earnestly. The thought of him going through what she did filled her with rage so sudden and consuming she couldn’t begin to imagine what Azriel felt when they finally found her at the camp. 

“I could never when I have you looking out for me,” He smiled that cheeky, boyish smile that came out so rarely. 

“I’ve just been having so many bad days. I should be happy that I’m back home, that I’m safe now. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, and it comes out at the wrong times in the wrong ways. But I don’t know what I’d do without you, Az.” 

“Even on your worst days, you’re the best of us. So do your worst. I can handle it." 

The disbelief in her eyes melted away when he cradled her head, smiling earnestly– and gods, she wished she could commission Feyre to paint him like this– a man smitten. With all the tonics and creams Madja had forced on her, she had a sneaking suspicion that none of them would truly heal her. They helped the symptoms, but never the cause. She’d accepted that it would take a damn miracle to heal the cause. And here Azriel was, pleading and lovely, looking like her damn miracle. 

She let him undo the towel from around her body and lay her into the soft covers, warm from where he sat while she was in the bath. Turning over, Azriel smoothed the salve over her scars as he did every night. But for the first time in months, she finally replied to his attempts at starting conversation as he worked. For the first time in months, she laughed genuine laughs that felt only slightly foreign– much like old friends– in her throat. For the first time in months, as he tenderly slicked Madja’s balm over her scars, praying to the Mother for her health over each one he touched, she did not flinch. 

[gingernut1314]

lemme read some of that siren song 👀

Of courseee!

This is the prequel some of you might have seen me say I am going to write for my Songbird series, so it's set before the events of its first part.

This is still very under development so please bear with me...🫣

Siren Song: (name changed to Songbird's Crescendo) Buggy x F!Reader Summary: It has only been a week since you were freed and your new captain manages to get you kidnapped once more...but you had not expected to step right into the middle of a circus.

It had been a week since you were rescued by Luffy, Zoro, and Nami. Just a week since escaping that cave full of precious gems that gleamed in the dim torchlight like the blood that had been spilled in its depth had crystallized into the walls. 

Just as week since Luffy had Gum-Gum Bazooka-ed and Zoro had cut through the guards chasing after you. A week since Luffy had allowed you onto his ship despite the warnings from Nami about taking you away from those who had owned your life. 

Just a week and you still didn’t believe you had escaped. You had convinced yourself this escape was a dream. That when you closed your eyes at night you would wake up the next morning back in the dusty cave, chained up and sleeping huddled in a corner with others chained with you. 

And in just a week's time of being with Luffy and his reluctant crew, you were being kidnapped all over again. Kidnapped, knocked out by red dust, and locked in a wooden box that had your vision narrowing and your heart beating painfully against your chest.

You could hardly hear Nami whisper shouting at Luffy as you struggled to breathe and find a way out of the box--no, prison you were in. Not as you began slamming yourself against the wood, which shook like it wasn’t held together very well. 

Funky music filled your ears and flashing, multicolored lights hit your eyes as the box was pulled apart around you. As a juggling man flew in front of you on a tricycle, men and women flipped and swung through the air, others doing elaborate cartwheels and backflips. There was flames and sword swallowing and a woman twisting herself into knots while trying to juggle red balls with her feet. 

A circus. You had been thrown into the middle of a very intricate, very flashy circus and you felt--at ease. Felt your breath even in your chest and your hands stopped shaking. 

That is, until you spotted the audience. An audience who cheered and clapped but also cried. An audience who was being forced to cheer and clap and sit there. An audience who was chained. 

All those breath-stealing and vision-blurring emotions sprung back to life with revenge. You made to rush for the audience--to free them, only for a strong arm to grab you. Zoro said something quick and sharp in your ear but you hardly heard him. You didn’t hear him. 

The performances came to a freezing, fear-filled halt as a man came storming out onto stage. A man all done up in glittery clown makeup and an outfit to match. And despite your panic, his danger-filled eyes snagged your attention. Eyes that were a pretty shade of blue-green. A shade that remembered you of bits of sea glass.

Sea glass your dad had given you. Your dad who had taken you, kicking and screaming, away from your mom. Your dad, the captain of your ship and the first to be killed by that wicked king's underlings. 

A damp cave, dim light, horrid pain, red gems, chains. 

You fought and slipped your way out of Zoro’s grip and sprinted at the clown. 

Was it a good idea to go for the figurehead of this circus? No. Definitely not.

Were you going to get yourself killed? Hell, yes. But you couldn’t think properly past the ringing in your ears. Not when you had set your sights on that clown as your target to channel all your anger into.

He looked very surprised, to say the least when he caught sight of you. So surprised you were actually able to get your hands on him and tackle the clown to the ground. His hat was knocked from his head as he landed back with a pained release of air.

You were quick to grab hold of his fur-lined beige coat and pull his face closer to your snarling face.

“Let them go.” You spat with every bit of venom you could muster up. The venom was halted by a funky, crackling laugh spilling from the clown's red-pained lips. 

“Sweetcheeks, if you wanted to get on top of me, all you had to do was give me a pretty please.”

@fanaticsnail (in case you were interested!!)

[cupidscrule]

PT ONE OF A SHORT FIC!!

Adam stanheight / reader.

Tw - eating disorder, bathroom trap.

Saw 2004

"Hey- sweetie- com'on Hun? Please you need help, we can't keep supporting you if you're just killing yourself." Your mother said to you over the phone, god you didn't care, it wasn't hurting them. All you wanted was one thing, to be a beautiful model, find love, to be loved jeez, and we all know the only way to do that is to be skinny. You were 45kg, 5'4. Yeah, most people would say you're horribly underweight, but fuck them and there stupid opinions, they didn't know you. They couldn't get a say in what shit you pulled, doesn't even matter? Who would care?

Whatever that's besides the point, you were underweight. Still starved yourself, didn't care how people felt, hell you could basically fit toddlers clothes, I mean you always wanted to get in kawaii fashion nows the perfect time. Okay okay back to the point,

You always hated yourself, ugly, pig, god those words you heard all your life. You hated yourself, your loving family, left all your friends, you were alone. Well not really, no I mean like not alone. See everything was going fantastic, i was crying on the bathroom floor like every night, when the shower curtain pulled back and a thing wearing a pig mask shoved a needle in your neck, well probably my neck

Was a bit too hazy to fully remember, so that's how we ended up here.

Little ol me, in a black room, ankle chained, smelled like shit, like actual fucking shit. Jesus, where the fuck am I.

Still haven't figured it out yet. "Hello?? Where the fuck am I??" Oh shit there's someone else here?? Too dark to notice, didn't really think to scream, y'know just in case. It was a males voice, sounded about 20-25. The details don't matter "WAIT I FOUND A LIGHT" he shouts before the bathroom lights flicker on. Jesus no wonder it smelled like shit you were actually in a bathroom, I was just joking earlier. The man was a few meters away from me, he was wearing a white shirt, weird blue button up shirt and was undone, and jeans. His ankle was also cuffed? Fuck whats going on, is this some sick prank? He had short brown hair, and looked tired. Guess you had one thing in common?

"Hey- what's your name??" I asked him with an awkward smile, y'know trying not to start CRYING. "MY NAME IS VERY FUCKING CONFUSED WHAT ABOUT YOU?" jeez, wasn't he just a ball of sunshine? "Well do you remember how you got here?" I said after a few seconds, honestly I didn't even care if he was pissed all I wanted to do was get out of here. I looked around, saw fuck all. Well besides a man in the middle of me and mystery man who killed himself. Yeesh hope it didn't get that unbearable. "Nothing. Fucking nothing. I went to bed in my shithole apartment and woke up in an actual shithole??" He says looking over at me. He looked upset, but who wouldn't if they woke up in a bathroom with your ankle cuffed to a poll. "But- what's your name." Mystery man calmly says, wow what a change in emotion. Went from crazy bitch to sweet little charmer

"The less you know about me the better. What about you?" I say rubbing my eyes, before reaching down to my foot trying to break the chain. "Adam." He says after a solid 40 seconds, god finally something useful. "Huh, well nice to meet you Adam, NOW HOW THE FUCK DID WE END UP HERE?" I gotta admit I did sound a bit angry there but fuck if I care? Seems like a life or death scenario either way. Doubt this guy cares about kindness the way he acted before, "well - nice to meet you.. Adam. Now, do you know anything? Like why we're here?" A good minute passed before I said that, I guess I did feel a bit bad. He looked over at me, looking confused but not at me? "No, I really don't but-" he says before cutting himself off "wait he has something in his hand??" Adam continued speaking, pointing at the corpses hand. Yeesh it was a tape player, what a weird thing to hold onto, it also looked like there was a gun? Well I mean kinda expected that, given the head shit wound. "Can you reach it??" I shout to him, before getting on my stomage Trying to reach for it "No- Wait - actually" he says going over to a bathtub, grabbing the drainer. Using it to grab the small player, "smart.." I said putting on a half smirk, he grabs it with his wet hands, he pulls out two tapes, one with Adam written on it, and the other with yours. He inserts the one that has his name on it and presses 'play'

"Rise and shine, Adam. You're probably wondering where you are. I'll tell you where you might be. You might be in the room that you die in. Up until now you simply sat in the shadows watching others live out their lives. But what do voyeurs see when they look into the mirror? Now, I see you as a strange mix of someone angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic. So are you going to watch yourself die today, Adam, or do something about it?" Wow, that's fucking harsh. Poor guy honestly? "Hey toss me the one with my name on it-" I say to him holding out my hands, he throws it with the tape.

" Y/n , this is your wake-up call. Every day of you've starved yourself to look hotter, you have people worried that today might be your last day alive. Now, it's your job to end someone other then yourself,  Your aim in this game is to kill Adam. You have until six on the clock to do it. There's a man in the room with you. When there's that much poison in your blood, the only thing left to do...is shoot yourself. There are ways to win this hidden all around you. Just remember, X marks the spot for the treasure. If you do not kill Adam by six, then Cathy and Paul will die, Y/n ... and I'll leave you in this room to rot. Let the game begin. Follow your heart."

"Follow your heart -?" I say under my breath, looking over to Adam who is just staring "listen.. girl- we don't have to do what it says. Okay? We can figure this out and both live-?" He says oddly calm, "it said follow your heart- and there's ways to win everywhere?" You say looking around, "you said heart?" He says looking over at you "yeah?" I reply just kinda staring, what the fuck is he doing.

He stretches over towards a toilet bowl which has a heart smudged on it, sticking his hand in the toilet "Adam- no- ew-" you say gagging looking away from him. "Fuck nothing.." he says before opening the top of the shitter,  grabbing a black bag with various things in it, "The fuck is that?" I said to him looking back at him, a big ass trash bag which he dumped on the ground as two saws fall out of it, and a little case, with unknown things in it.

Adam immediately goes to cut off the chain, unfortunately the saw flimsily breaks In half. "What the fuck??" He shouts tossing it away, "they aren't meant to cut metal. They're meant to cut off our-" I say staring at the little saw, eyes wide, who the fuck would come up with this sick game? This is torture, hell on earth. What did I do to deserve this?

[malaisequotes]

“Would it be enough to go by if we could sail on the wind and the dark, cut those chains in the middle of the night that had you pulled apart?”

Enough to Go By by Vienna Teng

[little-diable]

Only her - Spencer Reid (smut)

Just a small drabble to get you guys (and myself) through the weekend. Also its @playboysbunny wedding day, so, I dedicate this to you my fellow Spencer lover. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Some sweet lovemaking in the early morning hours.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral (f), fluff

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Heat engulfed her, danced along her naked limbs, stroking the marks her body was covered in. Spencer had his front pressed against her side, curls tickling her throat, clinging to her like a baby needing to feel his mother close. The invisible bond that kept them chained together strengthened with every rising of the sun, keeping them bound to one another.

The day had just begun, the sun was painting the horizon in a deep red, allowing (y/n) to linger for a moment or two. Another case would keep them on their toes, would force them apart as they would protect the ones in need. But in this very moment only their time together counted, they couldn’t afford to worry about the what if’s, not when every day could be their last.

Mornings like these were rare for the couple, though not unwelcomed. (Y/n) loved to feel Spencer near, breathing calmly into the crook of her neck, not plagued by nightmares or reminders of the past days, though content and safe. Both needed to feel one another after tiring cases, needing to know that at the end of the day they would still have their significant other wrapped around their frame.

Carefully she let go of him, stretching her body to shake off her tiredness before she pulled his shirt over her head. Her naked feet tapped against the cold floor, carrying her into their kitchen, towards the coffee machine she called her best friend. Spencer groaned as he followed her, eyes still half closed to hold onto the all too comforting warmth sleep had brought upon him.

“Morning,” he pulled her in for a kiss, tongue running along her lower lip. But (y/n) gently pushed him away, mumbling something along the lines of “morning breath”. He felt needy, wanting to run his fingers up her sides, to explore the soft skin he would shower in kisses at any given chance.

A shriek bled from her lips as Spencer picked her up and placed her on their kitchen island, standing between her thighs, staring down onto her shirt covered chest. The shirt acted like a film of dust covering the spine of an expensive book to keep its secrets hidden from nosy eyes, like a butterfly flapping its wings to rise into the air above.

“I need to feel you, can I?” Spencer’s hands moved up her thighs, creeping closer to her heat, eyes trained onto her exposed cunt, the glistening wetness he wanted to feast from. (Y/n) nodded her head, eyes fluttering close to fully focus on the feeling of his plush lips kissing her skin.

As if he was working a case, he began to eat her out, his hands were experienced enough to pin her down onto the tabletop, shoulders keeping her thighs spread for him to linger down there. He didn’t hesitate once, ran through the routine that would push (y/n) over the edge in no time.

“Fuck, Spence’, feels so good.” Her lips moved, though her brain couldn’t catch up with the words that flooded from them. Pleasure dampened her brain, covering it like a wet towel wanting to cool down burn marks left on her skin. Her orgasm began to crawl closer as if it was rainwater that kept crashing down to the floor, rising from the ground.

His tongue brushed through her slit, scooping up drops of her arousal, while his thumb rubbed her clit. It was easy, oh so easy, to pleasure her, to coax the most sinful sounds out of her mouth. She was perfect for him, not just behind closed doors, but in those intimate moments, Spencer found himself reminded once again, that she was his salvation, his saving grace.

“Look at me when you cum.” The vibrations from his words trembled on her skin, eyes struggling to find his as the coil inside her began to tighten. A cry left her, back struggling not to arch her off the island, but his hands kept her pinned down.

(Y/n)’s orgasm clashed through her, danced through her limbs, shaking every single one of her bones. Her pants filled the kitchen, drowning out the sound of her coffee brewing in the  distance, even managing to distract her from the heavenly scent that began to wrap itself around the couple.

“Thank you,” a chuckle left her, hands combing through his locks as Spencer began to stretch back, towering over her. His bulge twitched against his boxers, begging her to touch him, to pump him with her nimble fingers before he would dive into her tightness.

But Spencer was too impatient, couldn’t wait any longer, he had to feel her, had to pound into her as he would do on most nights and mornings.

“I love you,” he pulled her in for a kiss, upper body momentarily leaving the hard surface. (Y/n)’s reply got swallowed by the moan that clawed through her, walls clamping down on his cock.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.” Spencer kept her pressed to his body, hips jerking against hers, forcing his cock into her tightness with every thrust. Their bodies danced together, swayed back and forth in the most intimate way one could imagine.

“You feel so good, so pretty wrapped around my cock.” His words left her heart pounding, shaking in pleasure, ready to burst into the morning atmosphere. Clouds of fog were covering the city, keeping the lovers hidden in their shadow, allowing them to let their sounds claw through them without any shame.

Spencer was burning her from inside out, a fire she found herself worshipping, a fire she didn’t find herself fleeting from, though chasing it with her mind set on its flames that would consume every part of her body. It was annihilating her, an insanity both found comfort in as time seemed to stand still.

“Wish I could stay buried in your cunt.” Spencer spoke with his eyes closed, desperate to chase the high he needed to make it through another day filled with murder and despair. Only (y/n) could take away his sorrows, only (y/n) could make him feel like he was loved and cherished, only (y/n) could save him.

With his hand fisting her hair he pulled her in for a kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth, not giving her any chance to move away from him. Her breaths fell short, no longer able to pump any air through her burning lungs, the ache shot shudders right down her clit, making her walls flutter in pleasure. She squeezed his cock with every pump of his, teasing him, wondering how long he could drag out his spiel.

“Spence, I want you to-” his tip hit her sweet spot, cutting her words short for a second. Her moan left her, like a prayer, like a call in the middle of the night, begging whoever was out there to care for her. “I want you to fill me up, please.”

The words left his cock twitching in anticipation. Every now and then they’ve talked about taking the next step, to try for a baby, without any pressure nor expectations chasing them.

But hearing her say those words pushed him into a mindset he had never found himself in before. Pictures of (y/n) with a round belly filled his mind, the skin that would stretch as she would carry his child, thoughts that threatened to hurl him straight off the edge.

“Yeah? Want me to breed you, to fill your tight cunt?” His raspy voice met her skin like a snowflake tumbling to the ground, making earth freeze for a second. (Y/n) moaned his name as her body began to shake, her second orgasm of the morning rocked through her, walls clamping down on his cock like a vice.

Spencer kept on fucking her, slamming into her over and over again till he felt her fall limp in his grasp, only then he allowed his body to let go. His cum filled her, painted her walls white with heavy, hot ropes.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Spencer murmured against her hairline, smiling as she wordlessly nodded her head, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close. Both would stay like this for a few more moments, basking in one another’s company, hoping that the day would stay calm and quiet, just like their morning.

Follow my sideblog @little-diableswriting for taglist reblogs

[thirstyforlulu]

Yandere Hellsing x Reader HCs? Including Millennium

Integra:

She’s a very possessive yandere

With her money and power, she has the means to get her hands on you

She’s good at playing cool, you won’t catch on for a while

Sure you notice that she never sends you on missions and that she’s always having you work near her office, but that’s just her being a good friend

When she decides to approach you romantically, she’s very forward

Around you she’s a touch starved animal, unlike her usual put together appearance

If you deny her feelings or try to run, get ready because she’s not giving up that easily

She’ll pull whatever strings she has to in order to find you

She’ll spend thousands bribing people or tracking you

Once she knows where you are, she’ll send Alucard to collect you

When she has you she’s very loving

She’ll want to constantly be touching you in some way

Usually that means sitting beside her while she works at her desk

As long as you’re good, she’ll let you wander the entirety of the manor

Since you tried to run she’s added all sorts of security measures so you can’t get out

Act up though and she will chain you to the wall in her office

“Y/N, your behavior has been deplorable lately and needs correcting.

Don’t give me those sad eyes, this is all your fault.”

Walter:

He’s a sneaky yandere

Very observant, he’ll learn your patterns and preferences

At the start he’ll leave you gifts like your favorite food or pretty flowers

He uses it as an excuse to get closer to you

He’s always offering to do favors for you, secretly lowering your defenses around him

He’s not the type to take anything from you but he will take the time to appreciate them

If you let him clean your room he’ll likely pause to sniff some clothes

You notice how much he knows about you but you just think he’s very observant

You don’t realize it’s due to his obsession

He’s the type to take more precautions

If you deny his advances he’ll lock you up somewhere, probably his room

He’ll get chains and a cage if necessary

If you really act up, he’ll lock you in the basement

The way you cling to him in fear after spending all night in the dark is addictive

His wires are always nearby

If you try to run you’ll only get a few steps out the door before the wires wrap you up and pull you back

He does his best not to hurt you, but if you struggle too much, a few cuts are inevitable

Seras:

She’s a very clingy yandere

She’ll want you on every mission she goes on

When you have free time she’ll take you out into the area nearby for some quality time

If you ever push her away, she gets angry

She’ll pout like a child then force her way into whatever it is you’re doing

At the time, she’ll act like it’s just a coincidence and you might even believe her

You’re not getting rid of her so easily

She’s also a very sweet yandere

If she feels she’s hurt your feelings she’ll go out of her way to get you presents or treat you nicely

Until you say you forgive her, she won’t stop pampering you

No one else is allowed near you, not even Integra

She’ll make excuses and do whatever it takes to keep you to herself

She would never kidnap you or lock you up because she hates to see you sad, but her “loving” behavior will be a trap in itself

Don’t forget that despite how cute she is, she’s still a powerful monster that can and will do what it takes to keep you

If that means making you one of her familiars then so be it

Alucard:

He’s a terrifying yandere

He can control you and the people around you, holding you captive

You’re not a stupid person, you know how easily he could end your life, so you tend to let it all happen

On the plus side, he’s very passionate and often brings you gifts

He’s such a smooth talker you’ll end up forgetting the terrifying threats he’s made in the past

Anyone who flirts with you will mysteriously disappear

Anyone who hurts you will turn up days later torn to shreds in a ditch

He would never do anything to hurt you, but that doesn’t stop him from making threats

“I could tear you apart just like that man from last week. I would love to hear your moans of anguish, but I’d prefer moans of pleasure.”

When you act out he manhandles you

He’ll press you against a wall and bite your neck to remind you of your place

He enjoys when you become complicit, but he likes when you’re occasionally act out

It gives him an excuse to punish you, which he always loves

After that, you’ll think twice before disobeying him

Millenium:

Jan:

Bro this man is already wild

When he sets his sights on you it’s go time

He won’t let anyone else near you or get to know you, not even his brother

He’ll threaten people, meeting them after work for overstepping their boundaries

He’s very touchy, like he’s trying to leave his scent all over you

Out in public, he’ll hang on you, showing others that you’re already taken

He’ll growl at people that look at you too long when passing by

He flicks a lot of people off, all the time but more so when he’s around you

He’s paranoid and doesn’t like anyone else around you, even friends

Clearly he’s a fan of body modification so if he can convince you he’ll want to get some kind of matching piercing/tattoo

If you get it, he’ll pay special attention to it any time you cuddle, running his fingers over it countless times

He can be very intense so he might yell at you, but when he sees the hurt look in your eyes he backs off

In his own weird way, he loves you and doesn’t want to see you hurting

But if he has to hurt you to keep you then so be it

Luke:

He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is

He tries to play it cool, but if someone tries to touch you he will blatantly smack their hand away

Always has an excuse to be around you and if he doesn’t, he’ll find one

He’s not as touchy as Jan, but he does like to hold your hand

You’ll feel his pinky brush against you before his hand completely envelops yours

His grip tightens when he sees you looking at others

Your attention is something he so desperately craves

He gives you every moment of his time and he wants you to do the same

If you’re ever in danger he’s there before anyone else even knows

It helps that he was already watching you

Be ready to compensate him

At first he’s just worried about you, but then once he knows you’re alright, he’ll start making demands

“You owe me for coming to your rescue dear. Or would you like me to toss you back? Maybe then you’ll beg me in such a cute way.”

Rip:

She does not care what other people think

She’ll ruin relationships to get closer to you

She’ll endanger her own job if it keeps you two apart

Doing favors is how she gets closer to you

Anytime you need something she’s there and ready to go

She’d leave in the middle of a mission if she hears you need help

Anyone causing you problems will be slaughtered and presented to you as a gift

“See y/n, I took off their heads just for you.”

She can get very aggressive especially if she thinks you’re denying her advances

She won’t hurt you, beyond a little pinch or so, but she’ll make threats

She’s very sadistic and would be willing to lock you up

Having you as a pet is actually an attractive idea to her

She’ll take good care of you wherever you’re locked up, but she won’t allow many freedoms

“Look at my pretty pet. How lucky am I.”

The Captain:

He’s like a pet, always following you around

He’ll growl at people he doesn’t like around you

His arms are always around you, keeping you close

No one else is allowed to tend to you after missions

When he’s patching you up, he’ll run his hands along your arms and legs, lovingly caressing your limbs

He’ll use that as an excuse to stay around you

Popping in to “check on you” at all hours

You won’t even know he’s come in until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed

He’s the type the would sit there for a moment watching you breathe

If he can, he’ll try to get you to be his assistant

If he can convince the higher ups that he needs one, he’ll do whatever he can

Then he’ll be around you even when he works and will be able to protect you

No one on the battlefield will be able to even get close to you

He’ll ignore his own tasks to protect you

He’s extremely loyal and obsessive

The Doctor

Oh man it is terrifying when he has his eye on someone

He views it like just another experiment, wanting to test and push you

He’ll have you coming to him for “examinations” all the time

He’d likely put a bug on you

Suddenly he knows things you don’t remember telling him, but you can’t prove anything

People you like start disappearing, people you had no idea he knew about

If he suspects you’re starting to catch on and trying to get away, he’ll start drugging you

Then you’ll have to come to him if you’re going to get better

While he’s treating you, he’ll trick you mentally manipulating you to grow closer to him

You’re going to think so highly of him, forgetting all the red flags you’d seen before

He is absolutely a gas lighter but he’s damn good at it

Even if you have experience with this stuff you won’t pick up on it

It’s a game of cat and mouse with him

The Major

He is not subtle and does not care

Your needs or emotions don’t matter to him

If you don’t respond well to his advances he will make terrible threats

If that doesn’t work he’ll take it a step further, allowing the ghouls to get close to taking a bite out of you

Torture is the next step

He doesn’t care about your mood, he has to have you

“Y/N, why do you fight so hard when you know I’m just going to hurt you again?”

He’ll want to do most of it by hand, but if he needs to he will get the others involved

“Would you like me to make a spectacle out of you? I think the others would enjoy that.”

Behave and he won’t hurt you

If he gets mad enough he’ll remove your arms and legs

You’ll become his good little doll, always on display for him

Like a bird in a cage, you’re his favorite display item

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Spark in the Night

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

With only hours left until midnight, Aelin decides to help Rowan complete all his New Year's resolutions before the year is done

Written for 12 days of Rowaelin, Day 7: Holiday Traditions

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | 12 Days of Rowaelin | Wintery Collection

Warnings: Language

4627 words

*******

“… with dense storms coming in from the Northwest, it appears Orynth will have its heaviest snowfall of the season beginning today and continuing into tomorrow night. We highly advise not being out on the roads save for emergencies and absolute necessities. So unfortunately for all you partygoers, we hope everyone is where they intend to celebrate the New Year because for your safety you won’t be going anywhere until the storm passes…”

Aelin groaned, flopping onto her couch as she turned the tv off and threw her remote onto the other chair.

Aedion was hosting a New Year’s Eve party, and she and Rowan were supposed to head over there in a few hours, but it looked like that wouldn’t be happening now. Maybe if they left right that minute, they could beat the worst of the storm. Aelin jerked up and looked toward her balcony, her hope dissipating as all she could see was white beyond the glass door.

She grabbed her phone and pulled up her text chain with Buzzard, barely starting to write before Rowan’s face flashed across the screen with an incoming call.

The picture was from Halloween when she’d roped him into wearing matching costumes as punishment for losing a bet. Tinkerbell and Peter Pan. Rowan was sitting down, his long legs clad in green tights, as Aelin leaned her elbow on his shoulder, her shiny wings hovering behind her while she grinned fiendishly. His arms were crossed, and a deep scowl cut across his face, but the corner of his mouth was curving up and she knew he was trying not to smile at her antics. It was one of the reasons he was her best friend; despite the complaints or arguments he would make about her ideas, he always went along with whatever scheme she’d thought up, and was always the first to defend her choices when anyone else questioned them.

“Are you psychic or something?” Aelin asked, answering the call without so much as a hello. “I was literally in the middle of texting you.”

His deep chuckle sounded through the phone, making her grin. “No, but I seem to have developed an Aelin sense.”

She snorted, “An Aelin sense? Like a Spidey sense? Now you know whenever I’m about to text you?”

“Nah, it usually flares up when you’re going to do something that ends by giving me heart palpitations or injures someone–usually you.”

“Excuse you,” she laughed. “I find that rather insulting. And your Aelin sense must be off then because I wasn’t going to do either of those things.” she paused, considering, “I don’t think.”

She could hear Rowan moving around his apartment. “Actually, I was calling to see if you’ve heard the news?”

Aelin’s grin dropped, and she groaned again. “If you mean the massive storms that are ruining New Year’s Eve? Then yeah, I just heard.”

He hummed in response. “Just checking, didn’t want you showing up all ready to go later.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin watched the snow fly by outside for another second. She was bummed for a dozen different reasons, one of them being that she was supposed to be in charge of bringing the fireworks to Aedion’s party. On the one hand, she had a whole box of sparklers and rockets ready to go. On the other, it was too snowy to light anything off in an attempt to still celebrate despite the lack of company. Maybe by midnight the snow would settle down.

“Hey,” she cut off Rowan from whatever he was saying, something about winds and driving precautions, she wasn’t sure, “You should come up to my place and we can figure something out. I think I have some left-over tinsel from Christmas, and why don’t you bring that sad excuse of a holiday box with you. I’m sure you have something in there we can use.”

Last summer when Rowan’s lease ran out on his old apartment, he’d tried finding a new place that wasn’t so far away from their other friends. In an almost perfect stroke of luck, that same week one of Aelin’s neighbors in her apartment building had to make a sudden move, and Aelin was able to arrange for Rowan to sublet her neighbor’s apartment and later take over the lease when it ended.

It was nice having Rowan living only two floors away from her. They spent nearly all their evenings at one of their apartments, eating takeout if it was Aelin’s or a home-cooked meal if it was Rowan’s. She loved being able to show up at his door raving about the newest book she’d read and alternately loved having him barge into her place persuading her to try a new recipe he’d found.

The only downside was that it made her ever-growing crush on him so much harder to ignore.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Aelin hung up her call with Aedion telling him neither she nor Rowan would be making it to the party. The text that followed soon after from Lysandra had too many winking faces with thinly veiled threats to use the holiday night alone to finally do something about her crush. Aelin ignored it. It didn’t matter that she felt like she would burst from how much she wanted to be with Rowan; she couldn’t risk their friendship.

Aelin busied herself with finding the gold and silver bundles of tinsel she knew were hiding somewhere. By the time Rowan showed up, shimmery strands covered the furniture, picture frames, and shelves.

He didn’t bother knocking, using his key to come in, knowing she’d be waiting for him. When he first moved into the building, they exchanged spare keys—for emergencies. Now it was just convenience.

“Did the New Year’s ball explode in here?” Rowan teased, shutting her door, and carrying a bin into her living room. “There’s glitter everywhere.”

“At least I have enough decorations to go around,” she snorted, watching Rowan set down the solitary bin labeled holiday. “And not a single box for every holiday combined.”

“Why should I buy more decorations when you always have a store’s worth of them?”

She rolled her eyes and passed him the bottle of cider she’d had opened and waiting for him. It wasn’t the first time Aelin had teased him about his holiday supply, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Sure enough, when Rowan pried open the top, Aelin could see a small pumpkin figurine for Halloween, a headband with a leprechaun’s hat for St. Patrick’s Day, and a pair of heart-shaped glasses for Valentine’s day all mixed in with some lights and other knick-knacks.

The few decorations he owned for Christmas were still up on his walls surrounded by all the decorations Aelin deemed unnecessary for her own apartment. It hadn’t really mattered in the end. When they weren’t celebrating at one of their friend’s places, Aelin and Rowan had been holed up at Aelin’s watching holiday movies.

“You don’t need as much as me, but you’ve got to expand your collection to at least fit in a second bin.” She laughed, setting down her cider and picking out the pumpkin.

Rowan rolled his eyes as he set the red glasses and green headband on her couch. “One might say this is eclectic.”

Aelin snorted. “One might also say this is sad,” she mused, grabbing a bent cardboard turkey. When she tried straightening its feathers, they flopped back down in protest. She tossed it aside, laughing at the way Rowan’s nose scrunched up in annoyance as he looked at the bird like it had personally offended him.

His face softened at her laugh as they went through his meager holiday collection. Aelin was trying on a pair of New Year’s glasses from four years ago when Rowan stilled, his eyes snagging on something at the bottom of the box.

“What?” she took off the uncomfortable sparkly glasses. “Did you find something we can actually use?”

His brow furrowed as he picked up a folded piece of paper that had gotten stuck to the side of the box. It was worn, as if it had been flattened and refolded several times.

“What is that?” Aelin tried walking around the coffee table to look over Rowan’s shoulder but as soon as she got close, he blinked and quickly refolded the paper. With a raised brow she asked again, “Rowan, what is it?”

***

“What is it?”

Rowan stared at the flimsy piece of paper in his hands and read the messily scrawled words. His eyes darted across the lines that had been crossed out, the ones he’d erased and rewritten, until he got to the bottom of the page. He read the final line over again before hastily folding the paper and making sure Aelin couldn’t see it.

“It’s, uh,” he may as well be honest. If he hedged around it, she would keep pestering him until he told her. Rowan cleared his throat and resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. “It’s my New Year’s resolution list from last year.”

His best friend’s eyebrows shot up, whatever she expected him to say must not have been that. Then her eyes sparkled, and a slow smirk grew on her face, and Rowan knew before she uttered a word that she was going to want to see it.

“Can I read it?” She asked excitedly. Despite his rapidly beating heart, he chuckled at how well he knew her.

“It’s nothing, just something Fenrys and Lorcan made me write at last year’s party.”

She came closer, still looking amused, “They made you?”

Rowan snorted, sitting down on the couch and making sure the pocket that now held the list was on Aelin’s opposite side. “An entire bottle of champagne might have been involved.”

Laughing with him, Aelin sat on the cushion beside him. “Come on, what’s on the list? Did you accomplish everything you wanted to do?” She hopped closer to him, close enough that Rowan could feel the heat of her body as her leg pressed against his. “Is there anything left? Oh! I can help you finish it before midnight!” she clapped and grinned like it was the best idea she’d ever had. “Yeah, that’s what we can do today. I am going to help you cross off everything left on that list.”

She looked so determined and excited that Rowan could only huff a laugh. He wanted to tell her no, say that it didn’t matter and she should forget about it. But he couldn’t tell her no. Not when she was looking at him like that.

“Fine,” he groaned, already regretting it at her loud cheer. “But—I am holding on to the list.”

“Whatever, weirdo,” she rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder with her own, still grinning. “Sure. Okay, what’s first?”

He smiled at the way Aelin was watching him happily. Rowan pulled the paper from his pocket and read, “Race down the hallway on wheely chairs.”

Aelin blinked, then she tossed her head back and laughed, “Really? That sounds more like something Fenrys would say. Or I would say. It also sounds more like a lame bucket list item than a resolution.” She teased him but was already walking towards her room for her desk chair.

Rowan rolled his eyes, craning his neck over the sofa to watch as she dragged the chair back in. “Again,” he said drily, “a whole bottle of champagne.”

“Let’s go down to your floor so you can grab your chair and then you can bask in my glory as I win this race.” She beamed and shoved her chair towards the door.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Fireheart. You’ll be eating my dust before you know it.” He rose from the sofa.

Aelin winked and walked out the door. His smile faded and his heart resumed its frantic beating as he pulled out the list and reread it. It was mostly stupid things like the race, but there at the bottom, the very last thing was written in neat handwriting. He remembered waking up the following morning, still suffering from a hangover, but coherent and confident enough to add this last resolution.

Finally tell Aelin you’re in love with her.

***

Aelin won the chair race. Barely. Illegally. Rowan and his damned long legs pushed himself farther than Aelin could, but she’d grabbed onto the arm on his chair before he completely surpassed her and tugged herself forward using his momentum. The force of it sent her sailing over the finish line just as Rowan’s chair tipped and sent him careening into her, ending up with the both of them in a tangle on the floor, laughing and groaning in pain as their two chairs spun haphazardly down the hall.

“Oh my gods,” Aelin groaned, sitting up and leaning against the wall as she stretched her legs out in front of her. She closed her eyes, knowing if she caught Rowan’s eyes again, she’d be sent into another laughing fit. “Cool, great. One thing off the list. What next?”

Rowan snickered then winced as his knee hit the leg of one of their chairs. He shoved it away before propping himself up on the wall across from her. Aelin cracked an eye open and quickly shut it again, hoping he would think she was still trying not to laugh and not because he’d taken to rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow and giving her an unobstructed view of his tattoo-covered muscled arms.

She heard a crinkle as he took out the light blue paper. After a few seconds of silence, and a mental chastising to pull herself together, she opened her eyes and saw him glaring at the list in his hands. His head was cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed, “This one just says: Fly” he grumbled, annoyed at his drunk self’s vagueness.

Aelin snorted and pulled her hair up into a knot atop her head. “Fly? That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He confirmed.

She hummed, thinking. “Would you count when we went skydiving for Aedion’s birthday flying?”

“Yes!” his head snapped up and a smug grin lit his face as he pulled out a pen and crossed off both the chair race and flying.

“Perfect, what else?” Aelin questioned, her smile growing as she thought about how maybe the snowstorm was for the best if it meant being able to spend the whole day goofing around with Rowan.

“That would be,” his brows shot up and he snorted as he read, “Shout from the rooftop.”

Aelin crossed her legs, leaning forward and trying to look over the top of the paper, but Rowan saw what she was doing and held it back. She rolled her eyes and nudged his leg with her foot. “Does it specify what you’re shouting?”

“Of course not.”

She laughed. “Could we substitute a balcony for the roof? If we try going up there today, we’d probably get stranded out in the storm.” She scooted closer until they were sitting side-by-side and suggested, “How about we wait on that one and hope the storm lightens up, then we can brave the cold on my balcony, and you can yell whatever the fuck you want into the snowy void.”

He pinched her side but silently laughed as he nodded. “We’ll wait for appropriate balcony-shouting weather.”

“Lovely. Next!” She leaned her head against the wall and stared at the water-stained ceiling as Rowan listed off his next resolution.

***

Rowan didn’t need to look at the list anymore, having committed all the weird, ridiculous, and stupid resolutions to memory. He didn't have to tell Aelin that he was having a much better time spending the day with her than he would’ve trying to maintain being social with a party full of people. She already knew. He hoped she was having as much fun as he was, but Rowan wasn’t trying to get his hopes up thinking she preferred their time alone as much as he did.

He could pretend that it was true, nonetheless.

“Spend less time on social media,” Rowan recited, snorting. He barely spent any time on social media, a fact Aelin and all his other friends constantly made fun of him for. The only reason he’d made an Instagram account was because Aelin kept having to show him videos on her phone instead of being able to message him on the app. That was three years ago and since then he’d posted seven times. He had an obligatory Facebook, a Twitter he only used to like other people’s tweets, and was entirely confused about how to use that weird clock app.

“Are you sure you wrote these?” Aelin joked after he read the resolution.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I have no explanation for drunk Rowan’s train of thought.”

She leaned towards him and held out her hand, palm up. “Phone, please.”

“What?” he asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

Aelin sighed and pointedly looked at the phone he’d pulled out of his pocket. “Your phone. Please.”

“Why do you want my phone?”

Without another word, Aelin reached forward and snatched his cellphone away before he could blink, laughing triumphantly as she opened it and found what she was looking for.

“What are you doing?” He tried grabbing his phone back but Aelin twisted out of the way, her fingers flying across the screens.

A minute later, she tossed him back his phone and looked mighty pleased with herself. Warily, Rowan opened his phone to see what changes she made. His apps were still there, so at least she hadn’t deleted them. But if she hadn’t gotten rid of them, then…

When he tried to open Instagram it weirdly asked him to log back in. He couldn’t. Frowning, he tried again, and it gave him the same message of his password being incorrect. Rowan blinked and then his eyes shot up to Aelin’s.

“You changed my password?” he asked incredulously.

“Passwords. Plural.” Her smirk widened before she sang cheekily, “You’re welcome!”

Lifting his eyes to the ceiling and counting to ten, Rowan took a deep breath as Aelin’s laughter sounded through the hall before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the pen, and crossing off spend less time on social media. “That’s one way to do it, I suppose” he grumbled, repocketing the pen.

***

They spent the rest of the night checking off Rowan’s New Year’s resolutions, pausing only to eat some leftover Chinese food Aelin had in her fridge from the takeout she’d gotten them the night before.

The sun had set hours ago and surprisingly the snow had died down too. Aelin’s balcony was set into the building, so a bit of snow had blown in and coated the floor but thankfully it had been sheltered from the brunt of the storm. And what was left falling had lightened up enough that if she and Rowan went out there, they wouldn’t get covered in it.

Aelin was staring out at her balcony, thinking this as she debated whether or not they could get away with lighting off a few of the rockets in her fireworks supply.

“No, we can’t.” Rowan muttered, “you’d have to face them so far down as to not hit the ceiling that they’d be aiming straight for the buildings across the street. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not ring in the New Year by sitting in a jail cell for destruction of property.”

Aelin scoffed, begrudgingly admitting to one flaw of having an inset balcony, and slouched further down the couch so her head rested on Rowan’s shoulder. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Her head jostled as his shoulder rose and fell in silent laughter. “Pot. Kettle. Black.”

“But I have so many fireworks,” she whined teasingly, twisting her head to look at him.

He dropped his head back and snorted. “Save them for another holiday, It’s not like they’ll go bad. Besides, don’t you have sparklers too? If you really feel the need to light something on fire, we can go outside and light some of those.”

“Ooh, yeah!” She jerked up, twisting to face him, “Let’s light some sparklers.”

A few minutes, some grumbling from Rowan, and a new bottle of champagne later—Aelin and Rowan stood out on her balcony in jackets and scarves. Rowan wore a plastic silver hat that read Happy New Year in glitter, courtesy of Aelin, while she had on a headband with sparkly bobbles that looked like disco balls. Thanks to the way the balcony was hidden from the storm, it was surprisingly warm considering the snow.

The door was propped open just far enough so that they could hear the newscaster announcing the count down when it happened.

Each lighting a sparkler, they watched as sticks glowed in the winter’s night. Aelin jerked her head out towards the city. “Alright, Whitethorn. Here’s your chance to shout from the rooftop. Just pretend it’s not a balcony.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes catching on the cloud of air forming in front of his face as he did, before leaning on the railing and trying to think.

“Go on, then,” she urged again. “We don’t have much longer and you need to check off your list.”

He glanced side longed at her briefly before rubbing his hands together and refocusing on the buildings around them.

“Okay, Galathynius, here goes nothing.” He muttered and held back a smile as she grinned. Bracing his hands on the railing and standing to his full height, he tilted his head back and bellowed incomprehensibly into the stormy December air.

Rowan’s voice reverberated off the interior of the balcony, echoing in his ears seconds after he finished. It was silent for a moment after that, and then Aelin leaned into his side, laughing exuberantly. He couldn’t help but join in.

When they settled down, he took out the list and made a final strike. But he was too slow to completely hide the worn paper from Aelin’s sight and she quickly tried grabbing it, but Rowan lifted it above her head and waited until she stopped jumping before he tucked it away.

“Ah! There’s more to the list!” She said indignantly, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He felt his palms start to sweat and his heart skipped a beat. “What?”

Aelin narrowed her eyes at him. “I saw that there was one more line on there. Well, what is it? We don’t have much time.” She tapped her foot in exaggerated irritation.

He could breathe again. She hadn’t read the last line: Finally tell Aelin you’re in love with her. Only saw that there was another line. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. No, it was good—he couldn’t risk it. Good. He cleared his throat and tried his best to look nonchalant. “It’s nothing.”

She arched a blonde brow. “Nothing? If it’s nothing, then what’s the harm in telling me?”

“No, it’s not nothing,” he backtracked, “I mean, it’s nothing I can do tonight.”

Unfortunately.

Thankfully.

Cowardly, but true.

She looked skeptical but let it go.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sound the crackling of their newest lit sparklers. Rowan was absentmindedly twirling his in his fingers, too absorbed in the feeling of the woman pressed against him, her arm flush with his as she scooted closer.

Rowan could hear the tv on in the room behind them, but he wasn’t paying attention to what was being said. Aelin must have been though because she suddenly pushed away from the railing and looked at the tv before spinning back around with a devilish grin on her face.

“Hear that, Buzzard?” she asked, jerking her head towards the screen. “Only a few seconds left until midnight, are you sure you can’t check off that last resolution?”

He chuckled at the determination in her eyes as he heard the faint countdown. “You’ve helped me check off more than enough, Fireheart.” Rowan looked away and dragged a hand through his hair, unable to look at her as he chickened out of completing his list.

She frowned and cocked her head to the side, strands of golden hair catching the light of their forgotten sparklers as they fell over her shoulder. Then she got a look in her eyes that normally told him she was about to do something that would make his heart stop dead in his chest. His hand was still resting on the back of his neck as she struck out quick as a viper and snatched the folded piece of paper from his pocket.

Ten!

“Ha ha!” Aelin exclaimed triumphantly as she hastily unfolded the list, stepping far enough away that he couldn’t reach it or her before she began to read it.

Nine!

Eight!

Rowan stood frozen, eyes wide and heart dropping, unable to take a breath as he watched Aelin read the one thing not crossed out on his list. The one thing he hadn’t dared to do—the one thing he wanted to do with every fiber of his being. But he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move a muscle or think of an explanation as her eyes flicked over the words once, twice, as she sucked in a sharp breath.

Seven!

Six!

Five!

Aelin’s fingers clutched the paper, wrinkling it further beneath her tight grip. She took another breath and lifted her eyes, instantly finding his. Rowan’s mind was somehow simultaneously too blank and too jumbled, working at breakneck speeds to understand what emotion flashed across her face.

Four!

Her mouth dropped open in a small ‘o’ and her brows creased together as she frantically searched his face for something–he wasn’t sure what. What he did know, was that he wanted to reach out and smooth the skin between her brows, but Rowan watched with ever-growing dread as he waited for her to walk away, throw the paper back at him, or laugh. Something wavered in her expression, a flicker in her eye that Rowan knew meant she’d come to some decision.

He could hardly blink, let alone form words to explain. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. They were supposed to shout the countdown, light some more sparklers, and finish the bottle of champagne. They weren’t supposed to be teetering on the edge of their friendship as Rowan waited for Aelin to say something– anything– about his feelings laid bare.

Three!

Two!

Aelin dropped the paper to the snow-covered ground as she surged forward and gripped the lapels of Rowan’s jacket tightly in her hands.

One!

Her lips crashed into his with a ferocity he hadn’t expected. Rowan felt like his brain was short-circuiting as Aelin used her grip to pull him hard against her. His body understood what was happening before his shock-addled mind, and Rowan instantly responded equally as forceful. His hands held her waist, pulling her more firmly against him as their lips molded together. It was a second; it was a lifetime.

Happy New Year!

They broke apart but didn’t move far, breathing heavily as their foreheads rested against one another. Rowan searched Aelin’s face for signs of doubt or regret, but all he saw was a soft smile grace her lips. Her soft, swollen lips that had been kissing his a moment ago. He felt his own stretch into a broad smile as her hands snaked up and around his neck. Rowan tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

“Happy New Year,” she breathed, a light, happy chuckle escaping as he wound his arms around her.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered, just as softly.

Then he dipped his face back down and kissed her again.

*****

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[drakenology]

𝐁𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  ♡  𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : smut!, daddy kink, violence & mentions of blood, established relationship, dumbification, face slapping (politely), dirty talk, degradation, a pinch of knife play (he just cuts your panties open), exhibitionism, breeding kink, cum, fingering, swearing and size kink if you get a magnifying glass. 

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Hey sexy bitches. This one’s for my Vice City event. I scrapped so many ideas to get here which is why I extended the due date for it.. Anyways! Enjoy, sluts. Daichi supremacy. 

He sat at the bar; tall, dark and handsome. He had this roughness to him, his hands riddled with scars and his face rocking one just above his eyebrow. He was one of your most handsome regulars. He always came in around 12 am on Friday, all blooded up and battered from god knows what. Tonight was no different. You sigh, taking in his strong arm that was now covered in bandage wrapping. You strut over to him, pulling your top up a bit to push up your breasts. 

“What can I get ya, handsome?” You ask charmingly. He looks up from his empty glass, his deep brown eyes soaking in your form. 

“Whiskey, neat.” He replied, smoky tone of voice vibrating against your ears as you bit your lip. 

“Comin’ right up” as you turn and walk away, adjusting your shorts after bending down to get his drink ready. His eyes trailed to your hips where your g-string sat snugly on those hips he often watched sway as you walked by to serve your patrons. Were you always this sexy? He never stopped looking at you as you poured him a drink, leaning over the bar to ask him something. 

“I swear every time you come in here you show up with a new injury. This is a bar, not a hospital. What the hell were you doin’?” You question, reaching a soft hand up to his brow as if to try and heal it with your touch. He didn’t even flinch either, almost leaning into your hand like a touch-starved puppy. You grab some napkins and wipe some blood from his leaking nose, tsk-ing at him as he sighed. He knew you’d give him shit.

“Got into this nasty scrap with some gang. One of ‘em tried robbing me.. I showed him why he shouldn’t have. His boys came after me and they caught me off guard. One of ‘em had a knife.” He admits. You flinch, looking at him in awe. What’s this guy into? 

“Be careful, Lui Kang.” You tease, sliding a glass of ice over to him from one end of the bar while you took some orders. 

Not even a few moments later, someone came up to you at the bar. This sleazy looking man with his hair gelled back so thickly it didn’t move as he craned his head to look you up and down. 

“Hey, sweetface. Get me a drink, will ya?” His voice like a natural irritant. You turn to him and take his order, your protective regular watching him closely as he sipped his drink. He hardly knew you; just some girl who worked at the sleazy bar he always finds himself licking his wounds in after a scrap. Still, you were always so nice to him; greeting him with a pretty smile, a cold drink and a conversation. He was just so used to violence, fighting for everything he has. He was grateful to have just one ray of sunshine. Vice City, nor his life had ever granted him that luxury. 

As you serve the man his drink, he takes a sip and makes this repugnant face. 

“Women. Not even good for making a man a fuckin’ decent drink.” He snaps, tossing the drink towards your direction; the glass almost hitting you. You scream as the glass shatters against the wall, your regular standing from his stool to give him a piece of his mind. 

“Fuck’s your problem, tough guy?” He spits at him, grunting when a fist suddenly meets the bridge of his nose. The thud causes you to jump, staring at the scene with wide eyes as your heart slammed against your chest. Of course you were no stranger to bar fights, but this? How could one man make violence look so tempting. You gasp as you watch him pick that grease ball up by his shirt and practically toss him out the doors of the pub. 

“Fuck off home, before I decide to kill you.” 

 He takes his seat back at the bar to find you cleaning up the mess, noticing your startled and clumsy movements from shock. 

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. You nod. As tough as you try to front to be, you were scared shitless. Though this wouldn’t be the first nor last asshole to grace your bar. 

“I can handle myself, ya know?”, putting up a front that you didn’t need his help. You were grateful. But he doesn’t have to know that.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Remind me not to interfere, miss independent.” You stare into his deep chocolate brown eyes and lean closer to him. 

“What, am I supposed to thank you now?” You tease, taking a cherry and sticking it in your mouth. 

“It’d be nice.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow at you. You giggle, leaning over to give him an innocent kiss on the cheek as a token of gratitude. 

“Thanks.” 

After that fateful day, you and Daichi were attached at the hip. He brought you everywhere with him as if his scene was safe and tidy. Most nights consisted of dressing his wounds after watching him roughhouse at his fight club. You never minded caring for him since you know he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat. 

The life he lived, the way he made his money just to get by was terrifying and... exciting. You always came with him for his matches whenever someone had bet big money on him or if some assholes wanna settle a score. You always stood in the loud crowd as they watched, beer bottles and cigarettes littering the concrete ground. Daichi told you to always wear his name chain so that the guys knew who you belonged to, those dudes can get real handsy and Daichi would hate to have to hurt a friend. God, you were such a distraction. Daichi stared at you almost too long; dodging a swing of a knife as he took his opponent down with his bare hands. The crowd smashed more glass against any nearby surface to celebrate, the other half of the crowd booing and hissing. 

After he was declared the winner, he got his cut of the bet in cold hard cash; about a nice $200,000. Boy was he frisky after that. His big hands stayed planted right on your ass as he walked you both out and onto the streets to walk home. Your walks were always so peaceful after the boisterous and rowdy night. But tonight, Daichi wanted to claim the second part of his prize. He swiftly scooped you up in his arms, sitting you atop a car parked on the side of the steady street. He pulled his knife out from his back pocket, spreading your legs with his palm. 

“Better not make a fucking sound, baby. ‘Else everyone’s gonna hear how much of a whore you are for your daddy.” He grunts, taking the blade to cut your panties apart by the crotch from under your skirt. Your pussy was now on full display for him and quite possibly the ongoing traffic driving by. You shudder as the cold breeze hits your bare skin, looking at him with doe eyes - only making him want you more. 

“What? Don’t act like you don’t want it like this, babe.” his voice thick with lust as his thick finger reach up to pinch your nipples through your thin top. “God, look at these.” as his hands grope and squeeze the softness of your breasts. You’re moaning into the air as his lips kiss your neck feverishly, taking your top and lifting it up over your breasts. 

“You want my dick don’t you, baby?” He whispers into your ear, your thighs starting to tremble just at the low, brassy tone of his voice. You nod, your cunt fluttering as it starts to drip with slick. Your obedience has him feeling firm, the brunt side of his hard cock starting to grind against you through his jeans. You gasp, Daichi’s hands still pinching and teasing your nipples as his hips grind to make you feel good. You start moving your own hips to follow his movements, Daichi groaning as he watched you try and get yourself off. 

“Look at you humpin’ me like a little bitch in heat.” He spat, a whimper leaving your mouth as you start getting desperate. His hands stop your hips in place, his eyes seemingly dilated with a dark appearance. 

“Take it out since you want it so bad.. yeah, put it in for me. Work for it, slut.” He demands, tapping your cheek to keep your eyes focused on his. He slaps the other side of your face as he snapped his hips, this chubby cock seemingly splitting you open as you cry out. He starts off brutally, as if he weren’t railing you out in public in the middle of the night on some stranger’s car. You weren’t making the scene any more discreet with all your pathetic groans, your hands pulling at his shirt to hold onto something. Your mind became cloudy, panting and sobbing like a real whore. Daichi’s just enjoying the sight of you ruined underneath him, slapping you in the face once more to snap you back from your daydream causing you to gasp. The sting faded as his hand went to stroke the blow with his thumb, the rest of his hand lifting your chin.

“Look at me. Don’t cum until I say so, got it? I feel your greedy cunt sucking me up already.” He says, thumb pressing up against your clit just to make it harder for you to contain yourself. You feel your walls squeeze him, whimpering with every vein of this cock sliding in and out of your walls so addictively. Your hands claw at his back, drooling into his shoulder as you start trying to grind your hips to change the pace. He grunts and holds you still as he slides his thick cock in and out of you slower to tease you, smirking when you start to cry. 

“Pl-Please go faster, Da-Daddy, please, I can’t-” You whine, interrupted by a harsh slap to your outer thigh causing you to yelp.

“You can and you will. Daddy’s almost there, c’mon. You don’t want me to punish you out here, do you?” He coos, opening your mouth by squishing your cheeks together, spitting on your tongue and tapping your chin. You shake your head and try your best to take him for a little while longer, your slick oozing all over the hood of the car you were pinned to. As your eyes roll back, you feel Daichi’s cock start to throb intensely, a sign he was close. Relief was soon to come. 

“G’head and cum for daddy, baby. Want you throbbing for me, c’mon, you wanted to cum so bad.” Daichi urged, swiftly flicking your clit to help you. You cum in a flash, white lights shining behind your eyes as you scream his name. Seconds later he fills you, pumping his hot seed into your pussy before pulling out to watch it spill out onto the cold metal of the car. 

“Sloppy little whore.” He spits, taking his fingers to scoop it up and shove it inside you, pumping his fingers to secure it inside. You pant, your thighs trembling as Daichi hoists you up on his back to carry you the rest of the way home. 

Your eyes close, humming as you lean into his shoulder. A silent “I love you”. The walk was silent and safe, dozing off on Daichi’s shoulder as he trudged through the mean streets of the neighborhood you both lived in. 

[highqueenofelfhame]

fafs, twenty four

so i was definitely going to wait to post this until tomorrow or the day after but then decided to say fuck it and in the spirit of rowaelin month am just giving it to you now, whatever. who needs rules. or regulations. not me.

follow @highqueenofelfhamewrites and turn on post notifs to receive updates (i don't do taglists anymore, sorry folks!) masterlist//support me with a ko-fi//redbubble

It was nowhere near the worst injury she’d ever had, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

The living room floor of one of her smaller sanctuaries had been turned into a makeshift operating room. A trash bag was laid out beneath her, rustling with every move she made. The first aid kit that had been untouched and hidden under the kitchen sink was open with all its pieces scattered around her. A brand new bottle of vodka sat to her right, several shots worth already buzzing through her veins. It would take at least one more swig before she got started, but it was already difficult to slide the thread into the needle, so she was holding off until she was just about ready to begin.

Gods damn the agent that shot her. Aelin would bet money that it was Remelle, the blonde bitch that had been pawing at Rowan for years. Before, when she was Lilian, she’d heard a wide array of stories about the woman and her unwanted advances. Ever since Aelin had been introduced to the FBI as a criminal informant, she had shot daggers at her in every meeting, likely angry Aelin was spending so much time with Rowan. Despite how much of that time was angry banter from Rowan, no matter if Aelin was trying to thaw out his icy inner and exterior.

None of that mattered now. She could have Rowan if she really wanted him. Maybe they were already together and--

Aelin stopped those thoughts in their tracks, eyes focusing on the task at hand. There were bigger things to worry about, like getting out of the city and, most importantly, the bleeding wound on her thigh. She chewed on her lip until the thread finally made it into the curved needle, and she held back a cheer as she sloshed some vodka over the wound on her thigh. Hissing through her teeth, she thanked the gods that it wasn’t any worse.

It wasn’t even that bad, considering everything else she’d experienced. There was the time Arobynn had stabbed a dagger through her palm, and she’d had to stitch up the injury herself. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d been sliced and jabbed in training. Her list of broken bones and scars was a long one. Once she got older and was better at her job than all of the men combined, training had become more of a game of survival. They had been out for blood, shedding hers in red tears on the floor until she managed to incapacitate them enough to claim the victory for herself.

This gunshot wound was minor. It hadn’t nicked anything major, and it had taken a while for Aelin to realize she’d even been shot. The adrenaline from running from the full force of the FBI had been enough to repel the pain until she was nearly to her safehouse. She was four blocks away when she realized her pace was slowing and that there was a sharp, hot pain throbbing in her left thigh. A glance down told her everything she needed to know. She had limped straight through the front door and to the first aid kit, where she now prepared to stitch her own leg up.

At one point, there had been a numbing agent in this bag, but she remembered using it on Sam after a nasty fight with Arobynn one night when she was twenty-one. Since then, she’d seldom been to this safehouse and had neglected to restock her kit. There was barely enough of the nylon thread left over, but she would manage. Aelin made a mental note to have someone, either Nox or herself, replenish the missing items.

With a deep breath and a final swig of vodka, she picked up the forceps and shimmied the tension from her shoulders while she hunched over her leg, ready to begin.

With the first stick and the drag of the thread through her skin, Aelin bit her lip so hard she drew blood. It was a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling accompanied by a slight burning sensation. Several times she groaned while she sewed her skin back together. By the time she was finished, her mouth tasted metallic, and the trash bag beneath her was covered in droplets of blood. Her bare thigh looked grim and would leave behind a jagged, ugly scar, but she doused it once more in vodka before wiping away the blood with a damp piece of gauze. Her hands were mostly steady while she placed a bandage over the top and taped it down.

It was just another painful memory that would soon fade to silvery skin. How many more would it take until she was free?

Shaking her head to pull her from any thoughts too negative to deal with right now, Aelin smiled a bit. She was almost pleased with herself for handling the entire situation so well, but the reality of the situation was soon to crash down on her. It didn’t take long for her to get up, going about the tiny house and jerking all the curtains closed. Hardly any natural light was able to filter in through the gaps in the curtains for how tightly she’d twisted at the blinds until they were sealed completely shut. Thumbtacks were shoved into the walls to keep anyone curious from peering inside. She would move to another place in a day or two, she promised herself, after she had time to dye her hair and her wound wasn’t so fresh.

Every lock on every door was twisted into place-- seven locks on both the front and back doors. Only two of those locks could be opened with a key from the outside. The other five were inside only, a variation of deadbolts and chain locks that made her feel secure.

Only when she was satisfied that she was as safe for the time being did she go to the single bedroom and lock the door behind her. In a handful of heartbeats, she collapsed on the old quilt and drifted into a fitful sleep.

~*~

The news that it would take weeks, maybe months, of physical therapy to have his shoulder back to one-hundred percent was irritating to say the least. Rowan would be out of work for a while, but that wasn’t the most frustrating part of the situation. He would be wearing the restrictive sling for weeks, only to take it off when he changed clothes or showered. They didn’t even allow him to take it off to sleep, for gods’ sake. Rowan would be sleeping sitting up for the foreseeable future, and he was fucking annoyed about it.

The last few nights sleeping in the hospital had been anything but fruitful. Not only was he woken by the nurses coming in to check on him every few hours, every single time he tried to adjust to a more comfortable position, he was reminded of the sling. The pain was nearly suffocating. Rowan had heard from Fenrys about how bad shoulder injuries were, but this was on another level of anything he had ever experienced.

So why he was standing in the abandoned apartment of the woman who had shot the bullet through it in the first place was beyond him at the moment.

It wasn’t the apartment littered with cameras and paid for by the bureau. It was the one she’d lived in privately before her beating and arrest. It was the one decorated with opulence and taste. With artwork that wouldn’t surprise Rowan to find it had been stolen and was priceless. The one with books stacking shelves every which way, those novels bookmarked and annotated, as he had just learned. Like she loved them so much, she couldn’t help but document her favorite and least favorite parts.

The linens closet was filled with the softest blankets and nicest sheets Rowan had ever felt in his life. Silk sheets were currently stretched over the mattress in her bedroom, a thing that Rowan had thought she’d quipped as a joke once.

“Sorry, the sheets aren’t Egyptian cotton for whatever the hell you’re used to,” he’d said, a bite in his tone as he showed her the dump of an apartment the bureau had decided on for her.

“Silk,” she winked. “Feels good against my skin when I sleep naked.”

It hadn’t been a joke. He ran his fingers over the fabric and almost smiled at the memory but forced his lips into a frown instead. As he looked around the room, the nearly ostentatious yet somehow tasteful room, he missed her. He hated himself for it, but he missed her. The woman had shot him through the shoulder, but the pain in his heart was somehow worse. His first thought when he woke in the hospital from surgery had been about if they’d found her and she was safe, gods above. Everything about himself was secondary, and he didn’t really care.

But they hadn’t found her. There was no trace of her after her anklet was cut. Nobody had seen her; traffic cams had stopped picking her up like she had just… vanished. He hated that she was so good at her job, so good at being a criminal.

Deep down, Rowan knew that wasn’t what bothered him. It never really had. There wasn’t a part of her soul that he had seen and didn’t understand or want to love. Nothing she had ever done had pushed him away in the slightest. Her honesty about her life and the vulnerability she had shown him only made him respect and love her more.

He wasn’t mad that she shot him. Was he annoyed that he couldn’t use his arm? Of course. But he understood. Rowan understood that she felt backed into a corner and betrayed, and she went into fight or flight mode. In this case, it had been fight and flight. He had stepped too close and got shot in return. It was fair. She was used to fighting her way out of situations, so of course, it was the route she’d taken.

He just wanted her to slip up for once so he could just find her and talk to her. Figure out whatever the hell was going on when they’d argued before she shot him, then disappeared in the middle of the day in a bustling city. Rowan wasn’t even mad that she hadn’t been caught. In fact, he was glad they hadn’t caught her.

Rowan didn’t want her to be found. The full force of the FBI would rain down on her like a hurricane and she would be shown no mercy. There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted her suffering in an interrogation room, throwing around the word allegedly like she used to throw daggers. For her to be thrown back in that dismal jail cell awaiting a death sentence that almost assuredly awaited her for what happened at the bureau.

But he was still frustrated as all hell that he couldn’t find her now, no matter how much he didn’t want her rotting in prison on the outskirts of the city.

It was while he stood with his fingers running over the silk of her sheets that he heard the jingling of keys at her front door. It was surprising, considering he’d had to pick several locks to get up here in the first place. Rowan flattened his body against the bedroom wall, listening to the front door open and close.

The footsteps that followed weren’t Aelin’s, though. They were a little louder, carrying a larger and heavier body. Rowan moved to stand in the doorway, startling the man in the center of the room. He dropped the bag he was carrying, swearing loudly as he bent to pick it back up.

“Gods above, Suit,” he murmured, dropping the bag on the kitchen counter. “What are you doing here? Getting something for Celaena?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Rowan inquired, noting that the bag he carried contained nothing of real importance. If anything, it looked like a combination of garden tools and art supplies.

“I think I stashed something here if we’re being candid and off the record, which I would very much appreciate if we were, by the way. I’ve come to collect.” Haversham -- Rowan still didn’t know the man’s real name -- began digging around Aelin’s bookshelves, looking behind and even inside some of her books that turned out not to be books at all. They looked like books, but when opened in the middle were hidden pockets. Some were empty; some weren’t. Rowan noticed a few that had different bits of identification tucked away. None of that seemed to be what Haversham looked for as he simply closed them and put them back on the shelves.

“Where is she?” Rowan finally asked, a little boldly.

“Can’t you check that fancy anklet you have her wearing and figure it out? I haven’t seen her in a week. She isn’t calling me back, either, so when you do see her, can you tell her that I…” The man trailed off after looking up from his search and seeing Rowan’s face. Rowan’s hard, unyielding face and the concern that was likely etched in his features. The wrinkle between his brow, the stiff way he held his lips. Haversham’s head tilted curiously.

“Holy gods, did she make a run for it?”

“Something happened at the bureau. I can’t find her. Neither can they. But I need to talk to her. I can’t help her otherwise.”

“Do you want to help her?” The sound that came from Rowan was nearly a growl, and Haversham retreated a step with his hands raised defensively. “Look, I’m just saying. She wouldn’t make a run for it unless it was something serious and you’re incapacitated at the moment. Which leads me to believe that she did it; otherwise, you wouldn’t be hurt at all. Celaena wouldn’t let somebody hurt you. So either you really fucked up--”

“I did, but only by not protecting her and defending her when it mattered.”

Haversham twisted his mouth to the side while he gave Rowan a hard once-over. It was like he was assessing everything he knew about his character while deciding if he would help him or not. There was a prolonged silence that made Rowan want to throw something at the man, but he waited it out.

“I’m only going to help you because you make her happy. And I don’t mean superficially. I mean that for the first time in the eight years I’ve known her, she’s been happier and more alive than I’ve ever seen her. I know she trusted you more than she’s ever trusted anyone else. More than me, which doesn’t say much considering I think she trusts me as far as she can throw me. But she trusts you more than Sam even.” Finally, he ripped a page from one of the books and began to scrawl across the page until it was nearly full. When he handed it to Rowan, he realized it was a collection of addresses. Some were in the city; some were in other countries. Some were a handful of hours of a drive into nowhere. One was practically around the corner from where they were now.

“What is this?”

“Safehouses. Those are the ones I know about. Celaena has… a lot of secrets. I don’t know even half of them. I have my suspicions about a lot of shit, but I’m letting her come to me with it when she’s ready. So I don’t know all of her safehouses, but I know those ones. Those are the ones she’s let me use in times of trouble. That’s the only help I can really offer you besides calling if I hear from her.”

“Thank you,” Rowan said softly, and he meant it. It was the biggest and only lead that he had on her whereabouts, and even if she wasn’t crashing on a bed in any of these places, it was a start. It was the only hope he had so far that maybe, just maybe… he might find her.

~*~

Rowan had decided to start on the outside and work his way in, and it was wasting a lot of time. Everyone he was friendly with at the bureau was constantly calling and texting to see how he was doing, asking what he was up to. Fenrys told him he’d stopped by his apartment a few times this week, and he hadn’t been home. Rowan replied, saying he was just taking some time to himself, which seemed to satisfy the man, and that had been that.

In reality, Rowan had been in Terrasen trying to find Aelin. She wasn’t in either of the two listed near the border of Adarlan, so now he was slowly working his way back toward Rifthold. It just didn’t seem likely for her to be hiding somewhere in the city, not when she would have to leave for food and other necessities at some point. So he’d gone as far out as he could before making his way back. So far, it had turned up nothing. Both of the cabins he’d visited in the woods had seen better days and likely hadn’t seen Aelin in years.

He was driving toward his fourth destination now, so deep in Oakwald, he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t back in Terrasen at this point. The location pinged on the Adarlanian side of the border, but he had little hope of actually finding her. There were only two safehouses left on the list, and both of them were in the city itself. Would he still check them? Of course. But did he think that she was stupid enough to be there? Absolutely not.

The energy of the place was different as soon as he made it up the drive. Halfway up, a gate that covered the driveway, and Rowan had to abandon his car and hop the fence. It was a bit of a feat, as it was taller than him, and he only had one good arm to use, but he managed. Even if it had taken him three times as long as it usually would have. Feet pounding down against the dirt so hard it caused a small cloud, he proceeded up toward the small cottage with a little more confidence than he’d had the rest of the drive.

Smoke was wafting from the chimney, and a dim glow flickered in the window. The window that a lithe body stood in, peering through the curtains and backlit by the fire. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew it was Aelin, knew he’d been spotted, and knew she was watching. How she had known he’d arrived, he wasn’t sure. Being overcautious her entire life likely meant that there were tripwires that alerted her of his presence somewhere on the driveway.

As he got closer, she disappeared, and the curtains slipped back into place. When he got to the door, he reached out but hesitated for a moment. Aelin clearly didn’t want to be found and was clearly mad at him. What if she did worse than she had the last time they’d seen each other? Part of him thought she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t ever thought she would shoot him, either. Rowan wasn’t sure how many times she had told him she hated guns, but desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.

It took more courage than he cared to admit to turn the knob. Much to his surprise, the door opened, and he slipped inside, shutting it behind him quietly. To be frank, Rowan couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to find her at all, much less on a list of places that Haversham managed to remember.

As his eyes adjusted to the room, he saw Aelin sitting across the room with a bottle of rum in one hand, balanced on her thigh. She was slumped down a bit in the chair; her hair dyed a muddy reddish-brown color. A dagger was in her other hand, being twisted in circles against her bare leg. Rowan wanted to tell her to stop, that she would hurt herself, but faster than he could register, she was moving. He was stunned further into silence by the whistling of the wind and the slight breeze by his ear. A loud thud had him whipping around to the door.

Embedded in the wood, millimeters from where his head had just been, was the dagger she’d been holding, and when he looked back at Aelin, she was smirking.

[levinneheart]

oversized jacket

➳ sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs: reacting to their crush wearing another guy’s jacket with a TWIST

➳ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs: Mattsun & Makki (ft. Kyoutani & gn!reader)

➳ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ(s): fluff, slight angst, a pinch of crack, jealously, friends to lovers, accidental confessions(?), mutual pinning but they think you’ll reject them, college!au, slight timeskip

➳ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(s): swearing, slight manga spoilers if you squint, mentions of bullying, implied toxic masculinity, so-called “nice guy”, mentions of stalker-ish behavior, extremely long, & self indulgent cuz i was emo when i wrote this <3

a/n: this was inspired from this <3 also, this hcs was supposed to include oikawa and iwaizumi but i had to cut them out. i hope you like it e n way <3

Matsukawa Issei

he went to his last class early and was surprised to see you were already there, sitting in your usual chair

this was a first, usually he would be the first to arrived in the classroom and you would arrived after him with snacks in your arms

“i need snacks to survive this long day, you’re welcome to have some.” you’d say to him and you were absolutely right

you and your snacks made him get through the day without a pounding head and a growling stomach as he went home

you were working diligently on something while occasionally popping a cheese-flavored popcork onto your mouth

he assumed you were working on your assignments in advance for subjects he didn’t have as it was your routine

he clears his throat, catching your attention and making you looked at his direction as he greeted you with a small smile

you were practically beaming, eyes lighting up at the sight of him as you greeted him back cheerfully, seemingly in a good mood

he took his usual seat beside you and you immediately laid your head on his shoulder, sighing in content

he didn’t mind your gesture if it weren’t for the pounding on his heart but he was surprised you hadn’t noticed it yet

to him, you were so out of his league– so kind, so generous, so everything of his ideal type and pretty to look in the eyes too

the way that you two wordlessly and unconsciously leaned in for each other’s touch – absolutely no highs

just the comfortable silence of enjoying one another’s presences that he longs in relationships

this feeling scared him – terrified him even since he never felt anything like this for anyone before

little did he know, it was your way of conveying to him with your love language that the feeling was mutual

It wasn’t long before class started and not long till it ends. The clouds were starting to get grey and dark. Seems like that it’s starting to raining too. You usually like this kind of weather if it wasn’t such a hassle to get home. It’s getting cold too, you thought as you rubbed your hands together and snuggled subconsciously against Mattsun for warmth.

Matsukawa, on the other hand, held the urge to slip his arm onto your waist and pull you closer to him, the urge to press you firmly to his broad chest and bury his face onto your shoulder. His fingers twitched at the thought but he shook the feelings away before poking you once as he excused himself to you before softly nudging you off him to retreat to the restroom.

When he arrived, he deeply sighed with a fist clutching his chest to desperately trying to calm his accelerating heartbeats. He told – more like convinced himself that he will confess after class but you being so close to him was making it harder to remember his memorized lines. He could still remember how you smelt like, the scent of your shampoo mixed in with your favorite perfume.

It was driving him mad at how good you smell. He splashed his face with water from the sink before staring at himself, trying to focus before chuckling to himself. He looks ridiculous right now, his face slightly damped and eyes glaring at nothing but his reflection. He’ll be fine, even if you reject him – he could just play it cool and say it was a joke.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅⊱◈⊰⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

When he comes back, his seat was occupied by a fellow male student, laughing with you. This would had been fine as you were quite approachable yet he couldn’t help himself but to eye on the unfamiliar jacket you were currently wearing. you didn’t wore the clothing earlier and it looked to big for you to own it.

His mind was racing with the thought of you wearing another guy’s jacket other than his and his feelings were all over the place; mixture of anger, disappointment, and heartbroken. You never told him you were taken and you never really specify that you didn’t like him so he knew he had a chance.

He firmly grabbed your shoulders and glared daggers at the man before he stood up from his chair, cowering away while you turned around to face him with a frown. “What was that for? He was getting to the best part of his joke.”

“I don’t like him and his jacket on you so take it off.”

“What? No, this isn’t his—”

“I’ll exchanged it for mine.” he cuts off.

“No thanks, Sei. What’s this all about anyway—”

“Please, yn. Don’t make me—”

“No is no, Sei. Besides—”

“I like you. Can you now please wear my jacket?”

You stayed silent for a second, stunned at his sudden confession and jealousy over a piece if clothing. “I like you too but this is actually my jacket.”

“…”

“…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”

“Nope, I tried telling you.” You grinned at him, poking his sides as his eyes widened in realization.

“Oh…” He trails off. “Wait! Did you just say you like me?” This made you chuckle, it made you want to play with him just a little.

“Did I?” You say, teasingly. “Although, I must say: you look adorable, being all jealous over my oversized jacket.”

Hanamaki Takahiro

you and Hanamaki met in elementary school and immediately became friends all the way till highschool

back then, he was smaller than you and got bullied because of his pinkish-brown locks, causing him to be subconscious of it

but you told him otherwise so you protected him and fought against many of his bullies in elementary

during in middle school and highschool though, he grew more taller and confident on his hair because of you

you didn’t had to protect him anymore so you settled on cheering and supporting him from the bleachers during his games

his team would welcome you warmly so it wasn’t a surprise to them that you grew on them, along with Kyoutani

he even developed a soft spot for you, causing you to call him Kyou without any honorifics since you two grown close

at first Hanamaki was ok with it, you’d love making new friends to bond with but the same time he was envious

back then he was your only friend and now, your attention was everywhere but him and you two were seeing each other less

you tend to stick with kyoutani these pass few days, ever since the two of you became classmates and seatmates

and he was gonna graduate soon, leaving you behind to focus on your studies and club activities to be able to graduate

that thought saddened him, he doesn’t want to be apart from you yet he also doesn’t want to chain you down

Hanamaki has now graduated and is working closed by Aoba Johsai, sometimes you’d go in there to buy snacks on your way home or to shelter yourself from the hot breeze of summer air and into the cool temperature of the grocery store.

Either way, he was just happy to see you in one of his jobs and sometimes catching up with you about your life and vise versa. You, however, went there to escape your persistent admirer who just can’t seem to understand why you would say no to him.

It was turning into your safe haven where you can relax and breathe without worrying about him watching your every movement. And today wasn’t one of those moments, you’ve had a sinking feeling on your gut so you stayed close to Kyoutani and asking him to walk with you home.

“Just to be safe, Kyou.” You say as you clinged tightly onto his arm. He grumbled in annoyance but didn’t protest against it, instead he let you gingerly drag him to the usual grocery store where Hanamaki worked. Not knowing that your unwanted admirer was following the two of you.

The sounds of bells ringing alerted Hanamaki of of new customers. “Welcome to— oh, hey Kyoutani and y/n.” He says with a smile, grateful to see familiar faces inside the empty store as usually around this time of night was less busy than in the morning and afternoon.

“I’m going to the restroom, yell when you need me.” Kyoutani informed to you, squeezing your arm before gently prying away from your grasp. You nodded with a smile and leaving you alone with Hanamaki. You stood there still, occasionally fidgeting as you looked around anxiously.

“What’s wrong?” He couldn’t gelp but asked.

“I—” You were cut off but the entrance’s bells ringing and you instantly stiffened at the presence of the newcomer.

“There you are, (l/n). You’re so hard to keep track of. You’re lucky that I’m such a nice guy, going out of my way to do this. And it’s all for you.”

Hanamaki noticed you slightly trembling from the corner of his eyes and as he was about to say something, he was interrupted by a cough from none other than Kyoutani. “Who the fucking hell do you think you are?” He asks, almost growling.

“Her admirer.” The self proclaimed nice guy proudly said.

Kyoutani scoffed before turning to you. “Is this creep bothering you, (n/n)?” He asks, draping a jacket he was holding over your shoulders.

Your admirer look between you two. “I don’t believe you would date someone like this, (l/n). You can do better by dating me.”

“Actually,” Hanamaki spoke up. “they can date whoever they want as long as it’s not you. Now, go before I call the police for suspected illegal activities.” He warned with venom laced in his tone while crossing his arms over his chest.

The boy huffed. “You’re not that pretty anyway!” He hollered at you as he stormed out like a kid throwing a tantrum.

You released a heavy sigh of relief before thanking Kyoutani and Hanamaki multiple times for helping you finally get rib of that guy.

“No problem, (y/n). He was just jealous you two look cute together.” Hanamaki teased, hiding his pain of the new of you being taken.

“We’re not dating.” You chuckled as Kyoutani grunted in agreement.

“And he jacket?”

“It was mine, I told him to hold it for me.”

“Oh.” He paused for a second before laughing out loud. “I assumed you two were dating since the two of you are pretty close.”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t Mattsun-senpai tell you, we were cousins?”

“…”

“…”

“Nope, he didn’t tell me anything” That jerk. He cursed.

“Were you jealous of Kyou, Makki-senpai?” You teased with a smirk.

“Yeah, I was! Now, I’m all embarrassed and stupid because I used to like you.” He rambles while you look at Kyou and he shrugs before leaving the store.

“Why didn’t you confess before?”

“You know why!”

“And it only took my oversized jacket to make you confess to me? You’re unbelievable.” You shook your head in disbelief. “I liked you too, idiot!”

“Oh… WAIT, WHAT?!”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

mango, m | jjk | 2

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A love story between bad boy Jeon Jungkook and a strange girl with mango eating obsession.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of parental abuse and suicide; suggestive words/actions; alcohol consumption; mentions of nightmares plaguing the reader; non-idol!AU - university!AU; badboy!Jungkook x sociallyawkward!reader, ft bestfriend!Hoseok and friendly!Namjoon

--

1.

-

Your head leaned against the wall of the library. Too many books around you, research paper already outlined for you seminar class. That was good. You only needed a partial outline next week and you would finish tweaking the outline tomorrow. You phone was open beside your papers, screen blaring at you.

Jungkook’s text, asking where you were. Your reply.

Library.

No further information. A guy like that probably never stepped foot in a library his entire life.

You closed your eyes. Placed your arms over your papers, sighing softly. You were in one of the study rooms in the upper floors of the library, where all the scientific journals were.

Why had you given him your phone number like that?

Self-destruction.

You turned your head the other way, eyeballs shifting under your closed lids.

Guys like that only cause self-destruction.

Your thumb ran over your glossy nails. You wondered if he would be mad at you for associating yourself with someone who looked dangerous and wild. Maybe he would tell you it was a bad idea. Maybe he could make you see reason. All you had to do was call him and ask for his opinion.

I’m sorry, Hoseok.

You ran your other thumb over the nails on your other hand. The little stickers caused raised bumps, but none of them had peeled off yet. You pressed your thumb down on one of them.  At least he was still there, with you in this way.

A soft blackness swallowed you up, taking you into deep slumber.

Then, a coated sweetness pressed against your lips. A familiar taste. You opened your mouth and the thin, flat piece of dried fruit slid partway in. Your teeth stopped it. Spun it slowly with your tongue. Then it went into your mouth. Chewed.

Opened your eyes.

Jeon Jungkook, standing over you.

Holding a pack of dried mango. Eating a piece, his straight white teeth gnawing at it. Pink lips closing around the orange fruit. The mole under his lip danced with movement. His brown eyes were darker due to the harsh fluorescent overhead light. Tan skin glowing, black hair slicked back with too much gel, revealing his clean undercut. Leather blazer over a low-cut black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black backpack far too deflated to be holding much.

“Don’t know how you eat this stuff,” Jungkook said absentmindedly. He sat down on the chair next to you. Scooted closer. You could smell his cologne. Something sharp, but clean. “It’s not bad, but I couldn’t eat packs and packs of it like you.”

You lifted your head. “Habit.”

He nodded. “I noticed you do it whenever I talk to you.”

You chewed slowly.

“I don’t talk to people.”

“Hmm.”

He looked you over. Black turtleneck. Maroon oversized hoodie. Black flared miniskirt. Black opaque tights. Black boots with a ten-centimeter platform.

“What do you do for fun?”

You reached over and stuck your hand into the pack of dried mango. Picked a piece and placed it in your mouth. Sat back in your chair as you chewed on it.

“I don’t have fun.”

Jungkook sucked his teeth. It seemed like he was trying to unstick some candied fruit from them. “You seem like the creative type though. Moody and artistic.”

You shifted your eyes, staring into the bookshelves. “Creation is meaningless without an audience.”

Jungkook scratched his nose. “Maybe you just don’t want anyone to know what you’re thinking.”

You stopped chewing.

You turned your head to face Jungkook. He frowned at the packet of dried mango and placed it on the desk, sliding it to you. Then he noticed you staring at him. His lips curved into a slow, sly smile.

“You doing anything tonight?”

-

You didn’t go to parties.

Never. In your entire life. Not even a birthday party. You didn’t have birthday parties yourself either.

You only remembered beatings on your birthday.

You stood at the edge of the lawn, looking up at the large house. Too many people. Too much drinking. Too much danger. You reached into the center pocket of your maroon hoodie, pulling out a piece of dried mango. Slowly placing it in between your teeth. Spinning it. A couple was making out on the porch, pressed against the wall. Sucking the dried mango in your mouth. On the other side of the porch, a girl was slapping another guy and tossing the contents of a red plastic cup at him.

Chewed.

You shouldn’t have come. This wasn’t where you belonged.

A strong hand gripped your upper left arm. Familiar fingers. Long, strong ones, with small tattoos.

“How long you been standing out here?”

Alcohol on his breath.

“How much mango you consumed in that time?”

You held out an empty cellophane bag.

“Wow. Impressive.”

You chewed. The fingers let you go. They danced up your shoulder.

“You don’t seem to be bothered when I touch you.”

You swallowed.

“That’s because it’s obvious what you want.”

Jeon Jungkook chuckled. Deep and amused.

“But talking bothers you?”

You exhaled. Took out another piece.

“Words, intentional or not, leave everlasting scars far longer than a meaningless fuck.”

You placed it in between your teeth.

“Do you think it will be meaningless?” His voice was low, treacherous.

You paused. His fingertips balanced on the shoulder of your hoodie. A gust was wind made your black skirt flutter against your thighs. You felt nothing. Not cold, not hot. Nothing but those fingertips balanced on your shoulder. You sucked in the piece of mango and chewed. You could walk away. Not provoke him anymore and not try to walk through that fire.

You could back away and continue on your tightrope, high above.

But if you were already standing on this street, in front of this house, didn’t that mean your feet were already on the asphalt? Weren’t you already on the ground, wandering down that lost highway?

“There is no meaning in the arms of a stranger.”

You reached for your hoodie pocket again but his fingers wrapped around yours. Stopping you. Pulling you to him. Face shining in the moonlight, brows furrowed as he looked down at your face. Thick silver chain glinting at his throat. Dark hair slicked back but falling apart due to the events of the night. Eyes like the dark side of the moon.

He leaned down.

You could feel his breath against yours. Alcoholic, but somehow not unpleasant. It mixed with his sharp, clean cologne and the leather of his jacket. You saw his eyes flicker. He was really staring deeply into your eyes. He was as handsome as everyone said he was. You tilted your head at him.

Guys like him were always looking for a target. A puzzle to solve. The harder and more difficult it was, the better the thrill. That’s how it was and that’s how Jeon Jungkook was. So, you stood there. Waiting for him to do it.

Thing was, Jungkook wasn’t doing anything.

He finally backed off; expression unreadable. You pulled your hand out of his.

“Let’s go on a walk. I have to sober up.”

You looked from the house to him. He cocked his head. You two began to walk, stepping into the moonlight. Not touching each other, but walking side by side. The silence was deafening. He wasn’t speaking to you. Not even looking at you. You placed your earbuds into your ear and put on some violin music.

“What are you listening to?”

You jumped, surprised he noticed. Jungkook tilted his head at you. You handed him one of the Samsung buds. He placed it in his ear, tucking his hair back. Profile illuminated by the moon, nodded slowly at he listened.

And then you two walked, serenaded by violins.

-

Jungkook texted you and showed up in the library again. You were in the middle of writing your seminar research paper. To be honest, he was a welcome distraction. The scientific articles were giving you a headache.

He handed you a piece of dried mango before speaking.

“Let’s date.”

You blinked at him. Jungkook grabbed a seat and sat down, taking out a slice himself. You placed the piece of dried mango in your mouth and chewed slowly. He watched you the entire time, chewing with you, staring at your lips. You swallowed, sighing.

"Jungkook, you don't want to date me."

He nibbled at another piece of dried mango. "Pretty sure I do."

You took in a deep breath, feeling the annoyance rise in your chest. "Your body is the literal reincarnation of Adonis himself and you radiate bad boy vibes like nobody's business. You would ruin your image by dating the strange girl with a dried mango obsession."

Jungkook chewed slowly. "That's the first time your tone has changed with me."

You froze, realizing that too. Realizing that, for once, you were actually irate instead of being objective or apathetic about it. You were not making an ambiguous comment or philosophizing humanity. You were just stating what you were thinking straight up.

"And, anyway, you're the literal reincarnation of sex goddess Aphrodite herself, so there should be no problem if you're worried about looks."

"That's not..." You cut yourself off, not bothering to correct him. "You can barely see my body."

Jungkook's eyes traveled down to your legs. Your black pantyhose-covered legs, with your short red skirt and black hoodie. He reached out and grabbed your hand. You tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. 

"True, your skin is always covered," he mumbled.

Then Jungkook pressed your hand into his crotch. 

Your eyes widened, feeling his semi-hard length in his jeans. He let go of your hand and you recoiled as if burned. Did he really just–?

He gnawed thoughtfully. "And yet every time I hear your voice, that happens to me."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sexual attraction is not a solid foundation to a relationship."

"It's not," Jungkook agreed, grabbing another piece of dried mango. Then his eyes flickered to you, dark and serious. "I just didn't like how you dismissed my physical attraction to you so easily." He went back to nibbling. 

You looked away; ears hot. "In the end, all you want is to boast that you fucked me."

"That was my original intent, yes." You snapped your head back, furrowing your brows. Jungkook inspected the dried fruit, licking some sugar off. Your stomach flipped a little as you watched his pink tongue. "But now I want to take you on dates, hold your hand, and make you eat real meals that aren't only composed of candied mango."

You looked down at your lap. "I'm not a hand-holding kind of girl."

"Then I'll hold your ass."

A muscle in your eyebrow twitched. You glared at him, but he was smiling, popping the mango in his mouth. 

"One date. And then we'll see how it goes."

You closed your eyes. Inhaled deeply. You could say no. You could refuse and tell him to leave you alone and never speak to him again. You could and maybe you should. Because once he knew... he would know. You chewed on your lip. Fear was an understatement. And you were afraid because you knew the truth. If there was a flame between you two, the truth would likely snuff it out. 

Was that better or worse than you smothering it yourself?

"Before we go on a date," you said quietly but firmly. "I need to show you something."

-

“Okay. What is it that you have to show me?”

You were standing in Jeon Jungkook’s apartment. Different day, different clothes. He was wearing a loose leather jacket, white shirt, and distressed acid-wash jeans. He stuck his hands in his pockets. Black hair slicked back as usual, sculpted dark brows framing intense brown eyes. Even though he was dressed like a delinquent, his apartment was well-kept and clean. It was one of the student apartment complexes, decently expensive, segregated for men and women. Not that it mattered, since you were obviously standing there right now.

You were wearing your black turtleneck and flared black miniskirt. But instead of your usual opaque pantyhose, you were wearing black thigh-high socks. They made you very uncomfortable and not because Jungkook was staring at the sliver of exposed flesh. To be honest, you couldn’t care less if he was staring or not.

You chewed on you lip, clutching your messenger bag.

You really wondered if you should show Jungkook. Your thumb ran over your nails. Painted royal blue with raindrop crystals. You asked Hoseok to do them for you this time. He was excited to pick a design and style for you. Asked you what it was for and you said you just felt like it.

Hoseok was very happy to hear that.

Jungkook seemed to sense your unease.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “Do you want a piece of man–”

You shook your head furiously. Just do it. Do it and maybe he’ll leave you alone. Do it and he’ll understand this is a bad, bad idea.

You took a deep breath and bent at the waist. Then you yanked down both your thigh-highs, all the way to your ankles.

Jungkook gasped sharply.

You stared down at your legs. At the knife scars, mostly on your calves. Some white and thin, but there were a few big dark ones, knotted and twisted from the skin trying to grow back evenly but failing. Your legs were quite pale too. They never saw the sun.

You hated looking at them. They reminded you of why you had nightmares.

“What… happened?”

You didn’t look at him. His normally smooth, suave voice was trembling. Confused.

You sucked in your lips and clicked your tongue.

“My father was not a nice man. I was an only daughter and he was not happy about it. Perhaps he was never happy about life to begin with. He reminded my mother and me about it constantly.” You straightened, still not looking at Jungkook, but no longer wanting to look at yourself either. “He beat us up a lot. At the time, I really thought that was how it was. Men lost their temper sometimes. Happens. What else am I supposed to think?” You shrugged. “But it was always slapping around, the occasional punch. Not that bad, perhaps.”

You had to remember to breathe. Breathe.

“But when I was twelve, thirteen, it got worse. I don’t know if it was because my mom was slowly fighting back or if work became more stressful and he acted out, but the reason doesn’t matter. He simply got worse. Things thrown at us. Years of insults made them cut deeper, harder. He pulled a knife on me, when I was home alone and my mom was at work.”

You had to swallow hard, trying not to go back there. Trying not to get too detailed, because the nightmares already did that for you. You pulled up your sleeves. There were a few unpleasant scars there too, but nowhere near as bad to your legs.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I think he thought I was bleeding out or dead. My mom, feeling that something was off, decided to come home early. I don’t think I would be alive if she hadn’t thought to do that.” You inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment before continuing. “My father took his car and drove to the other side of town. Drove to a deserted area and ended his own life with the knife he cut me up with. I don’t know if it was guilt or fear of being exposed. But it doesn’t matter. I went to the hospital and stayed there for a long, long time. Not because of the cuts or almost bleeding out, but because I had to talk to a lot of psychologists. A lot of counselors.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out the pack of dried mango. “My mom would buy me these. She couldn’t visit often. She had to sell the house and work overseas to pay all the medical bills. Maybe she has a hard time seeing me too.”

You chewed on your lip, shoving it back into your bag.

“I look more like my father, unfortunately. And, even though I understand what has happened to me, I can’t escape it. I see it every day in the mirror. I am reminded all the time. I can’t talk to people unless I’m eating dried mango. It’s a stupid tick, but my therapist told me once that it was better than cocaine, so, whatever, right?”

You chuckled darkly, feeling empty.

“And I have nightmares. They don’t go away. When I take medication, it gets worse, so I don’t try anymore.”

You kept your eyes on the wall, still not looking at him.

“You’re handsome, Jungkook. Handsome, decently smart, could clean up well,” you said, still gnawing on your lip. “I’m not pretty like the other girls you hang around with. I don’t get to wear what I want because I don’t want to be asked what is wrong with my skin. Sometimes, I wake up screaming, remembering everything that happened that night. I eat way too much dried mango and speak like a fucking robot.” You closed your eyes and sucked in a shuddering breath. “I spend a lot of time trying to not feel anything. I’m not okay. You shouldn’t date someone like me.”

Silence.

Ten seconds past.

Then, the creak of leather. You suddenly felt his presence right in front of you. Strong arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. The sharp, clean scent of his cologne, the thinness of the white shirt revealing his toned torso. Well, the reaction wasn’t disgust. Maybe it was pity and that was worse. You did not want a pity fuck.

“At the risk of something insensitive,” Jungkook murmured quietly into your hair. “Your battle scars are really fucking cool.”

… What?

You laughed.

You laughed, because, what? That wasn’t a reaction you expected. Your laugh was raspy and kind of gross, considering you hadn’t laughed like that in years. But you laughed into Jungkook’s chest, laughed because it was ridiculous, laughed because it was a little insensitive, laughed because you didn’t care. No one who knew about your scars ever said anything like that. Everyone else was very serious and solemn, pity in their eyes as you explained.

Jungkook buried his face into your hair. You could feel his smile.

“Your laugh is cute.”

You wheezed, shaking your head a little. “It isn’t. I didn’t even know I could laugh,” you choked out weakly, breathless.

You felt him kiss the top of your head. You froze, a shiver running through you.

“You know,” Jungkook murmured. “I was really nervous in the library when I was asking you out.”

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t breathe, really.

“I found myself continuously eating that mango. I think you rubbed off on me.”

You remembered. And then you realized.

“You only ate one piece though,” he muttered. “It made me even more nervous, honestly. I just kept eating to keep my mind off it.”

Was this… was this the first time you had an entire conversation with Jeon Jungkook without eating mango at one point?

The only person you weren’t like that with was Hoseok, and that was because he was your oldest friend. The only friend who knew it all, who witnessed your bruises and tear-stained cheeks. The only friend who saw you in hospital gowns and did his best to cheer you up. Drawing pictures with you, making bracelets. Telling you that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be your daily dose of sunshine, your hope, never getting discouraged. There weren’t romantic feelings between you two, but there was love, and you were eternally grateful that Hoseok never gave up on you.

Jeon Jungkook?

He was just the annoying kid who kept trying to copy your Chemistry homework.

“You’re… not that bad at Chemistry, are you?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Nah. I always do the homework. I just wanted to annoy you.”

“You are, indeed, very annoying.”

You two stood there, Jungkook hugging you, your thigh-highs at your ankles, clutching your bag. To be honest, you thought it would have been a lot weirder. But somehow, it was kind of nice. You were okay with it.

“Where do you want to go on our date?” Jungkook suddenly piped up.

You spoke into his chest. “We’re still going on a date?”

He hugged you tighter. “Yeah, of course.”

You were pressed against his body, held so close that your ribs felt like they were being crushed.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Something is poking me.”

“… Please ignore him. He doesn’t know time and place.”

A few silent seconds passed.

“I mean, maybe you needed some reassurance that I still think you’re fine as hell.”

“He’s getting bigger.”

“I told you to ignore him.”

-

3.

--

masterpost

[euronymous-files]

What follows is a summary of the most interesting information (about Euronymous) that Marius Vold gave during an interview with Thomas Eriksen of Mork. The direct quotes are in bold, and the rest is a concise version of what was said. You should definitely check the whole interview here.

note: M is Marius, E is Euronymous, V is Varg and T is Thomas (the interviewer).

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

- M worked at Helvete, he made many of the medieval weapons, chain mail and clothing that can be seen in various bands' pictures in the first days of norwegian black metal - fun fact: M got scared the first time he listened to "Deathcrush" - M talked to E a few months before E opened Helvete. E told him about his idea of opening a record store and M liked it. Then one day E called M and told him to come and see the shop. When M got there he was impressed with the atmosphere but he also remembers there was almost nothing on the shelves. "They painted the whole thing black, he and Metalion, I think". - E was importing records for the store but there weren't many of them... but people came to the store and donated some of their records; everyone was contributing in some way, as a community. Some would also give them other stuff like candles, curtains, or a telephone. - "It was all black. When you came in from outside into the store you couldn't see anything. You had to stop and just wait for the eyes to focus. And the most funny thing was right inside the door there was a step up and EVERYONE tripped! [laughter] We were just sitting there in the dark and waiting for someone to come in and trip. Really fall on the floor and then point and laugh [more laughter]." - So at the beginning they got free records from their supporters, plus E through his contacts abroad managed to import some more records, and by selling them they started to make some capital, but they never actually got any money out of it because all the income was barely enough to pay the monthly rent which was around 6000 kroner. - apart from records (especially demo tapes), they would also sell the weapons that Marius and Sverd (Steinar Johnsen) made. - They would get lots of customers but "E had this idea that you shouldn't make too much money, you shouldn't be greedy, so when he sold an album for like 120kroner he's like maybe 20 kroner for him, so you can't run a record shop." So if he bought an album for 100 he would resell it for 120, but those 20 went all into the rent. "So he wasn't greedy, then?", asks T. "Absolutely not!" replies M. - The staff at Helvete was: E, M, Occultus, Thrasher, a girl named Tove and another young boy who didn't want to go to school anymore and wanted to work in Helvete, so his teacher came down to the shop one day to check the place and asked E if the kid could work there and E was like "sure". - E lived in the back room. "It was no way to live. Mattress on the floor, with all the books [...] then he found kind of a secret room in the ceiling [...] 1.20m high, so he put his bed in there, but it was so difficult to get up and down. [There was no ladder] He had to climb on the shelves and pull himself up there. I think he was glad when he finally got another place to stay when he closed the shop." - "E was a guy with a lot of ideas". "In a positive way?" asks T. "Both ways", replies M. [laughter] "He had all these thoughts about the music [...] what it should mean and the feeling around it, and it was very important for him that most people didn't like it. They shouldn't like it. Less people the better." "It's a funny way to look at things when you're trying to run a business", says T. "Yeah, but he was really not TRYING to run a business.", answers M. [more laughter] He was rather interested in enjoying the sense of community and being around like-minded people, and with time more and more people gathered around the shop, and with them came also "the wrong people". - The satanic part was just image, there was nothing "ritualistic" going on. "It was to scare the guys in the street". "The closest satanic thing was maybe lighting the candles, having a photoshoot in the basement, corpse paint, walking around in capes and stuff, but you didn't talk in old latin and write big pentagrams or anything, you know? No killing sheep...". - M never liked Burzum’s music at all - T says he knows E's girlfriend. M asks "which one?" and T replies "The last one". Then T says "I remember the first time I met her - I'm not going to use any names - but the first time I met her we were in the same room and I was talking about music, as we do, and I happened to say that I like Burzum, as a reference, and she kind of had it with me... We're friends now, there's no problem, but I understand that you guys were so close to it..." - the first time M saw V it was in Helvete. E called M and said "I have a strange guy in the store, he's been here for the whole day... just been there, you know... and he's talking about fantasy and LOTR...". E wasn't into that but knew that M was so E asked M if he wanted to come down to the store to talk to this weird guy. After talking for a night, M says about V: "He rubbed me the wrong way, he wanted everything more extreme. He was talking about 'it would be really cool to make a live with just black metal people'...ok, what's that about?... 'Just hunting each other in the forest with real swords and real knives'... ok, ok, you know I don't want my arm cut off... so I took a step back, let him just talk." - the moment V entered the picture and he became friends with E, M says was the point where everything turned to the worse. - the Black Circle - as it was indeed called at the time, according to M - was just around 10 people. They were in because of the way they looked at things, how they fitted into this cult-like vision. The members were E, M, V, Snorre, Faust, Fenriz, Ted, Occultus and Hellhammer (but he was in and out). Some people asked to get in but that's not how it worked, you needed to be considered worthy. It was essentially like a gang of friends, they would hang out in the basement and have parties, listening to metal and stuff... - Helvete closed in march '93 both because of the amount of attention from the media and because of the rent being too high. E also had some pressure from his family. He was living in the store in terrible conditions, he wanted out, so his parents basically told him that if he closed the shop, they were going to help him get a place to stay. So he accepted, deciding to concentrate more on the label. - there wasn't really any written contract between E and V, it was more a verbal deal. In the beginning V said he could pay for the whole thing, that he wanted his album to come out on DSP because he wanted to use the DSP name to get more attention. M never heard V being unhappy with the economical part and he doesn't know where the hostility came from. M doesn't remember E ever telling him why things got wrong with V. He says "V often lied about things. For me he lied a lot." - After Helvete closed, M remained in contact with both E and V but he never liked V so it was only V who called him and M just listened to V talking and then replied in a disinterested way. M recalls V telling him "If you come to Bergen and if you support me and not that fucking guy in Oslo, then I will buy more clothes from you and the chain mail and stuff". M says "I could see through that, it was just bullshit, he was saying that to butter me up". - M was informed of E's death by Hellhammer. M was shocked and kept thinking who could have done this; he couldn't figure it out but he went to the police because he had to tell them that in his opinion E must have known his murderer, since the only way to get into the apartment complex was to ring the intercom and announce yourself. Also, there was no name on E's button, so the killer must have known which one to push and E must have recognized the person, and let him in, in the middle of the night. M also says that E was very careful about that, he never let in anybody he didn't know, not even someone who claimed to be the mailman. - After E's death, M didn't have any more inspiration and didn't want to stay in the community. "I had kind of a reaction to metal after the death of E. I couldn't listen to metal for several years."

----------------------------------- The Thomas Eriksen Podcast #10 - Marius Vold

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 7

Regardless of your persistence to avoid Childe, you noticed that he intentionally walked along the same paths to 'run' into you just as you intentionally chose different paths to work every day to avoid seeing him.  To be honest, it was a bit stalker-ish.  But one fierce glare from you, and his confidence deflates like a balloon as he gives up on the idea to talk to you.  He was just as stubborn as you though, and would continue this pattern every day despite your continuous rejection.  You still hadn't said a word to him since that day in Mondstat.  

At one point you discovered a new tactic to keep him at a distance; walk around areas of Liyue where Fatui are most prominent.   Childe would almost immediately be called over or consulted over various matters from his underlings, and you were able to lose him for the day.

It was late one night when you finally left the funeral parlor; you didn't need to stay so long, but working on filings diverted your mind from the present occurrences.  Your footsteps were quiet along the dimly lit streets of Liyue as you made your way past Liuli Pavilion. Despite it being the middle of the week, there were several Fatui agents drinking and making a ruckus at the outside seating area--laughing, cursing, and a bunch of slurred gibberish you couldn't quite catch.

That was when your stomach growled and begged for food that it hasn't gotten all day.  By the time you'd get back to your apartment you wouldn't have the energy to cook, so you decided it'd be best to get a meal-to-go from the Pavilion despite the annoying customers blocking the door.  You reluctantly made your way up the steps when one of the drunkards called out you.

"Hey! Waitress! Where's our damn order?"  The man impatiently slammed his pint onto the table out of the corner of your vision.  He had to be the least sober of the group.

"That's not the waitress, dumbass.  She's clearly a customer."

"No," interjected the third.  "That's Master Childe's woman."  Apparently Childe's coworkers had picked up on your relationship with the harbinger much sooner than you figured out his true identity.

You finally reached the door handle and twisted it open, but a hand slammed above your head to keep it shut.  "Childe's girl, huh?"  

"Kliment, you know better than to screw with Childe's shit," the third man warned.  "You continue with this, he's gonna kill you."

"I'm not his girl," you spat, meeting the devilish crazed eyes of the man pinning you against the door.  "Back off, I'm starving."

"Not his girl," Kliment scoffed with a lopsided smirk as he glared down at you.  "You hear that, Charlie?  This is the chick everyone's been talking about. The one that's got him slacking off on our missing agents and that stupid vigilante that's still running around."

"You've got the wrong chick, asshole."  This seemed to agitate Kliment, and he leaned in way too close for comfort.  

"I don't give a damn whether you belong to Childe or not.  Since there's no getting through his thick skull, maybe this will get him to do his job."

"Kliment, what are you saying?"  Charlie, the second agent, shifted uneasily in his seat.  "Leave the girl alone. You're drunk."

"All I'm sayin' is a little rough-up would get Childe to take his responsibilities seriously.  An eye-opener, if you will."  Kliment raised your head to look at him by putting a thumb beneath your chin.  "Though if you have any valuable relics on you, which I doubt, you may sway me from hurting this little face of yours.  I really do just care about money; this matter doesn't interest me."

Your stomach sank when you remembered your empty pockets.  Your vision sat at home in your kitchen drawer tonight, so there was no way you could fight the three of these guys with your pyro energy and you'd lack the fire resistance it provided.  You never relied on it anyway; with your combat skills, you might be able to take them out somehow.  There's silverware on the table...plates, knives, forks, even the empty pints that lay strewn about.  And there'll be witnesses that might jump in to help.  

But most of all, you were angry.  This is how undisciplined Aja--Childe's men are.  You were right all along; there are no 'good' Fatui; that'd be an oxymoron, impossible, senseless.  So when Kliment threatened you with his foul alcoholic breath burning your nostrils, an almost devilish smile stretched across your face.

You leaned in and whispered in a low voice so that he'd be the only one to hear you.  "Valuables?  You mean like that precious Fatui mask of yours?"

The gears turned in his head for a few seconds, then his expression of confusion switched to disbelief, and finally to seething anger.  "You--!  You're the bitch that stole my mask--!"  His hand flew to your throat and squeezed.

"Kliment! What're you doing?!"  Charlie bolted upright before charging to get him off of you.  "You're gonna get us in trouble! Cut it out!"  Before he could reach the two of you, you landed a strike to Kliment's throat that loosened his grip and sent him gagging.  "Klime--"

Your attack apparently prompted the third agent to get up from his seat and he proceeded to launch himself not at you or Kliment, but at Charlie.  The two collided and crashed over another table where a romantic dinner was taking place.  The nameless agent was yelling incoherently about Kliment being right while they threw punches.

I guess those two will take each other out?  Your attention refocused on Kliment, who was now able to inhale a decent amount of air to lunge at you full force into the pavilion door.  Your head slammed into the wood with an unsettling crack, but the adrenaline made it impossible to tell if it was the wood or your skull making that awful noise.  You blocked a punch directed at your jaw.  He drove his knee to your stomach, but you swayed just enough so it slid past your side and into the door.  Your elbow jut into his ribcage, then his kidney, then you pulled his head down hard onto your knee.  He crumpled to the floor.

The shouting of the patrons, waiters, and other staff were quiet compared to the heartbeat drumming in your ears.  They stood and gawked at the damage the entire group was making, but they did not dare to intervene.  You scanned the surroundings for those other two Fatui. The one named Charlie was knocked out cold.  "Where--Ngh!"

A fist held your hair tight at the top of your head and drove you face-first into a table to your left.  "You're definitely Childe's woman if you can hold your own against an agent.  You have my respect for that...But this needs to be done to get his head out of the gutter!"  Another slam against the table, and white clouded your vision.  Somewhere in your peripherals Charlie had snapped out of his daze and scrambled to his feet to leave you and the rest of the pavilion behind.

Looks like that agent learned a lesson from going against the flow of the Fatui and abandoned the idea of helping you.

Your fingernails clawed into the agent's gloved fist to no avail.  You couldn't even kick at him with how he pinned you to the table, but luckily he decided to pull you upright and throw you to the ground.  There's a chance to strike him now.  

Or at least, there was.  Just as you flipped over to kick him away from you, his boot crashed down on your face hard.  The sickening crack of your nose against the force made your vision darken completely.

Childe was just about finished with his work for the day and nodded farewell to the secretary behind the front desk of the Northland Bank.  He barely reached the exit when the double doors burst open and an injured agent began blabbering about something while out of breath.

"...Ha...haah...fight...Agent Kliment...your...girlfriend..."  Charlie managed to wheeze out the most important details first and didn't miss the cold expression that enveloped Childe's face.

"Excuse me?"

"--The Pavilion! Hurry!"  The words barely got past his lips as Childe bolted out the door.  Charlie chased after him despite his lungs begging for air.  He could barely keep his superior in view.

The chaos that greeted the pair sent a chilling thrill down Childe's spine.  A few additional agents had joined the scene and were trying to keep the others at bay while others aided so that a Liyue citizen was the sole target.  Childe had no problem reminding his agents of their place in the food chain and that they were more expendable than the innocent, but the glimpse of your face getting kicked in made something snap inside him.  He was still several feet away from the scene and many witnesses were yelling for the fight to stop.  It wouldn't be long before the Millileth would arrive.

Childe held an unreadable air about him as a single hydro blade manifested in his hand.  He spared none of his strength when he threw it at the man that towered over you.  The man let out a strangled cry as it impaled his shoulder into the wooden door.  "Now now," a cruel empty tone left Childe's lips as he approached with a deadpanned expression.  Everyone stopped throwing their punches when they recognized the voice.  "I don't suppose there's a reasonable explanation behind this, is there?"

"M-Master Childe!"  The Fatui agents bowed over and saluted the harbinger while the bystanders parted for him.  "This is--"

Childe ignored their stutters and made a beeline for the half-conscious girl on the floor.  He knelt and lifted your chin slightly.  Sorry girlie, but there's no way I'm just going to let you walk home from this no matter how much you hate me right now.  Your lips were busted and swollen, your nose red and bloody, not to mention broken...The tears that obscured your vision made it difficult to see him, no doubt.

A cold, chilling anger like Snezhnaya's weather washed over the harbinger while he estimated your condition.  Then he stood up and announced with a voice almost too quiet to hear at first.  "Every agent here is to report to my office immediately."

"But Master Childe, she was--"

"--She started--"

"I tried to stop them from hurting her--"

Childe faced them with a death glare.  "My office.  Now."  Everyone gulped in fear.  "And if any of you decide to run off and hide, I will hunt you down.  Go."  The bystanders were whispering things amongst themselves as they watched the agents sprint for the bank.  Then, the harbinger faced the man that was still writhing against the wall.  "What's your name?"

"Hongqi--GAH!"  Childe violently ripped his blade out as he looked the agent in the eye.  

"Well, Hongqi, you've made quite the first impression on me.  Unfortunately for you," Childe swiped his fingers across the blood that coated the blade, "it was the bad kind."  Hongqi nodded and shuffled to the direction of Northland Bank.  Childe watched him before giving one last glance to the bystanders that were directing the Millelith in this direction from across the street.  

A small wheeze from his feet grabbed Childe's attention and he knelt beside you once more.  "...leave me...alone."

"You know I'm not the kind of man to leave a beaten girl alone on the streets."  The touch of his fingers grazing your cheek made you wince.

It was only when you caught the sight of the authorities drawing closer that you raised your voice.  If he wouldn't leave you, this called for a more drastic approach.  "H...Help!  Help!"  Despite your injuries your arms flailed about in an effort to push Childe away from you.  This earned a confused yet hurt expression from Childe, but you couldn't care less.  Why should you?  

This was his fault.  These men are under his supervision.  He failed you.  Again.

Despite your weak attempt to get away from him, Childe scooped you up in his arms and disappeared from the scene as quickly as he had appeared before the Millelith could catch up.  Somewhere along the way you lost consciousness, and Childe was able to get into your apartment thanks to the keys that were in your jean pocket.  He lay you down on your bed as carefully as possible before finding and wetting a towel to clean your wounds.

"I'm gonna need you to lie still while I do this," he warned before pressing the damp cloth to your bloodied lips.

"...can do this myself.  Get out."

"I never said you weren't capable of handling the aftermath yourself, girlie.  But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you do it yourself."  He brushed the hair out of your face and continued to wipe away at the blood and dirt on your skin.  The ticking of your wall clock was almost aggressive in filling the silent room.

"This is all your fault."

His movements slowed if only for a moment.  Was that really what you thought? Was it really his fault?  His men were always disciplined, or at least they were to the best of his knowledge.  But tonight proved otherwise, and it proved yet again that he's still hurting you.   The missing men, the rowdy behavior of the agents, even the bank heist...something doesn't add up.  They're connected somehow, but where was the connection?  

"Rest assured they will be thoroughly punished."  This earned an eyeroll from you that he pretended not to notice.  "Your nose needs to be reset, but I'm assuming you'd rather do it yourself."

"You're finally catching on."  

"I need to return to my office now.  Don't hesitate to get ahold of me if you need anything."  It was unnecessary to say so since he doubted you'd need him anymore, but he said it just in case.

"Good riddance."  Your gaze followed his movements past the kitchen and to the door.  Childe's hand hovered above the doorknob for a second.  You weren't able to hear whatever he mumbled next and were too stubborn to ask him to repeat himself.  Then, you were met with only the sound of your wall clock ticking the night away.

...........

"Master Childe!"  The secretary to the Northland Bank greeted the harbinger at the door.  "What happened?  A few men came rushing in with injuries--Should I get medical aid?"

"Don't bother with them."  The cool anger was so obvious upon his demeanor that she clammed up and nodded.  "Their injuries are not severe enough to require medical attention.  They're a waste of resources."

"Y-yes, sir.  Is there anything I can get you?"  She closed the doors once he entered.

"A room alone with them would be excellent."  The lady scampered away.  When Master Childe is angry, it's best to leave him to his own devices and keep quiet.  No one wants to be in the way or make him any angrier since he already has a problem with his temper...

"Master Childe," the troublesome Fatui agents bowed their heads and knelt before him.

"I want a full description of what incited your unsightly actions."  Childe scanned their faces one by one until he landed on Charlie.  "You.  Speak."

"Everyone was drunk beyond belief, sir."  He was still bleeding from behind his ear as he spoke and ignored the tickling of the blood that trickled down to his neck.  "Kliment thought that woman was a waitress, but then Hongqi said she was your girlfriend."

"That bitch admitted to being the person that's been inconveniencing us the past few months and stealing our property!"  Kliment jumped to his feet and faced the harbinger directly.  "If she's really your girl, it'd explain why you haven't done anything to catch her!  You're a disgrace to the harbingers, to the Tsaritsa, to--"

BAM.  A fist collided with Kliment's jaw and he stumbled backwards onto his butt.  Blue eyes as pale as ice stared him down.  "I don't remember asking for your input.  Seeing as though you still haven't sobered up, I have reason to doubt whatever comes out of your mouth.  Hongqi," Childe's glare flicked to the agent that knelt to Kliment's left, "why were you beating a defenseless woman when she was already down?"

Hongqi was putting pressure on the arm that had been impaled by Childe's hydro blade.  "I don't care about whether she's involved with those acts of vandalism, but I do share Kliment's view about you.  You've been slacking off, sir.  I thought this would send a clear message--"

"Let me get one thing through your thick skulls," the harbinger interrupted with an edge in his voice.  "That girl and I are not involved with each other.  And I don't condone senseless violence against the innocent."  His gaze was sharp like that of a predator scouting his prey.  The sound of his footsteps pacing across the tile floor filled the silence between sentences.  "Thanks to your carelessness I'll have to clean up the mess you all made.  What do you think the Millelith will do when they hear details of this incident?  What do you think the Qixing will make of it?  We're already scorned as it is."

"No thanks to you and Osial," muttered Kliment.  A pointed look shut him up quick.

"It's become clear to me tonight that the Tsaritsa doesn't need you to complete her mission.  Hongqi, Kliment, you're dismissed.  Don't show your faces to me again."

"W-What?! Sir, we--"

"You're not my harbinger anyway.  I'll just go tell the Fair Lady about your pathetic actions," Kliment growled through a clenched jaw.  

"By all means, go ahead.  Of course if you have this much of an issue with your punishment, you could always take me on in a fight.  Well?  What'll it be, gentlemen?"  Their silence and averted eyes gave him the answer.  "That's too bad.  I've been itching for a proper workout.  Get out of my sight."

"Sir, what shall I do?"  Charlie's voice was hesitant and barely audible after he watched his former comrades vacate the bank in an uproar.  Careful, now.  Wouldn't want to say anything that could anger the man further...

"Relax," Childe briefly flicked his gaze to the agent with a sly smile.  "I have no need to punish you.  In fact, you seem to be the only one here that has their head on straight.  You have my gratitude for bringing the matter to my attention and standing up for that woman."

"Your...gratitude?"

"Of course.  Don't let it get to your head, though.  An inflated ego will only work against you on the battlefield."

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

"Hey.  Kliment."

"Can you believe that, Hongqi?  He just threw us out like we're the bad guys! I swear to the Tsaritsa I'll show that loser a piece of my min--"

"Yeah about that.  Shall we get away from the prying ears of Liyue?"  Hongqi nodded to an alleyway that was to the left of the stairs that led up to the Northland Bank.

Kliment scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "What, now you're self-conscious of sharing your opinion on Childe?"  Yet he followed the man's lead anyway until they were both obscured in the shadows.

The silver eyes of Hongqi almost appeared to glow in the dark as he faced Kliment in a serious manner.  "There's a certain group of Fatui that have grown weary against the Tsaritsa.  This group is planning something big, and their goal is to uproot the Fatui's reputation first in Liyue, then they'll move on to Mondstat.  I happen to have a few connections."

"A group of unfaithful Fatui?  What are you talking about?"  But then it clicked.  "Wait, you don't mean..."

"Those who've gone missing in our ranks have simply created a new organization tasked with creating chaos to ruin the Fatui's reputation until it disintegrates into dust."  Hongqi sent a quick glance to the lighted street outside of the alley before returning his attention.  "Seeing as though Childe has disrespected us both, there's a chance we could get back at him for his tyranny.  The leader of the group is quite rich and compensates his members like there's no tomorrow."

"Huh. I didn't know you that well even in the ranks, but I think we could be great friends, Hongqi."

[collecting-stories]

Flowers on the Grave - c. 10 - JJ Maybank

Summary: Everything finally comes to a head. 

A/N: So...massive thanks for following this series all the way through to the end. Seriously, means so much to me cause I was so unsure of this when I started it. 

You Are Ok Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

✞ I was on the verge of breaking down when you came around ✞

The phone rang, shrill in your ear, and you felt like a weight had settled on your chest as you waited for someone to answer.  

Timothy was talking about the same three things that he had overwhelmed you with at the Wreck. Getting his pilot’s license, becoming a missionary, and his strength in the Lord. When he said it you could almost feel your father’s gaze burning into you, your own strength barely a register on the scale. 

He had questioned you further the night before, after he had sent everyone home you had spent nearly the entire night sitting at the kitchen table with the two of them, demanding a repentance for your sins as you tried not to tell them everything that you had done to betray them. If they knew half of it...if only there were nunneries for Baptists. Your eyes had stayed on the clock, watching minutes turn to hours and knowing that JJ was waiting for you. That you wouldn’t make it.  

Now you sat in the living room, watching those same minutes tick away, an escape plan the only thing on your mind as you listened to all the voices around you mingling. All you could imagine was yourself with JJ in Charleston and you desperately wanted to be there, wished you could transport yourself there.  

You excused yourself from the couch beside Timothy, walking into the kitchen under the guise of needing something to drink. In actuality you just needed the moment to breathe. Everyone in the living room seemed fixated on the impending nuptials, regardless of the fact that Timothy had yet to propose to you. It didn’t seem to bother anyone, Timothy’s mom and your’s gushing about what sort of dress you would wear and your flowers. Every second spent with them felt like you were sinking further beneath the waves, unable to get your bearings, you imagined yourself drowning in all of this.  

You glanced over your shoulder to make sure no one was watching you before sneaking out the kitchen door, pulling it closed behind you so that it didn’t make any noise. The back patio had been cleaned off and all the kids were around the front of the house, playing between the church and the front porch.  

“Ace,” the familiar voice came from your left and you almost burst into tears at the sight of JJ stepping onto the patio, careful to stay out of view of the window.  

“JJ...I-”  

“It’s okay,” he said, cutting you off. His eyes looked bloodshot, more so than when he smoked too much and you realized that he looked like he had been crying. “It’s okay...I know your family is inside and all, I just wanted to stop by to, uh, to see you...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.  

“What, I don’t-”

“I understand, I swear. I knew that you might not come, that wasn’t like...I get it.” He insisted.

“No, JJ...” you shook your head. Careful not to draw attention to yourself as you slipped passed the window to meet him at the edge of the patio, you placed your hands on either side of his face, heartbreaking at the way he turned his eyes away, “my parents found your vape pen in the house. I...my dad like freaked out on me, I’ve never seen him like that. I couldn’t come to see you, I wanted to, so badly...I still want to.” You swore. “I love you.”

The words processed a little slowly, giving you the opportunity to watch JJ’s face as realisation sunk in. You hadn’t left him waiting at the Phantom because you were choosing what your family wanted, you hadn’t been able to get there. “Seriously?”

“Yes, I swear. I told you I was coming and I was. I just-”

“Hey, it’s alright, I get it.” He promised. He knew how dependent on your family you felt. How dependent they made you feel.  

“Is it too late?” You asked, looking back to the screen door as if someone would walk through. The bruise on your arm was still there, stinging under the sleeve of your dress but somehow it didn’t feel as harsh as before, as much like a shackle as it had last night, “is it too late to leave?”

JJ looked surprised, “you still want to?”  

“Yes. But we have to go now.” You knew there was no way you could go back inside that house.

The renewed sense of optimism that gripped JJ was not without understanding that your window oy opportunity was limited. Leave now and you still had the chance to make it to Charleston before dark, wait and there was a chance someone would step outside and see you.  

“Okay.”

Your absence was becoming increasingly noticeable until finally your mother stood up, promising that she would be back in just a moment, she needed to find you first. “She has a tendency to wander off, probably playing with the children.” She explained as she walked into the kitchen, positive that she had just heard the screen door creak shut.  

Stepping out onto the porch, she looked quickly around the yard, a survey of the area within the trees, looking for you by the clothesline or the church or the old swings that had been set up nearly five children ago. You weren’t there though, the yard was empty. She pushed the door open again, walking back into the kitchen and catching sight of the refrigerator. A note, scrawled on the grocery pad that was kept by the door, had been tacked to the front of the fridge along with a delicate gold cross hanging from a chain.  

Mom + Dad,

Sorry, I told dad I wouldn’t marry Timmy and I meant it. Call you when I can.  

Ace

Your mother screamed so loud it was a wonder that you didn’t hear it, running through the trees with JJ, your hand in his. Once the woods parted to make way for the closest drive-way you saw JJ’s dirt bike. There were plenty of times that you had almost taken him up on the offer of riding on the back of the bike with him but you always backed out at the last second, far too terrified of falling off or getting hurt. Today you hardly thought twice of it, climbing on the rungs and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You leaned forward, kissing JJ’s cheek before he kicked up the stand and took off, “I love you.”

“Love you.” JJ replied quickly before taking off, grinning at the feeling of your grip on his shoulders tightening.  

The middle of the afternoon was far different from midnight and Heyward’s was open, Pope and Kiara coming out when they heard the sound of the dirt bike, as if they’d been waiting. The moment you each dismounted Kiara was pulling you into a hug, swearing that she ‘knew it’, knew you weren’t standing him up. She passed you over to Pope, who hugged you and whispered in your ear that he was glad you came, knowing without having to tell you that you understood just how much this relationship meant to JJ.  

“Come on,” JJ grabbed your hand, pulling you away from them. “We gotta go.”

“You can take ten seconds to give me a hug JJ,” Kiara said, already pulling him into a hug.  

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, hugging her back and lifting her a little off the ground before letting her go, “we need to leave, I love you guys, I’ll see ya soon.”

“See ya man,” Pope hugged him, “call us.”

JJ was guiding you away from them again, over to where he had docked the Phantom. He had taken your duffel bag the day before and it was still sitting there under the bench along with his backpack. The last time you had been on a boat with JJ had been out on the Pogue, in the Marsh. This was a lot different, the outlet to the ocean just beyond your vision but getting closer as JJ steered the Phantom. Kiara and Pope shouted their goodbyes from the jetty and you waved, suddenly feeling like that weight that settled on your chest was gone.  

“Are you freaking out?” JJ asked, catching your attention.  

You got up from the bench, careful as you walked over to him. “No but I'm sure my mom is.” You replied, laughing a little when JJ wrapped his arm around your waist and guided you in front of him, putting you between him and the wheel. You turned your head, tilting back to kiss him.  

A police car rushed past Kiara and Pope as they stood outside of Heyward’s, heading in the direction of the church and your house. When Shoupe pulled in, the yard was quiet. Your siblings and their families were all inside, your oldest sister trying to do damage control with Timothy’s family while your mom and dad stood outside, your mom clutching the letter and the necklace.  

The cross was something that your mom had given you on your thirteenth birthday, a symbol of your devotion and love for the Lord, now it was tucked in her hand as she tried not to absolutely fall apart. Timothy’s mother was simply upset that you had seemingly skipped out on her son but your mom was dealing with the reality that you were gone and she had no idea where you would even go.  

“When was the last time you saw her?” Shoupe asked, skeptical as he took down your information. You were 18, according to your parents, 18-year-olds didn’t need permission to leave home without telling anyone. So far, he was unconvinced of a crime.  

“Hardly an hour ago.” Your mom replied, thrusting the note into his hand, “she left this...I know that boy she was sneaking around with put her up to it.”

“Do you know this boy’s name?” he asked, looking over the vague note you had left.

“JJ Maybank.” Your father said.

Shoupe frowned, if there was any name that immediately sparked his interest it was JJ’s. It didn’t matter whether JJ was guilty of something or not, nine times out of ten Shoupe was positive that any misconduct on the island could be traced back to JJ and his friends. “Look, usually in cases like this I would tell you that, your kid is 18, if you haven’t heard from her in 24 hours then I’ll file a missing persons. But I know that Maybank kid...I’ll talk to his friends, see if anyone knows anything. You hear from your daughter, you let me know.”  

“Thank you, deputy.” Your father said, his arms around your mom as she continued to cry. You were gone and he wasn’t sure if he was angrier that you had walked out on your family’s expectations of you or that you were embarrassing them in front of a potential future husband. Either way, the thought that something they did contributed to your disappearance never occured to them.  

-

Charleston wasn’t half-way between North Carolina and Florida. There wasn’t anything special about the place and even Pope had asked why JJ didn’t just take the Phantom down to Georgia for a stopover. JJ’s only explanation was that he knew a guy in Charleston and, technically, he did. When Luke had served an 18-month sentence for a petty misdemeanor his cellmate had been an in-the-process-of-reforming drug addict who took himself down to South Carolina to work in a program for recovering addicts. He kept in touch with JJ, making sure that Luke was treating the boy right and JJ always lied through his teeth that everything was great.  

“Nothing to worry about.”

But he’d called a few weeks before with an odd favor. One that Luke’s cellmate readily agreed to, no questions asked, but a strange request all the same. “Meet me at the courthouse in Charleston.”  

Now you stood outside, scuffing the toe of your converse against the pavement, JJ’s cellphone held in a vice grip against your ear. Independence didn’t exist in your family, at least not for you. You belonged to your father until you belonged to a husband and there was no other way around it. JJ was sitting on the hood of his friend’s car, talking about heading down to Flordia, watching you as you stood a few feet away, fiddling with the strings that tied the dress he’d bought you in Chapel Hill. You’d dug it out of a drawer in your mom’s room and wore it now, a small symbol of freedom.  

“Hello?” Your mother’s voice came through the phone, a little grainy.

“Mom?”

Suddenly she was shouting for your father and you could practically hear her switching the phone over to speaker so he could hear you too. His footsteps were heavy in the background and when you were sure he was in earshot you spoke again, not ready to hear whatever bible verse he had earmarked for this very specific occasion.  

“I just wanted you to know I’m okay, JJ and I are heading down south. We’ll be staying with a cousin of his until we can get our own place.” You told them, “but we’re safe. Kiara told me you called the police; you can tell them you made a mistake...I left on my own.”

JJ stood up, walking over to where you stood, nodding to you as if silently asking you to put the phone on speaker. You held it away from your ear and tapped the button on the screen, your father’s reprimanding voice pouring through the phone.

“Stop, stop,” your mother insisted, cutting into the conversation with the only thing you knew she cared about. “What am I supposed to tell Timothy’s parents?”

“Tell ‘em she’s already married.” JJ answered for you, winking at you when you smiled. Charleston wasn’t anything special, expect they let you get married the same day you applied for a license and you knew it was the only thing your parents would listen to. When you had told JJ he’d been more than onboard with the idea. Surprisingly okay, eager even.

“What?” Your father practically shouted through the phone. He had sat up the night, waiting for the call you promised them only for it to come through early in the afternoon the next day with this, news that you had married this kid.

“Ace-” your mom seemed like there was something more she wanted to say, something that she couldn’t say with your father hovering beside her.

“I’ll be in touch, love you.” You said, ending the call and realizing, as JJ pulled you into a hug, that you were crying. “I really hate them sometimes but I don’t...want them to hate me.”

“Trust me,” JJ reassured, “I know all about it.”  

-

Your shoes sat abandoned on the small front lawn, socks stuffed inside as you stood a few feet away, ankles deep in a plastic kiddie pool that was slowly filling with hose water. You still had your uniform on, a short sleeved, short-hemmed, yellow waitress dress that buttoned up the front. Balanced on your hip, your arms around her, was JJ’s cousin’s daughter, his niece for the sake of simplifying things. She wore a white bathing suit with rainbow flowers all over it, a frilly skirt around the waist. Her Elmo submarine bobbed in the water as it got higher.  

“Look, Daisy,” you cooed, drawing her attention to you and then pointing to the object of your interest. An older model Ford truck pulled into the driveway, JJ behind the wheel. “Whose that?”

“JJ!” Daisy clapped her hands with each syllable, thrilled at the sight of him.  

The car door slammed behind him, standing there with his coverall’s tied at his waist, white wife-beater dirty from work. His cousin had gotten him the job at the autobody shop that he’d been promised and JJ was enjoying it more than he thought he would. The smile on his face when he saw you was infectious.  

“Where’s Brett?” He asked, looking around the small yard of the trailer. It was nothing terribly special, a double-wide trailer that JJ’s cousin Brett had bought after his girlfriend got pregnant. Now he lent out the room that Daisy had been sleeping in to you and JJ, asking only that you pay for groceries every other week and babysit whenever need be.  

“Went to meet April for lunch.” You replied, “you’re early.”

“Don’t act so excited.” He teased, getting close enough that you could kiss him, Daisy reaching out for him and calling his name again. “As soon as I change Dais,” he promised, kissing the baby’s head.

“Kiara called, asked if we’ll be up for Pope’s birthday?” You mentioned, setting Daisy down in the kiddie pool and getting out to shut off the hose. “I said yes.”

“Yeah, definitely.” He nodded, pausing at the steps as if he wasn’t quite sure what he had intended to do next, finally turning to look back at you as you kneeled down on the outside of the pool in hopes of keeping your uniform clean. “You okay with going back for a weekend?”

“Now that I’ve fallen into like, total debauchery, definitely.” You joked, “my parents probably won’t even recognize me if I don’t, you know, get stuck down by lightening just walking onto the property.”  

JJ snorted, “slow your roll there Cheech, you still can’t smoke and you definitely can’t handle your liquor.”  

“Go get changed so I can...Brett basically handed me Daisy, threw a shirt on and left. I didn’t even get to change.” You mentioned, pointing to the dress, “I know it’s some weird turn-on for you but I’d like to put a bathing suit on.”

“Hey, I’m happy to oblige,” he called, the screen door clambering behind him as he disappeared into the trailer.  

You had tried to imagine a few times, what you would’ve been doing right now if you had stayed in the Outer Banks, if JJ had never asked you out to begin with. Probably packing for Tennessee, signing off on a life-sentence with someone who thought your greatest contribution to his life would be in how many children you could give him and how well you kept his house. Certainly not living in a trailer in a small town, saving dollars in a jar, with a future ahead of you that was as much yours to decide as JJ’s.  

“Alright, get your ass in there and change.” JJ said, coming out of the trailer. He’d left the white tank on but changed into an old pair of swim shorts, climbing into the kiddie pool as if it was intended solely for him.  

You stood up, brushing grass off your knees and leaning over to kiss JJ one more time, “be right back. Don’t have fun without me.”

“Oh we’re gonna have all the fun!” He called as the door shut behind you.  

As you passed the mirror on the door you stopped to look at your reflection. You looked the same as you had when you left for Florida four months ago but there was something there, something so different that you couldn’t recognize yourself sometimes. A good different though, the kind that settled over you like a warm sun in the summer, the kind that blossomed up in your chest and let you know that all these decisions that led to right now had been the right ones. 

-

Taglist: @outrbanks @mendesmaybank @thehomeiknow @minnie-bby @katiaw2 @2kayla64 @stevie-buck @bijleegiregi  @vitaminekabc @minigranger @teamnick @just-smile-darling @obxsummer @damonsalvawhore27 @isqbella @tomzfrog @fangirlvoice @phantompogues @98starkeys @ilovejjmaybank @lemur46 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @babygal-babygal @niya-savage @divvrx @princess-of-the-fandoms @thecaptainsgingersnap @jenjie @yourprincess-maybe @wowmaybankk @goldeng1rl8 @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @niamhobrien @strangerthanfanfiction713 @tovvaa @freckled-and-daydreaming @harleylynn @bibliophilewednesday @dpaccione @bolaurel @poguestyleskye @beautyandthebleh @under-a-canyon-moon @outerbankspreferences

[fanficimagery]

Surprise! It’s a Girl.

Imagine finding out you're not who you've been led to believe you are. You're not Y/N Y/L/N; you're Y/N Potter. But one particular wizard was against you reuniting with your little brother when you found out just who he was. In the end, you're determined to see him even if it means fighting in a war where a Dark Lord would see your brother dead.

Words: 7.2K Warnings: This is a very brief Marvel/HP crossover and some characters who've died in HP will not be dead in this. I'm a sucker for a few wizards that didn't make it to the see the end of the war. Luckily for me, I can make that happen ;) So with that said, let's just jump right into it. You might be confused, but you'll learn what's happened when Reader explains it to Harry and friends.

Also timelines? What are those? Lol.

Sitting atop the roof of the Sanctum Sanctorum, you're in the middle of meditating when someone clears their throat in order to get your attention. Everyone knows better than to interrupt meditation time unless it's an emergency, so instead of getting angry you crack open an eye to see what's going on.

The Sorcerer Supreme stands before you, his cloak of levitation clasped around his neck and expression carefully guarded as he stares down at you. "I believe it's time."

Those four words are enough to freeze the air in your lungs and bring chaos to your previously emptied mind. On the outside, however, you keep your composure as you slowly stand. "Are you sure?"

"I am." He nods. "I was keeping an eye on things overseas and extremely powerful wards went up not too long ago. However," he adds, "they're in the process of being torn down by the man who wishes the last of your family dead."

You shakily inhale and tersely nod. "I have to go then."

"You do. Go get changed and then meet me back up here. I have a parting gift for you."

Fleeing the rooftop and back inside the Sanctum, you rush towards your room and throw apologies over your shoulders when you accidentally run into people. Then when you get to your room you immediately start to disrobe and pull on the outfit that's been laid out on your bed. The spandex leather pants are easy to maneuver around in, but the red bustier vest that laces up the front is a little off-putting. You are, however, grateful for the red leather coat that goes over it and the fingerless gloves that make you feel less naked. You zip up black knee-high boots and then rush back towards the rooftop where the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth is still awaiting you.

"You'll be going in blind, Miss Potter. You must remember that." You gulp and nod, and mentally urge the Sorcerer Supreme to hurry up and get his warning speech done and over with. "You'll have to be careful when deciding who's friend and who's foe, and be extremely careful that those fighting for your brother don't mistake you for the enemy."

"I know. From what I've read about Deatheaters, they'll most likely be the most deranged looking of the bunch. Also they were dumb enough to let themselves be branded so it shouldn't be too hard to figure out who's who."

"Very well." The Sorcerer Supreme, whose hands had been clasped over his abdomen, puts his right hand forward and then turns it over. "I believe you'll need this. You've earned it." In his palm is what every sorcerer in training calls a Sling Ring- a two finger ring which can open portals to anywhere in the world.

You gasp, but slowly reach forward and grab the bronzed piece of jewelry. Slipping it over your left index and middle fingers, you smile at it before looking back up at the man who had taken you under his wing at the tender age of sixteen. "Thank you, Sorcerer Supreme."

Faintly smiling at you, he says, "I took you in during your rebellious phase and made you into a proper young witch. I believe you can call me Stephen, Miss Potter."

"Then it's Y/N. None of this Miss Potter business anymore." You both chuckle at one another, but then the seriousness of the situation you're about to walk into sinks in. Your smiles both fall and then you're looking towards a spot on the roof where it's empty.

"I got it this time," Stephen says. Raising his left hand and then outstretching his right to trace a circular pattern mid-air, you watch as a portal sparks to life and grows bigger and bigger until it's big enough for a person to fit through. Instead of seeing the New York skyline through the portal, you see a darkened courtyard with various witches and wizards torn between looking at you and looking at something in the sky. "Be safe. Let me know when it's over."

"Yes, sir." You step through the portal, raising your hands when a couple of wands are pointed in your direction. Glancing over your shoulder lets you know the portal has now been closed and you inhale slowly to gather you wits.

"Who are you?" A rather severe looking woman asks, her Scottish accent making you faintly grin. The shorter, redheaded woman at her side narrows her eyes.

"My name is Y/N Potter." And that- that gives them pause and causes their eyes to widen. "My story is a long one- one I'll gladly explain after this war is over. All you need to know right now is that I fight for Harry. I fight for my little brother."

"It's a trick!" The redhead shrilly remarks. "It has to be. We are Harry's only family."

You shake your head. "Lady, I swear upon my magic that I'm telling the truth. I was taken and then forbidden from contacting my brother by Albus Dumbledore when I found out who I was. I was learning to manifest my magic without a wand when I heard of his death, but by the time I tracked down Harry he had gone on the run."

"Albus would never-"

"Molly," the other woman cuts her off, her wand slowly lowering, "she looks like Lily."

Still in denial, Molly shakes her head. "No, Minerva. It can't be."

"We can talk all night, ma'am, but I rather help you defeat this threat. After we win this war, I'll answer anything and everything you have for me. You can take my memories, you can pour Veritaserum down my throat. I am who I say I am. I am the eldest child of Lily and James Potter."

The redhead continues to stare you down before her own wand starts to lower. She huffs. "Very well. But if I see you harm one person from the Light, I will hex you."

Your lips twitch. "Fair enough." The brief reprieve, however, is short lived. There's a thundering explosion, followed by eerie silence, and then what looks like blue ash falling down upon your heads.

Minerva gulps. "The wards have fallen. Prepare for battle."

Rolling your shoulders, you step so your feet are shoulder's width apart. "Ma'am, I've been preparing a while for this." Your hands glow red and both women's eyes widen at the sight.

Thundering footsteps has you turning towards a bridge being protected by what appears to be stone statues, and the appearance of giants rushing ahead of hollering witches and wizards churn your stomach. Some of those witches and wizards seem to jump into the air, their bodies twisting into balls of smoke as they fly overhead. So concentrating on them since they appear to be flying towards the school, you alternately flick your hands upward, aiming red orbs at each deatheater you can to stun them out of the sky.

Then when there appears to be too many to hit at once, you allow your magic to pool in your hands before raising your arms, throwing up a red net of magic and capturing several deatheaters at once before slamming them towards the ground.

"Filius!" Minerva screams.

Looking towards where the distraught witch is staring, you watch as a small wizard tries to outrun a giant swinging around a quidditch loop as a weapon. Eyes widening, you reach out with your glowing left hand and envelop the small wizard with your magic, slowly pulling back your left arm while erecting a shield with your right hand behind the wizard's back to protect him from ricocheting spells and debris.

The wizard yelps as you bring him in a little too quickly, but you manage to carefully set him down. He wobbles on his feet and stares up at you in wonder. "T-Thank you."

You grin down at him. "No problem." Then looking at Minerva, you ask, "Where do you want me?"

But Minerva is looking at you in awe herself, so it's Molly who says, "Inside. Protect the children."

"I'll do my best."

More deatheaters take flight overhead, and when you hear glass shatter and screaming children all bets are off. Your hands glow even redder and you briefly raise your hands before thrusting them downward, projecting your magic towards the ground so it'd propel you into flight. You make your entrance through a shattered window, using your magic to soften your landing before stunning deatheaters left and right. Though the second you see a deatheater cast the killing curse at kids younger than you, you switch up tactics and don't bother feeling any remorse when your spells make precise gashes that leave the deatheaters gasping for breath before collapsing in a pool of their own blood.

Other curses you fling around wrap chains around deatheaters, cause thousands of tiny nicks, or fling them into the nearest hard surface to knock them unconscious. Or worse, but you don't really care at the moment. And if you don't have an enemy of your own to fight, you're erecting shields to protect the students from being cursed themselves.

Majority of the kids, however, seem to know what they're doing so you run around the castle to see where aid is needed.

You come across two wizards who are fighting back to back, the shorter and darker haired wizard laughing and trying to reminisce with the taller and sandy brown haired wizard as the deatheaters start to outnumber them. You don't think before throwing a large red orb at a group of three deatheaters, knocking them unconscious as they're flung a good ten feet away. Then gathering enough magic for another orb, you fling it towards the other group of five deatheaters. When they fall, the two wizards stare at you in surprise.

You meet their gazes head on, something about the man with three scars running diagonally across his face almost familiar to you. But now is not the time to wonder about all that, so you merely grin. "You're welcome. In case you haven't noticed, there's a war going on. Try to keep up, yeah?" Then without another word, you take off and leave the two wizards staring after you and wondering why you yourself were so achingly familiar to them.

Dodging curses and flinging random spells of your own at unsuspecting deatheaters, you come upon another set of wizards being outnumbered by deatheaters yet again. Only these two could pass for brothers and one is cracking a joke about the deatheater he's dueling while the other one is hilariously proud of him for finally unknotting his wand.

There's a split second of distraction on their part, but that split second is all one angry deatheater needs.

"BOMBARDA!"

"Watch out!" You manage to throw up a red barrier behind the two laughing wizards' backs just in the nick of time.

You catch the exploding wall from crumbling on them, but at the cost of suddenly putting yourself under a magical strain that has you barely being able to hold the wall of debris at bay. You're struggling, hoping the two wizards collect themselves fast enough to have the smarts to move out of the way, only to end up distracted and take some sort of hex to your right side. The searing heat makes you scream out, your concentration breaking and the wall dropping. Thankfully, the two wizards you had saved jump back into action to dispatch the deatheaters before checking on you.

"That was a bloody close call," the taller redhead muses. "We owe you one, love."

You smile through the pain, your left hand reaching across your stomach to hold the wound on your right side. "Don't mention it."

The second redhead stares curiously at you. "How did you do that? I've never seen magic performed like that without a wand."

"Aw come on, Perce!" The previous redhead chuckles, slinging an arm around this so-called Perce's shoulders. "Turn that brain of yours off for mo'. A pretty bird just saved our arses." You smile sheepishly, mentally cursing yourself for blushing. The talkative redhead wiggles his eyebrows and you huff in amusement at him. "I'm Fred Weasley, by the way. And this is one of my older brothers Percy."

"Y/N. Y/N Potter." Both wizards freeze, their expressions falling and you hesitantly grin. "Yep. I'm exactly one of those Potters that you're thinking about."

Percy blinks first. "Impossible. The Potters only had one child."

"Surprise," you muse. "It's a girl!" When neither wizard reacts, you exhale tiredly. "I only found out I was a Potter when I was sixteen. I tried to get in contact with Harry, but I was prevented from doing so. However, I'm here now and I don't plan to let the same dark wizard who killed my parents and ruin my life now kill my little brother. We have loads to catch up on and I'll be damned if I let some arsehole off Harry before I have the chance to meet him."

Fred appears as if he's going to say something, but an eerie ringing fills your ears. Your hands fly up to hold your ears as if that'll stop the noise, but when you stumble back into a wall and glance up you see that Percy and Fred are affected as well if their grimaces and terrified expressions are anything to go by.

"You have fought valiantly, but in vain." The hissing voice that enters your mind makes gooseflesh break out up and down your arms, your eyes widening in horror when you realize who it is. "I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity." You choke back a sob, not used to having someone violate your mind as such. "Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you." But that- that catches your attention and forces you to pay attention. "On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman, and child who tries to conceal you from me."

When your mind is completely silent once more, you lower your hands and stare at the two wizards before you. "Please tell me Harry isn't dumb enough to confront this psycho." Fred and Percy stay quiet, but they share a nervous glance at one another. You curse. "I need to find him."

"Everyone will be gathering in the Great Hall," Percy says. "We'll take you there and have you looked at."

He gestures to your side and when you glance down you can see a rather sleek looking stain running down your thigh. "Oh."

Your knees seem to give then, but Fred is quick to catch you. "There, there," he chuckles. "I know I'm handsome, but you can't swoon until you've met my twin."

You shakily smile. "You mean there's two of you? How does your mum survive?"

Fred laughs as Percy shakes his head. "By loads of threats and hexes. Now come on, we need to regroup."

Fred and Percy manage to maneuver your arms around the back of their necks as they help you walk now that you're starting to feel the effects of blood loss. There are many dead witches and wizards, and it hurts your heart to see so many young faces among them. The others are bloodied and beaten, but all are doing their best to help their peers.

When you walk into the Great Hall, it's an even worse sight. Bodies are being dragged in and laid out to be checked over, and kids are breaking down over everything that's happened. Fred and Percy continue to lead you towards a specific spot, and it takes you a moment to realize that the wizards are leading you towards a clearly distraught Molly. She's checking over a young redheaded girl before moving onto the next redhead, and it's Fred's nearly identical twin that spots you three first. The relief on his face is heartbreaking and you politely extricate yourself as the family rush over to reunite.

"Hey, mum," Fred says after everyone's been checked over by their fussing mother. "Y/N found us and took a hex while saving our bums. I think she needs a healing spell. Or three."

"A blood replenishing potion would be nice," you mumble before drowsily dropping onto a bench.

Molly rushes over to you while Fred and Percy obviously fill in the others, and the redheaded girl's eyes widen after hearing something they say before she rushes to help her mum. She quickly introduces herself as Ginny and you smile as best as you can while Molly waves her wand up and down you.

"I need your coat and shirt off, dearie."

You grimace and open your jacket so she can see your top underneath. "I'm afraid I'll have to get naked for that, ma'am."

Molly purses her lips before glancing at her daughter. "Ginny, transfigure Y/N a shirt please." She then turns to the men of her family. "Boys, I'm going to need you all to give us some room."

Your heart warms as Molly conjures a privacy curtain and gestures for you to step behind it. You do and then proceed to strip out of your jacket. When you struggle with your top, Ginny vanishes it with a sheepish smile and averts her gaze as she quickly hands you a shirt. You put it on, but then Molly is there at your side to lift it to see the gash on your right side. She tuts.

"I'll be right back. I'll have to go see if Madam Pomfrey has any potions for this."

"Wait," you tell her. "Just a blood replenisher will do. I can take care of this." She opens her mouth to retort, but you let your hand glow in front of her. "Different, remember? I can close the wound myself."

Ginny stares in awe as you hold your shirt up with one hand, your other hand hovering above your wound as your fingers dance in an intricate pattern so your magic closes the gash. Once done, you nod at Molly and she huffs in amusement before turning. Then with a flick of her wand, the privacy curtain vanishes and she scuttles off to go see about that potion. Ginny guides you to a bench, but just as you take a seat there's two wizards stumbling towards you. They're the first set of men you saved, one with shaggy dark hair and the other with sandy brown hair, and they're staring at you in clear disbelief.

"Lily?"

You frown just as all the Weasley's freeze. "I'm sorry?"

The dark haired wizard blinks, shaking his head clear. "I'm sorry, love. You just reminded me of-"

"Cub?"

Your gaze darts to the sandy haired wizard now, his shorter companion shaking his head. "Come on, Moony. I think we hit our heads a little too hard."

Cub. Moony. The nicknames strike a chord within you, but you're not exactly sure why. Your brow furrows as you try to pinpoint a dream- or was it a memory?- and between one blink and the next it hits you. "Paddy." You utter in awe as you eye the dark haired wizard, watching as he gapes at you. Slowly standing, you then look at the other wizard. "Uncle Moony. I- I remember you. I think. Toy broom. Broken vase. Accidental.. fire?"

The one you had called Paddy snorts and Moony exhales in disbelief. "H-how?"

"Dumbledore," you immediately answer. "But.. I dreamt that, didn't I? You- I'd have been too little to remember anything."

"No, Cub. You didn't." Moony steps forward and gently touches your face in awe. "Sirius and James, your dad, thought it was a good idea to get you a toy broom. You flew into a vase, broke it, and let loose some accidental magic when your mum started shrieking at them."

"That was a mighty big fire. Remus almost soiled his trousers."

Sirius and Remus. Yes, that sounded awfully familiar.

The tears come without warning and you fling yourself at them, content to find yourself sandwiched between the two wizards. They're more shocked than anything, so after a moment the Weasley's step forward.

"So she really is Harry's sister?" Fred asks. Sirius and Remus nod. "Blimey. We now have two Potters to keep an eye on."

"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen," an older red headed wizard steps forward, someone you assume to be the Weasley father, "but how did you not know Miss Potter was still alive?"

"Dumbledore," they both say.

"I was obviously thrown into Azkaban," Sirius says. "None of my questions were answered when I asked about the children."

"We didn't even ask to see the bodies," Remus mumbles. "We just took Dumbledore's word for it. And since Harry was too small to remember, we never brought up the memory of Y/N since no one would have known of her." You take turns hugging each wizard, lingering a little longer with Remus. When he pulls out of the big, he smiles down at you. "You look like your mum."

"And you," you reach up to gently trace one of his scars, "got old." Sirius guffaws and when you finally turn around, it feels as if all the wind is sucked out of your lungs.

"You're here." Harry says as stands before you, covered in blood, sweat and dirt.

Everyone seems to hold their breath, taking a step back as you and Harry stare at one another. You blink. "You know who I am?"

He numbly nods. "Only from Snape's memories. He wanted me to know what he knew before he died. He was not happy with Dumbledore's decision after he found out you were alive and sent to America." He pauses just to stare and you sheepishly smile, then the two of you are lunging for one another. Arms wrapped around each other, you bite back a whimper when your side twinges with phantom pains. Seconds tick by and then you hear him ask, "Walk with me?"

You nod, afraid to speak and your voice crack with emotion. Side by side, you follow Harry just outside the Great Hall where a witch and wizard stare in surprise but keep their distance. Your brother quickly informs you that they're his best friends Ron and Hermione.

"It took me a long while, Harry, but I finally caught up with you," you say as he finally stops.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "You did." He then turns so he's standing right in front of you, his hands reaching for yours and holding on gently. "I'm just sorry it has to be so short lived."

Your expression falters at his words. "What?" He lets you go, stepping back with a mumbled apology. "No." Immediately you know what he plans to do and you stumble forward to attempt to catch him. "No, you're not turning yourself over."

"I have to."

"No. I'll- I'll go with you!" You start to cry again, chest aching. You just found your little brother; you can't lose him so soon.

Harry smiles sadly, a lone tear falling down his cheek. "I'm sorry. Ron and Hermione will watch over you until I get back."

"Please don't." Harry backpedals quickly now, giving you his back so he can take his leave. You try to follow, but your vision swims and the room seems to tilt. You collapse, blinking rapidly to clear your vision. "No. No, Harry." You cry some more, reaching out for your brother. "Please don't leave me."

Harry's steps falter but he pushes on and the moment he disappears from view you scream out in anguish. There seems to be a pressure on your chest, but that pressure seems to lessen as you scream. You're barely coherent enough to see a faint wisp of red shoot out from you in every direction, and are conscious long enough to hear someone mutter bloody hell before passing out.

          - - - - - - - - - -

You jolt awake, but you're not sure what's woken you. As you blink up at the ceiling, you realize it's eerily quiet. So letting your head lull to the side, you blink against the brightness of the room and realize you're alone. You're alone with the dead.

Sitting up with a groan, you glance around to see that everyone is gone. But there are voices.. and laughter? Instantly, an uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Shakily standing, you walk as fast as you can towards the entrance to the Great Hall and swallow down the bile trying to creep it's way up your throat. You stumble out the front enterance, shoving passed the small gathered crowd. Someone's giving a speech and across the courtyard there is a sea of black and- and you're going to be sick. The bald, gray skinned man must be who attempted to end the Potter line so long ago. Voldemort.

"Y/N. Y/N, wait!"

With the sea of deatheaters, just off to the side of them, there seems to be a half giant carrying a body. A body which is wearing suspiciously familiar clothing. Hands catch you by the arms, holding you back when you realize who it is the half giant is carrying, and your knees buckle. You whimper, but the voices on either side of you attempt to soothe you. When you chance a glance at them, you realize it's Fred and George.

Voldemort asks for the Light to pledge their loyalty to him, but only a single wizard stumbles forward. Neville Longbottom, he says his name is, and even as the deatheaters make fun of him the boy manages to give a heartwarming speech about none of their friends or family dying in vain. But as the hurt and sadness ebbs away, rage takes its place.

You can feel a pressure in your chest forming again and the hands on you fall away with hisses of pain. It seems as if you have tunnel vision as you stumble forward, Neville's speech falling on deaf ears. You can hear whispers of awe all around, but you only have eyes for Voldemort as his manic smile slowly starts to fall upon seeing you. Neville pulls free a sword from a crumpled hat, but still you stumble forward.

Your wrists are slowly rotating now and you sneer as Voldemort's followers seem to stare at you with trepidation. "You took everything from me," you grit out.

Voldemort starts to smile upon hearing the pain in your voice. "My dear, I don't even know who you are."

"You will." Debris from the half demolished castle starts to gather all around you as if being pulled by a magnet, forming two large balls of concrete on either side of you. Then with a deep breath, you feel the ground beneath your feet vanish as everyone around you gasps in surprise. "You were always going to die by the hands of a Potter. It's just too bad it couldn't have been my brother who ended you."

"Potter," Voldemort hisses angrily.

"In the flesh."

You slowly raise your hands, the balls of debris rising higher, but before you can catapult them Harry is dropping from the half-giant's arms. You feel your magic waver at the sudden relief that washes over you, but then Harry's firing a spell at a giant snake and Voldemort is firing back at him. There's cheering and then before the deatheaters can start fleeing, you fling the balls of debris at them one after the other.

You fall back to your feet, erecting shields to cover the backs of the witches and wizards rushing back into the castle. Then once back into the school all bets are off and all your hexes turn deadly. But your rage clouds your ability to multitask and you don't see the deatheater creeping up on you in time. Chains wrap around your throat, wrapping tighter and tighter as your fingers claw to pull it off. There's crazed laughter somewhere behind you and you don't even have the opportunity to see who was responsible before the chains loosen and they are being pulled off.

"There, there, cub. You're alright now." As you're pulled to your feet, relief floods you at the sight of Remus. "It's going to be okay." You're quick to hug him, crying softly as the side of your face presses against his chest.

A battle cry pulls your and Remus' attention towards it, and you watch as Neville beheads the large snake you had seen Harry firing spells at earlier. It seems to go quiet inside the castle after that, the deatheaters lowering their wands in shock. A moment later a cheer erupts from outside and the remaining deatheaters inside hiss as they clutch at their inner arms before fleeing altogether. Luckily, some are detained before they can go anywhere.

"Did we- did we just win?"

"Yeah, cub. I think we just did."

"Remus!" The two of you turn towards the joyous shout and you quickly step back when a woman throws herself into his arms. You smile at the reunion, heart aching at the relief and joy in your uncle's features as he hugs the woman tightly before sharing a chaste kiss with her.

Afterwards, he pulls back and turns towards you. The woman follows his gaze and she smiles kindly. "Tonks, I want to introduce you to the Potters eldest child." She gasps. "My goddaughter Y/N. Y/N, this is my wife Tonks."

You smile sheepishly. "Hullo."

"Another Potter," she breathes in awe. "Wicked."

You watch as her mousy brown hair turns a vibrant pink and you laugh as you gesture to it. "I think that's pretty wicked."

"You think so?" She muses. "Our son has the same ability and he's only a day old."

"Your son?" Your now widened eyes dart to Remus. "You have a son and you're still here?! Go!"

"Y/N.."

"No. Don't," you say. "I'm home, Moony. For good. Go to your son while I go find my brother. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay." He steps forward to hug you. "I'll see you soon."

"Yes you will."

After Remus lets go, his wife Tonks steps in and hugs you as well. Surprised, you laugh and return the brief embrace. "See you soon, kid. Can't wait to get to know you."

"You as well," you say.

As the couple takes their leave, all you can do is look around at the demolished school and the witches and wizards as some of them have a meltdown. You spot a couple of the Weasleys celebrating the win as Molly looks on with a smile she's quick to smother when her sons point it out. Then heading for the entrance, your shoulders sag in relief when you spot Sirius coming in.

"Paddy!" Your shout garners his attention and you quickly make a beeline for him. "Have you seen Harry?"

"Yeah, pup. He's out on the bridge."

"Thanks." You quickly lean up and kiss his cheek. "We'll catch up later."

Making your way outside, your heart aches at seeing the ruins of what was clearly a magnificent school. You spot the bridge Sirius spoke of and spy your brother tossing something across the open air, only to fall down and be lost forever. His friends Ron and Hermione spot you first, the two of them offering you smiles as you approach.

Harry turns and smiles upon seeing you- a smile which you return, but then your expression goes lax as you slap at his arms one hit after the other. "If-" Hit. "You-" Hit. "Ever do that again.."

"Blimey, she really is a Potter."

"Ron, shush!"

"Hey. Hey!" Harry is quick to defend himself, catching you by the wrist so you stop hitting him. "I'm okay. It's over."

Your chest is heaving, your breathing stuttering as a sob threatens to break free. Tears silently fall before the fight drains out of you and you throw your arms around your little brother's neck. "I just found you, you dunghole. You're not allowed to die first."

Harry chuckles. "I'll do my best." As he pulls out of the hug, his hands remain on your biceps as he grins. "Did you know your eyes glow when you're angry?"

You frown, but before you can answer his friend Hermione is speaking up. "About that.. how is it your magic manifests like that without a wand? Earlier when Harry left to meet Voldemort, you fell to your knees in grief and there was- well it was like-"

"An explosion," Ron says. "Made me and 'Mione stumble some. We had to carry you back into the Great Hall where Remus and Sirius nearly lost it."

You cringe. "Sorry about that. I, uh, I actually used to have a wand until the MACUSA snapped it."

"They what!?" Harry asks incredulously.

"Yeah. School-aged Americans are quite savage," you huff. When the other three don't crack even the smallest of grins, you sigh and explain. "I got picked on quite a lot, but it was never anything that caused harm. Just some stupid pranks that embarrassed me," you say. "When I was sixteen, the pranks turned harmful. Two students caught me in a duel and when one of their hexes sliced my cheek I thought nothing of it. It wasn't until the sight of my blood made them proud and then duel even harder did my magic lash out when I was failing to protect myself. I.. I killed someone." Hermione gasps, but no one dares to say a word. "It was an accident and the Professors knew it because they'd witnessed countless attacks on me, but the government gives no second chances. So my wand was snapped and I was kicked out of the magical community over there."

"But that's preposterous!" Hermione nearly screeches. "You were a child!"

"I was a witch who killed a fellow witch." You shrug. "Apparently the American government is not very forgiving." Harry reaches for your hand then, squeezing it to show his support in you.

"So what happened?" Ron wonders. "You had to have some form of schooling to be so in control of your magic now."

"I ended up in a muggle orphanage after feigning amnesia. I spent months without casting and well.. my magic had to go somewhere," you tell him. "I had a few outbursts and my outbursts were picked up on by the Sorcerer Supreme."

Hermione seems to perk up at that. "I've never heard of that term before."

"You wouldn't have." Smiling fondly, you continue to tell them about the man who changed your life. "All around the world there are sorcerers, but instead of using a wand they master what they call a Sling Ring." You pause just long enough to flash them the ring before summoning a basic shield on both hands. "There's a hidden community of sorcerers in every country, but only one Sorcerer Supreme. He happened to find me when the outbursts kept happening and showed me a different way to manifest my magic before showing me how to master theirs."

"Wicked," Ron breathes in awe.

"Did you- did you ever look for me?" Harry wonders. His small voice makes your heart ache.

"I did." You smile sadly. "Not at first because of Albus' manipulations, but when I found out I was a Potter and had a baby brother out there, the Sorcerer Supreme tracked you down. Albus refused to reunite us and the Sorcerer Supreme did not want to start a war with the Wizarding community."

"But Dumbledore died some time ago." Ron frowns. "Why didn't you try then?"

"I did," here you huff out a brief laugh, "but some rebellious little shits decided to flee and jumpstart a war." All three blush at your words and you reach up to ruffle Harry's hair. "But what matters most is that I'm here now and no one is keeping the Potter heirs separated any longer."

The following couple of weeks proved to be both mentally and physically draining. Besides all the funerals, you lost count of how many times you told your story and felt sick to your stomach when a few would not take Remus or Sirius' words that you were who you said you were. The main thing some could not understand was why Lily would hide her first pregnancy, but it was your godfather and Sirius who told everyone that it was James' dad who made the decision to hide the pregnancy and then even longer after you were born since you were the first female Potter in quite some time. Apparently you were such a well kept secret that not even Dumbledore knew of your existence until he had sent you off and told those who knew you that you had died that fateful night in Godric's Hollow.

Sadly, it was only after a blood test done by a trusted Healer at St. Mungos did everyone finally believe. It was a relief to not be questioned, but then came the daunting task of fixing up Godric's Hollow so it wasn't such a terrible shrine to the worst night of your and Harry's life, and then reopening Potter Manor. But until the real work began, all you wanted to do was spend time with your brother and thankfully Sirius had room for the two of you to stay with him.

Waking up one morning, you frown when you hear a little bit of a racket. It doesn't appear to be a worrisome sounding racket when you stick your head out the bedroom door, so you take the time to freshen yourself up in the bathroom and make sure you're decent for whatever company is downstairs.

Tiptoeing downstairs, you hold your breath as you pass the covered portrait of Sirius' mum less you wake the old hag up and have her screeching for hours. Then pushing the swinging door open, you smile at the sight of Molly Weasley at the stove and her twin sons chatting back and forth with Sirius.

You spot your brother several seats down from them and enter the kitchen to sit down next to him. He smiles when he sees you and you nudge his arm when you're finally seated. "What's going on?"

"Molly wanted to make us breakfast and to make sure Sirius was taking care of us properly. Your boyfriends tagged along and were being too nosy for her liking."

You huff a laugh. "Not my boyfriends."

"At least not yet."

You roll your eyes, grinning at your brother before nudging him again. The twins had taken a shine to you and it's something everyone found quite hilarious. Their flirtatious behavior was nothing serious, but you were grateful that they accepted you so quickly.

Plates full of scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausages, bacon and grilled tomatoes are floated over, followed by a jar of marmalade and a pitcher of orange juice. Molly then brings over a stack of buttered toast and happily pats you and Harry on the shoulders. "Alright, my dears. Dig in. Boys!" She then calls. "To the floo. Let Sirius, Harry, and Y/N eat in peace."

"But mum-" Fred whines.

"-we haven't seen Y/N in ages," George finishes.

Sirius grins as you scoff. "First off, you boys haven't even said hello to me since I walked into the kitchen. And second it's only been three days."

"And that is a terrible mistake on our part," Fred says as he scoots down the bench you're seated on, slinging his arm around your shoulders and smooching you loudly on the cheek. "Hello, love."

"Fred Weasley!" Molly whacks her son upside the head and Harry snorts out the orange juice he'd been sipping. "You leave Miss Potter alone and get going. You too, George."

Sirius laughs as the boys pout but do as they're told. You wink and blow George a kiss who proceeds to pretend he catches it and then pockets it. Laughing, you shake your head in amusement before looking up at their mum. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for the delicious looking breakfast. I didn't know how much longer I could pretend that Kreacher's breakfast was good."

Molly beams, but before she could reply Sirius is huffing. "That dreary old bat just needs to be put out of his misery."

"Oh Sirius, be nice. I'm sure he's not all that bad," Molly admonishes him. You, Harry, and Sirius all snort and she tuts at all three of you, but you and Harry are the only two to grin apologetically at her. "Well if that's all, I shall be going. I'll see you three for dinner."

"No, no. This'll be all for today, Molly," Sirius assures her. "The kids are going to start reclaiming what is rightfully theirs today. We'll most likely swing by Tom's tonight."

"Well alright." Molly pats you and Harry on the shoulder one last time. "I wish you two the best."

After Molly whisks her sons back home, the three of you left at the table enjoy the breakfast she had cooked up. Halfway through Remus shows up and plops down on the opposite side of you, stealing food from your plate as he makes small talk with Sirius in between bites.

Once the food is gone and Sirius has summoned Kreacher to clear the table, all the attention is on you and Harry.

"So what's the plan, cub? Are you really going to demolish Godric's Hollow and rebuild?"

"Yes," you answer Remus. "I don't know about everyone else, but I believe it's a disgrace to mum and dad's memory that the home they were murdered in was left as is as some sort of memorial. It's sick," you say. "If they wanted to memorialize it, then a picture should have been taken to be put in a history book or a plaque be put up.

"Do you plan to live there?" Harry asks. "Because I can't see myself making a home where my earliest memory is of mum screaming as Voldemort threatened her."

"Oh Harry." Under the table you reach for your brother's hand, squeezing it in comfort. "I'm sorry you have to live with that. But yes, I'll take Godric's Hollow. Potter Manor is always passed to the male heir anyway, so you don't have to worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't remember anything from that night, and even though I know mum and dad died there I believe in making happy memories where they once lived. I think they'd like that."

He smiles. "Me too."

"Aww! Would you look at that," Sirius coos. "Seeing the two of you together, James and Lily would be proud."

"'Course they would," you muse, releasing Harry's hand and then slinging your arm around the back of his neck to bring him in closer while touching your temple to his. "We're adorable."

"Humble too," Remus huffs, pinching your cheek. He laughs when you swat at him. "So are you two ready? It's going to be quite the tiring day."

You and Harry glance at one another, sobering up some and nodding. "Let's get to it."